Darla, line two is for you.”
It was a Thursday.
The tone of Darla’s co-worker was rushed and dry, like maybe Darla shouldn’t have had a call at all. Darla knew her co-worker’s attitude all too well, and had grown to expect it.
“Thanks,” Darla told her, walking by without taking the sight of the petite girl into view. Darla headed down the hallway, straight to her desk in the back office.
Darla had nine co-workers, and half of them were younger. As far as Darla was concerned, most of them were unprofessional gossips. The customers had often complained regarding the frontline customer service. And Darla was never surprised. She kept telling herself she was only passing through, but year after year went by and it was weighing on her like a ton of bricks, on top of everything else.
The small, red brick office of Dr. Tracy Bradford’s dental practice was located on Lincoln Road, less than four miles from Darla’s condo on Collins Avenue, which allowed Darla to walk to work whenever she wanted. She’d been walking every day of the new year thus far, aware of her need to trim down her thicker-than-thick frame. Thus far, she didn’t see any effects from her daily strolls, which she attributed to her high level of stress, and otherwise sedentary lifestyle.
Darla picked up the receiver. “Hello. May I help you?”
“Mrs. Clark?”
“Yes.”
“This is Maggie Kinnear with the Florida Dental Credit Union.”
“Yes.”
“You applied for a small business loan with us, correct?”
“Yes. I did.”
“I wanted to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind. Is now a good time?”
“Sure.” Darla turned her back from the front door.
“We pulled your credit file and, while your score is on the low end, it is right at the bottom limit that we require. It’s just that I see some collection accounts, mainly medical and it looks like some charge cards. Oh and a tax lien. Can you please give me an explanation as to what went on?”
Darla paced the width of her desk, back and forth, as she talked. “My husband died five years ago, and some of the medical bills we had weren’t covered because he’d lost his job just before, and we didn’t have COBRA. He wasn’t even sick, really, he just collapsed from a heart attack and died. And I did get some life insurance money but not a lot, so I paid off some things but his credit cards were maxed out, and the ones that show up on my report are the ones that were joint accounts. I had to use some of those for some car repairs and other things we owed. But the biggest was the federal tax for 2005. I filed head of household for the first time and got hit hard. I did sell our house and paid it off, and got a condo. I’m pretty sure the only accounts showing a balance owing are some small collection accounts.”
“I see. Do you have any savings?”
“No, I don’t. Not anymore.”
“You know, in order to get a business loan you need to have some liquid assets or seasoned funds that would equal a percentage of the loan. I see your checking balance is low. I don’t see that your mortgage payment came out of your checking account for last month. Your report doesn’t reflect a problem lately with your mortgage company, but it looks like it was behind before, right?”
“It was.” Darla’s reply was dry.
“There’s quite a bit we’d need to make sense of. Honestly, I’m sure you can understand, but when we see reports like this it makes us a bit nervous.”
Darla looked down at her feet and then stood before her desk, leaning her hand along the desktop. “Excuse me. So, obviously you’re disapproving me, right? I mean, everything you’ve said sounds very negative.”
The woman spoke a bit more rushed. “I just needed to ask for your explanation and take notes. Usually we ask you to put it in writing once we hear the reason, and then we have a better idea as to whether or not our underwriters might consider it for approval. Though I must say, you’re probably right. The likelihood of you being able to survive until your sales are in the black looks bleak. Especially that first year.”
“I thought that was what some of the loan money was for. I mean, you call me at work and make me go through all of this, only for you to tell me you can’t help me. You knew when you ran my report you couldn’t do it.”
“Mrs. Clark. No, I didn’t actually. But I really am sorry.”
Darla paced again and moved her hand about. “Okay, so what are my options then? I mean, if I can’t go through the SBA, through my own credit union, whom I’ve been with for nearly twelve years, what can I do?”
“I suggest maybe you borrow the money from a friend, if possible. Again, I’m sorry. You’ll be getting a letter in the mail.”
“Well, thank you, Ms. Kinnear, was it?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, Ms. Kinnear. Thanks a lot.” Darla’s cynicism was loud as she hung up without exchanging good-byes.
From behind her back Darla heard the same co-worker speak. Darla turned her way. “Darla, the doctor is looking for you. You know the prosthesis you built for the lady who complained last week that her veneers were loose?”
Darla looked like her mind was elsewhere. “Yes.”
“Her husband is here. He’s not very happy. The doctor wants you to meet with him as well.”
“Please tell her I’ll be right there. I just need to make a phone call.”
The woman cut her eyes toward the ceiling and walked away without replying.
Darla picked up the phone again and dialed. “Magnolia.”
“Yeah. Darla. How are you?”
“Okay.” The sound of her voice disagreed.
“I didn’t recognize your work number on the display. Are you okay?”
Darla cut right to the chase. “Magnolia, listen. Do you think I could get a business loan at your bank?”
“I can try. How much are we talking about?”
“Eighty thousand.”
“I don’t see why not. You do know one of the first things we’d need is a business plan?”
“I’ve got that.”
“Okay. I’ll have the branch manager email you an application. Would that work?”
“It would. But I’m telling you now, my own credit union turned me down.”
“Were they trying to do an equity loan?”
“No. I’ve only been in my condo for four years. No equity. If there was some before, it’s depreciated now, like everything else.”
“Let’s see what we can do. I’ll talk to you later. Maybe we can meet, too, for breakfast soon. For now, just email me your last two years’ taxes. We can pull your credit right away. ”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“And Darla, girl, I just wanted to ask you. Did Rebe tell you she got a job stripping already?”
“What? No.”
“Yes. I got an email from her last night telling me she started working at this club, and she said she’s loving it.”
“Oh my goodness.”
“She’ll tell you, I’m sure.”
“That Rebe. What are we gonna do with her?”
“Beats me. But hey, she told us she wanted to so can’t be surprised I guess, right?”
“Well I am.” Darla scooted her thoughts back. “But anyway, I’ll see you later. Gotta get back to work.”
“Okay. Bye, girl.”
“Bye.” Darla hung up, gave a cleansing breath, and headed straight to the dentist’s private office.
At the end of the day, at the height of rush hour, Darla headed down the busy street, Collins Avenue, taking the last block toward her condo, people all around, mainly driving but some pedestrians as well. With her work shoes in her shoulder bag, she wore her walking shoes and took it slow. Her mind had zigzagged its way into an official headache. The patient was not upset about the loose veneers, it was the infection that had set in her gums after the extraction. Though Darla’s boss asked Darla to make an adjustment to the veneers anyway, as though that might have made a difference in the beginning. Darla agreed to do that once the swelling went down, though she didn’t agree that her work was part of the problem.
After an overcast day, with the early evening wind on her skin the entire walk home, Darla arrived at her building and entered the lobby, giving a quick smile to the doorman.
She stopped by the mailbox in the lobby, using her key to open it, adjusting her purse, and then rummaging through the envelopes. There was one from American Express, past due. One from Chase Bank, thirty days overdue. She took the few steps to the elevator, pressed 11, rode up to her place and walked up to her front door, seeing that there was a notice posted for the world to see. Notice of Intent to Lien from her overdue homeowners’ association dues.
Darla snatched the notice, jammed her key in the door, opened it, and stormed inside, catapulting it closed. She untied the shoestrings of her tennis shoes and tossed each shoe with strength. They both bounced with dull thuds, landing across the room near the sliding glass door, one on its side and one right side up.
Darla, who never ever cursed, screamed at the top of her lungs, “Fuck!”