by Paddy Eger
“Could be. Noel is an amazing guy. We met at the spring celebration. I’ve seen him almost every night since then. I’ll send you the verdict once I know. Strange, huh? Makes me almost sorry to be leaving Billings.”
Marta giggled. “I bet it does. Promise to call before you leave. I’ll want to know any new details and how I can stay in touch with you while you’re gone.”
After she hung up from her talk with Lynne, Marta thought about the two men in her life. Steve always surprised her. He brought out her playfulness as well as her feisty side. He’d stuck by her through so many events: her first days of professional dancing, her injury, Bartley’s death, and Marta’s continued reluctance to become a couple. Even with his internship in San Francisco, he’d stayed in contact. He understood her moods, her stubbornness, and her passion to resume dancing. She understood his desire to find the perfect job and loved his energy. Sending flowers had become a signature trait of Steve’s. Had he sent them?
What did she know about Sam? He was a loving father to Betty, a gentle man who gave off a sense of calm. He knew her as a dance instructor and was beginning to know her as a person, but that was only a recent development. Maybe it was too soon to know his personality, but she already sensed his sincerity and openness. Did he send the flowers because he was too shy to tell her how he felt?
h
Monday morning Marta called the florist but got no answers. “Sorry, miss. We have no further information.” A dead end.
For now, she’d be busy at the studio, scheduling next fall’s classes. Monday afternoon she, her mom, and Lindsay interviewed and hired Veronica Osborne to teach tap and baton. Together they planned their summer class sessions and room assignments. Having a near-complete offering of dance classes fulfilled Lindsay’s dreams. They’d provide something for every dance interest.
Mr. Gleason, the loan officer, promised to contact Marta’s mom during the week, but while they waited for his call, Marta and her mom began deep-cleaning to spruce up the house and yard before the bank’s inspection. Mr. Gleason said he liked the fact they were expanding to offer a variety of classes and he’d work to see that they received his highest recommendation.
Later that week, after the bank inspection, the loan office scheduled a follow-up appointment, but only Marta was able to attend because her mom had an important dance association meeting in Seattle.
h
Click, click, click. High heels echoed off the marble foyer of the First National Bank of Washington. A woman walked toward the entrance. Her chin and slightly protruding teeth preceded the rest of her body.
Marta noted how her feather-cut red hair bounced except where a child’s yellow barrette held back the front left edge that framed her face. A curious style statement from a woman wearing a tailored gray pinstripe suit with an almost too short skirt.
Something about the woman reminded Marta of Zandora Marcus. Certainly not the hair color. Perhaps it was the way she moved with quick steps and her chin thrust forward. Maybe it was the way she looked at Marta. A shudder slid down Marta’s spine.
The pinstripe-suited woman stopped short of stepping on the toes of Marta’s black leather flats. She scanned a paper in her hand. “Miss Ser, Ser-berth?”
“Yes?” Marta stood and extended her hand.
The woman looked at Marta’s outstretched hand. “I’m Miss Elliott. Follow me.”
Marta lowered her hand and picked up her purse and folder. Click, click, click. Miss Elliott’s heels clacked along the hallway with Marta trailing behind like a calf following the bell of the lead cow.
They entered a wood paneled office devoid of personality. The two guest chairs directly in front of the desk reminded Marta of the ones in her high school vice principal’s office: the place where you sat to receive a lecture or notice of your suspension.
Miss Elliott signaled for Marta to be seated, then circled her desk, sank down into a black leather swivel chair, and folded her hands on her desk blotter. “So, tell me about your qualifications for a loan.”
Marta slid the sheaf of financial papers across the desk. “My mother prepared these for Mr. Gleason. He’s handling the loan.”
Miss Elliott ignored the folder and continued staring at Marta, who stifled the urge to squirm around in the chair. “He’s no longer with our company. I believe he retired. I’m your loan officer now.” She opened the folder and scanned the top page. “Where’s the primary signer, a Mrs. Ser-berth?”
