Against the Ropes
Page 74
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“Are you at a hospital?”
Sergio growls and I hear a door slam. “Where I am doesn’t concern you. The only thing that should concern you is paying me.”
“Sorry.” I immediately regret my curiosity. But why is he calling from the hospital? Again? Something about this whole thing is definitely off.
“I have to have that payment tomorrow, Ms. Delaney. Even if you appeal today, it will take several days to process your request.”
“I’m going to call my friend. She’s a lawyer. She’ll tell me if what you’re doing is legal.”
Sergio gives a bitter laugh. “Go ahead. Even if I’ve crossed the line, what are you going to do? You don’t have the money to start a lawsuit. And even if you find someone to take your case for free, it will be at least a year, maybe two, before you get into court, by which time the interest and penalties will have increased and your credit will be ruined because the default will continue to show up on your credit report. It’s a no-win situation for you, Ms. Delaney. No. Win. Just pay the money.”
His last few words come out in a shout. So emotional. So unlike the Sergio I’ve come to know. Where is the boredom? The professional detachment? The compassion and humor?
“I thought we were friends, Sergio,” I whine. “Give me a week. I’ll have the money.”
Sergio sighs. “I have spent more time talking to you than all my debtors combined. I have bent over backward for you. I can’t do any more than I have already.”
“Bend just a little further.”
“From what I know of you, Ms. Delaney, you wouldn’t pay the price. You’re just a little too straight up. You play by the rules. You don’t take risks.”
Straight up? After being with Max? I think not, but I’m not sharing those thoughts with Sergio of all people.
“What does a joke buy me? I have a feeling you might be in need of a joke today.”
The sound Sergio makes, almost like he is choking back a sob, makes my heart lurch. He’s not himself. He’s in the hospital. Clearly distressed. Already I know I’m going to regret what I’m about to do.
“You know what, Sergio. I’m going to tell you a joke anyway. If you want to give me that extra week after I’m done, I’ll be very grateful. But if not, I hope it brightens your day because it sounds to me like you need some cheering up.”
He draws in a ragged breath. “You’re hard on my mind, Ms. Delaney, and hard on my heart. You’re like the mythical debtor everyone has heard about, but no one has seen. The debtor who sends presents at Christmas and flowers at Easter. Pleasant, cheerful, accommodating—”
“Desperate and broke.”
Sergio sobs a laugh. “You have your week and you have bought yourself some goodwill and a smile you can’t see. Tell your joke, Ms. Delaney. You’re right. I could use some cheering up.”
I mentally sift through my joke collection to find something that will make him laugh. Aha. I have it. I take a deep breath. “A debt collector parks his brand new Porsche outside his office to show off to his colleagues—”
***
By the end of my day, I have filed an online complaint with his company, yelled at a lady at the Education Commission who insisted they had no record of my change of address, and called two consumer help agencies who advise me Sergio has not done anything wrong. Amanda is in trial but she promises she’ll look into the case as soon as the trial ends. The Better Business Bureau and the Federal Trade Commission recommend several avenues of appeal, but by the time I finish talking to them, I have almost lost the will to live.
Thank God for Charlie. If he hadn’t covered for me while I obsessed all day, I would have had a desk full of green slips and probably a pink dismissal slip too.
The easiest solution would be to make the payments, and for that I need a second job. Not so easy to get in this economic climate. I count sixty-seven job applications in my outbox and sixty-seven corresponding rejections in my inbox. My only hope is Redemption.
But can I ask Max for more work?
What if he asks why? I can’t tell him how bad the situation is. And I don’t want him to think I’m interested in him only for his money or that I’m using him to get a job. Still, the lure of working at Redemption with Max and his fighters is hard to resist.
I swallow my pride and text Max.
Are u busy tonight? Need to talk to u
At work. Negotiating a deal. Might go late. Tomorrow?
Can’t wait
Should I be worried? **frowns**
:)
:) ?
Turn that frown upside down
Will send Lewis to pick you up. You can wait at my office
Looking forward to seeing ur office **jumps up and down**
Looking forward to seeing you **does not jump up and down because in meeting**
What should I wear 2 ur office?
Nothing
Naughty Max **shakes finger**
Hard Max **shakes something else**
**gasps**
That’s what I like to read
So…nothing? Seriously?
Nothing. Seriously
What about ur clients?
Will deal with clients
U r kidding right?
Max?
Max?
An hour later I step out of the elevator and into the offices of IMM Ventures, situated on top of a historic building in the South of Market neighborhood of San Francisco. I am greeted by the scent of lemon polish and a sea of white, broken up only by the occasional exposed brick wall and the wood-beam ceilings. The furniture has none of the features I usually associate with furniture. Chairs and couches lack backs, arms, or cushions. Tables jut out from walls like planks from a pirate ship. The reception desk appears to hover in midair. The last vestiges of daylight filter through huge iron-latticed windows. It is minimalism to the extreme.
