Chapter 21

Lillie

I thought I looked very professional when I consider my appearance in the Ramada Inn bathroom mirror. Okay, so maybe black slacks with a white turtleneck sweater wasn’t commonly seen in the boardroom, but I was determined to wear my Chicago clothes for this appointment. Walking into a bank to ask for a loan wearing a Paris original, was probably going to work against me.

Picking up my purse and coat, I drew a deep breath for encouragement and drove down to the Peoples Bank, where Flemming’s Bakery had been for years. Mr. Sherman looked much the same as I remembered. He’d always held himself rigidly upright and seldom smiled, not even when he was buying our famous pecan crispies. As I approached his desk, I realized why his posture had always been so stiff. That was the way he sat at his desk as president of the Peoples Bank. He stood and held out his hand, nodding, but true to character, he did not smile. “This Flemming,” he acknowledged me.

“Mr. Sherman.” I could see this was going to call for what I like to think of as church -like behavior. There would be no jokes, no asking after the family and certainly no exaggeration for the purpose of illustration.

“What may I do for you today?”

“I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Sherman. As you know, my father’s bakery building, and consequently business, was targeted recently by what the police believed to be an arsonist. The building burned through no fault of anyone who worked there, including my father. That said, due to some oversight, the building was uninsured at the time and my parents have chosen this opportunity to retire.”

He nodded. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“I believed you were, but thought it prudent to begin my presentation by stating the facts. Now then, I’m not sure if you are aware, but I have also recently completed my education and of course I have a lifetime of experience behind me. It is my goal to secure the funds to rebuild the bakery, thereby recapturing the customers who still know and miss us. However, I have, in the interim, through the generosity of a friend, been to Europe and have developed a business plan which would include enhancing the Flemming’s reputation by adding a European flair. Having done business with your bank for decades, you were, obviously my first choice from which to seek financing.”

“Lillie, if I might call you that, you know I have been a customer many times over and while I always enjoyed your bakery goods, it was the atmosphere of your family’s hands-on style that often encouraged me to purchase from you rather than some of the newer, more modern stores. That said, it is possible to rebrand a business with some success, however it’s a tricky business and requires expertise. Now, what sort of collateral do you have against which to borrow?”

“I have the location, the ongoing customer base and the reputation of my family’s good name.”

He took off his glasses and laid them solemnly on his desk. Shaking his head, he said, “I’m afraid those are not material collateral, other than the property which, if I’m not mistaken, is currently a demolition site. In fact, it would take considerable funds simply to restore up to an empty lot, therefore I don’t see that as being a mortgageable commodity. I’m sorry, Lillie, but I don’t think that People’s Bank can help you. My suggestion to you is to find a partner investor, someone who is willing to take the risk in order to profit from the long-term investment. Their criteria will be less fiduciary and more emotional. Thank you for coming in.”

I felt as though I’d been slapped. It was like being asked to leave the family dinner table. Peoples Bank had been with us from the beginning and now they were turning away. I knew it wasn’t Mr. Sherman’s fault, entirely. The bank had been bought out by a larger conglomerate a few years earlier and local, small business loans were no longer their target market. I thanked him for his time and left the bank like a whipped dog.

I was crying by the time I reached the car. Why am I always crying nowadays? I never used to be a mess like this?

Flemming’s had one major competitor in the area. Fischer’s Bakery was owned by a younger couple who had moved into the neighborhood from New York City. They catered to a young set of clients; those who were wanting to fool themselves into thinking that a bagel made with organic flour had fewer calories than those with good old-fashioned Gold Medal. My parents had scoffed at their new-fangled ideas, often commenting beneath their breaths that certain people with uppity ideas should keep to themselves. In a neighborhood as ours, outsiders had a hard time fighting their way in to acceptance and Mama had been highly vocal when it came to pointing out their lack of suitable credentials.

Now I was driving past their business and noticed their parking lot was full. People were standing-room-only inside. Well, now I knew where the Flemming’s loyal customers had gone. Over to the enemy, even if they were from out of state.

I found a parking place down the street and got out of my car. Straightening out my sweater, I ran quick fingers through my hair and headed toward Fischer’s with determination. Old Mr. Nesbitt, our customer for over twenty years, held the door open for me to enter.

“Hello Lillie,” he greeted me amicably. “Sorry to see the way things turned out for your folks.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nesbitt. Have you been coming here long? How is the food?”

“Well, no where else to go, honey, now that you’re gone. I don’t get out too far, you remember. I’d say their food is tolerable, but nothing will ever match Flemming’s for a good sweet roll.”

“Thank you for saying that.” I avoided the line and stepped to the side of the counter, motioning to the girl at the register. When she finished ringing up the current customer, she came over to me, her finger already poised to point to the bathrooms.

“No, that’s not what I need. I’d like to talk to Mr. or Mrs. Fischer. Please tell them Lillie Flemming is here to see them.”

She looked at me doubtfully, assuming I was a salesperson, I suppose. She’d obviously never heard of Flemming’s, and that hurt. We’d been so soon forgotten.

Mr. Fischer eventually came up from the back and his attitude was cool, but friendly enough. He was short with closely-cropped black hair and a receding hairline. He obviously worked out regularly and his arms were covered with tattoos. He reminded me of a gorilla and I fought to keep from smiling.

“Would you have a moment to talk?”

“Well, I’m up to my ears, you see the crowd, but I guess I can take a short break. C’mon back.”

I followed him through the swinging doors, completely aware of just having been disrespected, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, as the expression went. He showed me to a break table where employees ate their lunch and motioned for me to sit down. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Thank you for taking time to talk to me. As you know, my parents’ bakery building burned recently. It’s my goal to rebuild it.”

“So, why are you here talking to me? I’m not in the loan business and frankly, why would I help you rebuild my competition. Well, at least you might have thought you were competition…our sales were skyrocketing and it was only a matter of time before we drove you folks out the old-fashioned way.”

In that moment I felt a hatred I couldn’t explain. I knew what Mama meant about outsiders not being welcomed—his rudeness and east coast brutality was palpable. I wanted to slap him. “I see I’ve come at a bad time, Mr. Fischer. I can see you’re busy,” I said, standing up abruptly. Our business was concluded.

I turned and was on my way to the front when he called after me in a voice loud enough that anyone in the building could hear. “Hey kid… if you Flemmings are hard up, I could always hire you part-time to sell bagels. Just saying…”

My face burned with embarrassment and indeed, many of those in the front were former Flemming’s customers and their downcast eyes were respectful, but useless. I couldn’t have been more humiliated.

I retreated to home plate – my queen-sized bed at the Ramada. I didn’t even bother to hang up my only pair of unwrinkled slacks. I just threw myself on the bed, and that’s right, bawled my eyes out.