“My mother is unable to come today. She’ll attend future meetings.”
“I see.” Miss Elliott folded her hands over the papers. “Tell me your work experience, your present income, and how other financial considerations will affect our decision to grant you a loan.”
Marta straightened. “I danced professionally with the Intermountain Ballet Company last season. Now I teach at the Holland Dance Studio off Callow Avenue, which is the studio we’re trying to purchase.”
The woman leaned back and furrowed her brow. “Why would you give up a professional career to move here and teach children?”
“I had an injury that ended my career. I’m assisting my mother and requesting a personal loan, but I have no assets to be part of the business loan. There is a note in the file in front of you, however, that gives me permission to represent my mother.”
Miss Elliott raised her eyebrows at Marta. “I see. What’s your mother’s work experience?”
“She’s been the office manager at Holland Dance Studio for ten years.”
Miss Elliot rifled through the papers rapidly, then stopped. “Is this your mother’s total salary? For a year?” She held three pay stubs by the corner as if touching more of them would infect her with a disease.
“Yes.” Marta felt her blood pressure begin to rise, but she held herself taut.
Miss Elliott tapped a tattoo with her stubby fingers on the papers, then leaned her left elbow on her desk. As she slid her fingers through her hair, she stopped. Her eyes widened. She casually slid the yellow barrette out of her hair, looked at it, then slid it into her pocket.
The office remained library quiet as she scanned page after page in the folder. Finally she withdrew a single sheet and pushed it toward Marta. She tapped the paper, pointing to the heading: Loan Verification Form. “I can’t approve this loan with such meager earnings. Plus, your mother owes two thousand dollars on the home you’re requesting be used in the loan.”
“You can’t approve the loan?” Shock swept through Marta. The feeling reminded her of the crushing experience after her injury when she realized she’d not dance again. “Why?”
“There’s not enough value for us when you default.”
“What if my mother—”
The woman put up her hand to stop Marta. “No what ifs. Banks don’t loan money unless they are protected when the owner defaults.”
When. The woman said when, not if, twice in the last two sentences.
“But Mr. Gleason said that he’d—”
Miss Elliott stood abruptly and opened her office door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing business to attend to.”
Marta felt a wave of disbelief at being dismissed so quickly. She straightened her shoulders. “My mother will be available next week with whatever you need for this loan to be completed.”
“Save your time and money. I’m stamping this loan as rejected.”
Marta felt her frustration rise. She fished around in her purse and withdrew a small mirror, which she placed in the center of Miss Elliott’s desk. “Remember to check your hair before your important business. My young dancers know to look professional even for rehearsals.”
Marta gave Miss Elliott her brightest stage smile as she exited the office. She opened and closed her fists and drew in deep breaths as she walked out to the sidewalk. That woman! No “I’m sorry”? No “come back next month”? No futur
e meeting to discuss ways to make the loan happen? She’d not let Lindsay’s hard work fade just yet. There had to be a way to buy the building.
She rushed home to call her mom, who’d be back at the studio by now. She’d be more disappointed than Marta, but what could they do? Miss Holland’s time constraints forced her to leave with her husband within the month. Bremerton deserved a dance school where young dancers could grow and learn, where families could enjoy music and applaud at recitals, where future professional dancers could get a start. There had to be a way to make it happen.
17
Lindsay, Marta's mom, and Marta sat in the downstairs office with the doors locked. "Their rejecting you doesn't make any sense,” Lindsay said. “If you can't find a way to buy the building, we're sunk; I’ll need to go with the other buyer. Adam and I may consider moving back here after he retires, but that's a dozen years from now. I can't keep paying the building loan. Navy pay isn’t that good.”
Marta’s mom sighed. "I’ll do my best to keep the studio going. I’ll call to schedule another meeting with the loan officer. Maybe she’ll reconsider."