Sergio growls and I hear a door slam. “Where I am doesn’t concern you. The only thing that should concern you is paying me.”
“Sorry.” I immediately regret my curiosity. But why is he calling from the hospital? Again? Something about this whole thing is definitely off.
“I have to have that payment tomorrow, Ms. Delaney. Even if you appeal today, it will take several days to process your request.”
“I’m going to call my friend. She’s a lawyer. She’ll tell me if what you’re doing is legal.”
Sergio gives a bitter laugh. “Go ahead. Even if I’ve crossed the line, what are you going to do? You don’t have the money to start a lawsuit. And even if you find someone to take your case for free, it will be at least a year, maybe two, before you get into court, by which time the interest and penalties will have increased and your credit will be ruined because the default will continue to show up on your credit report. It’s a no-win situation for you, Ms. Delaney. No. Win. Just pay the money.”
His last few words come out in a shout. So emotional. So unlike the Sergio I’ve come to know. Where is the boredom? The professional detachment? The compassion and humor?
“I thought we were friends, Sergio,” I whine. “Give me a week. I’ll have the money.”
Sergio sighs. “I have spent more time talking to you than all my debtors combined. I have bent over backward for you. I can’t do any more than I have already.”
“Bend just a little further.”
“From what I know of you, Ms. Delaney, you wouldn’t pay the price. You’re just a little too straight up. You play by the rules. You don’t take risks.”
Straight up? After being with Max? I think not, but I’m not sharing those thoughts with Sergio of all people.
“What does a joke buy me? I have a feeling you might be in need of a joke today.”
The sound Sergio makes, almost like he is choking back a sob, makes my heart lurch. He’s not himself. He’s in the hospital. Clearly distressed. Already I know I’m going to regret what I’m about to do.
“You know what, Sergio. I’m going to tell you a joke anyway. If you want to give me that extra week after I’m done, I’ll be very grateful. But if not, I hope it brightens your day because it sounds to me like you need some cheering up.”
He draws in a ragged breath. “You’re hard on my mind, Ms. Delaney, and hard on my heart. You’re like the mythical debtor everyone has heard about, but no one has seen. The debtor who sends presents at Christmas and flowers at Easter. Pleasant, cheerful, accommodating—”
“Desperate and broke.”
Sergio sobs a laugh. “You have your week and you have bought yourself some goodwill and a smile you can’t see. Tell your joke, Ms. Delaney. You’re right. I could use some cheering up.”
I mentally sift through my joke collection to find something that will make him laugh. Aha. I have it. I take a deep breath. “A debt collector parks his brand new Porsche outside his office to show off to his colleagues—”
***
By the end of my day, I have filed an online complaint with his company, yelled at a lady at the Education Commission who insisted they had no record of my change of address, and called two consumer help agencies who advise me Sergio has not done anything wrong. Amanda is in trial but she promises she’ll look into the case as soon as the trial ends. The Better Business Bureau and the Federal Trade Commission recommend several avenues of appeal, but by the time I finish talking to them, I have almost lost the will to live.
Thank God for Charlie. If he hadn’t covered for me while I obsessed all day, I would have had a desk full of green slips and probably a pink dismissal slip too.
The easiest solution would be to make the payments, and for that I need a second job. Not so easy to get in this economic climate. I count sixty-seven job applications in my outbox and sixty-seven corresponding rejections in my inbox. My only hope is Redemption.
But can I ask Max for more work?
What if he asks why? I can’t tell him how bad the situation is. And I don’t want him to think I’m interested in him only for his money or that I’m using him to get a job. Still, the lure of working at Redemption with Max and his fighters is hard to resist.
I swallow my pride and text Max.
Are u busy tonight? Need to talk to u
At work. Negotiating a deal. Might go late. Tomorrow?
Can’t wait
Should I be worried? **frowns**
:)
:) ?
Turn that frown upside down
Will send Lewis to pick you up. You can wait at my office
Looking forward to seeing ur office **jumps up and down**
Looking forward to seeing you **does not jump up and down because in meeting**
What should I wear 2 ur office?
Nothing
Naughty Max **shakes finger**
Hard Max **shakes something else**
**gasps**
That’s what I like to read
So…nothing? Seriously?
Nothing. Seriously
What about ur clients?
Will deal with clients
U r kidding right?
Max?
Max?
An hour later I step out of the elevator and into the offices of IMM Ventures, situated on top of a historic building in the South of Market neighborhood of San Francisco. I am greeted by the scent of lemon polish and a sea of white, broken up only by the occasional exposed brick wall and the wood-beam ceilings. The furniture has none of the features I usually associate with furniture. Chairs and couches lack backs, arms, or cushions. Tables jut out from walls like planks from a pirate ship. The reception desk appears to hover in midair. The last vestiges of daylight filter through huge iron-latticed windows. It is minimalism to the extreme.