Lindsay looked around her office. “I’m going to miss this place. Not my messy shelves, but the entire studio. Lots of fond memories are hiding in this office. Once you take over and clean it up, you may uncover a few treasures. If you do, keep them as a remembrance of what we started. Of course, if you find a hundred dollars tucked away in a shoebox, I’ll expect my share in the mail.”
h
Marta stopped by her mom's house for a hamburger barbecue. Robert greeted her at the door. "I'm sorry about the loan. Wish I could help."
Her mom stepped to the door, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “I told him having him offer means a lot, but that we’d find a way. For now we’ll get this old house ready for sale and see what happens."
"Our friend, Connie Norton, called me today." Robert hugged Marta’s mom as he spoke. "She acted so sweet you'd never know Elle told her off last summer."
"I suppose she wants to sell the house for mom?"
"Yes, but I told her you ladies had an agent who's trustworthy and speeding things along and were considering several offers."
"Mom, you have offers?"
"One, maybe," her mom said. "But I didn't sign with an agency yet. Veronica Osborne lives in an apartment in Manette. She'd like to buy the house now that she has a position at the studio. Her husband loves to garden and is a Mr. Fix-it. Lindsay says they're nice people and will take care of the property."
"Good,” Marta said. “Maybe more good news will float down at the goodbye luncheon tomorrow."
h
Lily Rose greeted everyone on the wide veranda of the Kitsap County Country Club wearing a flowing green shirtwaist dress with matching heels and gloves. "I'm so glad you're here. Trixie and Frann are modeling. They'll join us for lunch after the show. Irene saved our table for ten up front."
Bremer’s department store provided an informal summer fashion show while the ladies sat at luncheon tables sipping cocktails and nibbling on tiny canapés. Club members wearing capri pants, summer shirtwaist dresses, and chiffon baby doll nighties walked among the guests, offering closer views and glimpses of the price tags. The one-piece hot pink strapless Catalina and the polka dot Jantzen swimwear caused the most stir.
Lindsay turned to Marta. “How could anyone swim without a strap to hold up the top?”
Marta laughed. “I don’t think the people who wear those suits plan to get even their painted toes wet.”
After Trixie and Frann finished modeling, they joined the ladies for lunch. Waiters in white shirts with black bow ties and black slacks served salmon with dill sauce and green salads with artichoke hearts, then offered dainty rolls with pats of butter.
“Trixie, you looked great in that teal green Jantzen swimsuit,” Irene said. “I loved the empire detail. Of course it wouldn’t look good unless we had your curvy figure.”
Trixie laughed. “I tell everyone I’m keeping my curves because of Marta’s exercise class. Expect a few women to call you.”
“There’s always room for more classes when we hire more instructors.”
“Hope he’s a cute guy with strong shoulders who wears tight shorts,” said Irene.
“Speaking of shorts, I can’t believe boy shorts are still in style,” Frann said. “They camouflage my thighs, but how long are we expected to wear unflattering patterns?”
“Did you notice all the shirtwaists?” Lindsay said. “I am so sick and tired of all the flouncing material and the petticoats. I’m glad sheaths are becoming popular. Of course right now I’d be happy to wear either.”
The ladies laughed.
“I saw a lovely sheath in Seattle at I. Magnin,” said Sally from the exercise class. “I loved the polka dot tie. Can you believe they wanted thirty dollars for one dress?”
“Check out the Montgomery Ward catalog,” suggested Miriam. “They’re showing several at $4.98. Unfortunately the fabric looks like colored flour sacks.”
“You know, my mom and I sew,” Marta said. “We’d make you ladies dresses or capris any time you want. Just find the fabric and pattern you like.”
“I doubt you’ll have time to sew,” Lindsay said. “The studio will take all your time and energy. Assuming you still find a way to buy it.
“Wait. What do you mean?” Lily Rose said. “We thought this was settled.”
“It was,” Marta’s mom said. “But there’s a technicality. We’re going in later this week to straighten it out. But let’s forget about that for now and toast Lindsay and her baby.”
“Cheers,” the ladies said as they raised their glasses.
While the conversation circled the table, Marta excused herself and headed to the ladies room. On the way back to the table, she heard a familiar voice and saw Zandora Marcus seated at the bar near the banquet room. Miss Elliott sat next to her. Marta stepped behind a post to try to listen to what they said.
“I knew if I shared that information with you, the loan might be rejected,” Zandora said. “I’d have loved to see Elle’s and Marta’s faces when you turned them down. My friend is excited to know she has an even better chance to buy the building now. There’s no way any agent will turn down a hefty commission and an offer higher than the asking price, unless he’s a fool. Of course it will need to be repainted. You should see the colors Marta selected. So passé; certainly not appropriate colors for an Arthur Murray dance studio.”
Marta leaned against the wall, catching her breath, waiting for her body to stop shaking. She backed away, returned to her luncheon table following a different route, and sat down. “I think I know who helped the loan get rejected.” She explained the conversation she’d overheard.
“That woman!” Lily Rose said, then looked around and lowered her voice to a whisper. “We’ve got to stop Zandora and her friend.”
“Let’s not talk here,” Frann said.
Lily Rose stood. “Meet me at my home in thirty minutes. There must be something we can do to save the studio.”
The women sat in a circle of chairs in Lily Rose’s living room ignoring the amazing view. Lindsay sat in a club chair and took in deep, ragged breaths. “I think you need to forget your bank and go to mine. Northwest Merchants Bank may be more willing to work with you since they’ve handled my business for years.”
Heads nodded.
She continued. “I paid $4,500 as a down payment, and the monthly loan costs $175. With taxes, insurance, and utilities for the studio, I’m paying out $225 a month. There isn’t time to apply for a small business loan, so we’ll need a different solution.”
“Would your bank transfer the loan to Elle?” Irene asked.
“Probably.” Lindsay’s face contorted and she closed her eyes. “Oh, ah, I need to go home. This baby is dancing around and telling me to rest. I trust you ladie
s to sort this out.” Frann drove her home, promising to agree to any action they decided.
Lily Rose stood behind a chair and looked around the circle. “We can sit here all day and talk, but we need a plan as soon as possible.”
Marta cleared her throat and inhaled deeply before she spoke. “Would you ladies consider becoming partners in the dance studio? If my mom and I talk with Lindsay’s bank and they transfer the loan and we sell our home, we’ll have a large part of the expenses handled. If we could tell them we had partners supporting the studio, they might take a chance on a loan for us.”
All heads nodded.
“I like that idea,” Trixie said. “My husband will draw up legal papers if we can work out how much each of us is able to contribute.”
Marta’s mom frowned. “I don’t want anyone to feel pressured to help financially. Perhaps people will consider donating services as a way to support the studio.”
Lily Rose smiled and tapped her hands on the back of the chair where she stood. “That’s a great idea. Let’s all go home, talk with our families, and decide what we feel comfortable contributing: money, time, whatever. Call me tomorrow and I’ll compile our information. I’ll keep it confidential and only share details for legal purposes.”
The women stood, gathered their belongings, and started to leave. “One more thing, ladies,” Lily Rose said. “Don’t tell anyone about this. We don’t want Zandora Marcus to get wind of our plans.”
On the drive home, Marta sat deep in thought. “Mom, would it help if I stayed? I have no plans so I could stay on.”
Her mom smiled. “It would make things easier. How long would you stay?”
Marta shrugged.
h
Two days later the ladies met again, without Lindsay since she had a doctor’s appointment. Lily Rose’s living room buzzed with energy as she shared the results of their efforts. “Lindsay transferred the loan to Elle. The bank allowed Elle to assume the loan payments, and with our merged resources we have enough for two months of loan payments. We’ll send Lindsay and Adam, and the baby, to San Diego with their down payment money in their pockets, plus Lindsay will allow Elle to buy the business of the dance studio over time.”