Chapter Forty-Five Sassy
forty-five SASSY
Sassy sat across from Tom at his desk, feeling smug. She could definitely afford to buy the house she wanted. Now she needed to know the next step.
“You said to write down what I want to do,” she said, ripping open her Cracker Jack box and pouring a bunch into her hand. “Here it is. What’s next?”
“Hold on,” he said carefully, sliding her binder toward him. “You don’t want to pull the trigger until you’re positive. The worst thing would be to make a mistake and let everyone know you’re not experienced.”
“You look it over,” she said, popping caramel popcorn into her mouth, “but I’m pretty sure I’m positive.”
“You can’t be ‘pretty sure you’re positive.’ Not with something this big. You either are, or you’re not.” He leaned over her notes, frowning in concentration as he flipped from one page to another. He placed his finger on one column. “Is this number… Oh, I see. So you’re comparing last year’s sales.”
He nodded as he read, interested, but not noticeably impressed, which was disappointing. She had wanted him to be astounded by her excellent grasp of the business. So she pulled out the file she’d been working on all morning and opened it flat on the table.
“I was looking at this house in the Annex.” She set a map in front of him detailing the buildings from Bedford to Spadina and from Bloor to Dupont Street. “A recent sale was fifty-three thousand, but that buyer was purchasing the building to knock it down and build a low-rise. I would want to renovate. Looking at this floor plan, I believe we could have eight rooms in this one house.” She pulled out another sheet. “And this is a list of the contacts I plan to make with the community health centres.”
He leaned over the new pages, nodding as he read.
“What do you think?”
“Sassy, this is really good. You’ve covered a lot. But considering the scale of what you’re thinking, I need more. I need a full business plan and proposal. I’ll give you an outline of what I mean. You’ll have to do the work, though.”
“Naturally.” She set her notes aside and started out on a fresh piece of paper. “What do I need to do?”
“This is going to take time, Sassy. It’s not a one-afternoon-of-research kind of project.” He looked meaningfully at the Cracker Jack box. “Are you sharing?”
“Help yourself. I have another box at my desk.”
He might inhale sandwiches like an animal, but he was more careful with his snack food. He poured out a few kernels, set them on his desk, then ate them one by one, careful not to get his fingers sticky.
“All right. Business plan. Some of these elements you’ve seen in smaller projects, but working on a plan this size is going to teach you way more.”
“I’m ready.”
“I hope so.” He stuck up one finger. “Think of it as if you’re writing a book. Chapter by chapter, but it all ties together in much straighter lines.”
“And it will have a happy ending.”
“That’s the plan. So let’s start with the overall plan and costs. Show me current comparable prices per square foot, like what you’ve done here but on a wider scale. Break down what you want to do. The term you should use is ‘affordable housing.’ Oh, and write a note to yourself: you’ll need to find out about rezoning, since this will not be a private home after what you want to do.”
Sassy wrote down everything he said, and in her mind the assignment took on the shape of a tree. The first branch was for the initial cost, and each little twig growing off it was a subtopic for her to research, like finding comparable buildings’ prices and recent sales, factoring in renovation costs with added fees for inspections, and even incidentals like hydro and electricity. With that done, she could begin to put together a time-line.
Another branch was for additional funding. With her inheritance and her unexpected share of the Isabella Street building, she might be able to buy one of these houses flat out, but how would other costs be covered?
“The next section of your business plan is where you explain why the government should consider helping out. Outline how this project would support underprivileged people—veterans, in particular, if that’s what you want—by providing undermarket rental housing. Look into how to create a nonprofit company to keep your taxes low. Talk about the need for volunteers, in order to keep labour costs minimal. Maybe even create a rough schedule for them so it can be visualized. I like your idea of including a network of like-minded groups, like Marion’s colleagues. From there, you can build in other potential benefactors, charitable groups, et cetera. The entire project needs to demonstrate efficiency. Help them see that their money will be well spent. A positive return on their investment.”
He shook more candied popcorn into her hand, then his, then he unwrapped the prize. A little blue plastic horse. He pushed it toward her, unimpressed.
“We’ll be operating on a loss in the beginning.”
“Okay.” She chewed on the end of her pen, trying to take it all in, but she kept getting distracted. She picked up the little blue horse, galloped it over to Tom’s hand, and bumped him with it. “You’re awfully smart for a hunk.”
“Huh?”
“All those looks and a brain as well.”
He rolled his eyes. “Focus, Sassy. Now you have to talk about your tenants,” he continued, his brows drawn together. “How would it work for the people living in the building? Talk about what you envision for everything inside, including number of bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens. Would they be independent apartments or will the facilities be shared? Will the rooms be furnished? What else will be in the buildings? You’ll have to consider a minimum rent, probably.”
She’d been wondering about that. “How do I figure that out?”
“Just like everything else. Ask around. Look at similar systems. You aren’t the first to be interested in rooming houses.”
She stood up, hugging her file against her. “I think I get it.”
“Keep in mind that at the beginning of the whole thing, you want to outline your purpose. You’re going to be great at that. Put your heart into it, but stay practical. Your introduction has to be memorable. Especially since you will be performing it live in front of council.”
“I’ll be what ?”
“That’s why your pitch has to be perfect. We’ll work on it together until it is.”
That wasn’t something she’d considered, but she felt confident she could carry that part of it off. Too bad she couldn’t bring her guitar.
“Thanks for everything, Tom. I’m jazzed about this.”
He grinned. “It’s a great idea in theory, Sassy. If you can get this going, there’s no reason the government wouldn’t be interested in helping.”
She researched the process, and that involved calls and letters to the city as well as other central groups like the Toronto Real Estate Board and the Ontario Association of Real Estate Boards. Through them, she learned about past successes and failures. The more information she collected, the more she wanted to know. Every dotted i and crossed t brought satisfaction, and when she thought of it that way, she hummed the Rolling Stones song like a soundtrack.
After a week of intense work, Sassy returned to Tom’s desk and set her organized notes in front of him, stapled neatly together. On the front cover, in her neatest, steadiest hand, she had written:
MARION’S PLACE
A WELCOME HOME
“Marion,” he said softly, approving. “Nice touch.”
“I see this project as more than just providing homes. It’s more than that. It’s responding to what Marion showed me. Despite my initial belief that closing the institutions and bringing those people into the public view was the right thing for everyone, I now understand. Without the guidance and treatment Marion and others provide, many of them are lost. And the public, who wanted them freed, now regards them as trash, since they are forced to sleep in parks and alleys. Marion told me months ago that she believes the result of closing the institutions will eventually make everything much worse. So this project is my humble contribution to slowing that down.”
“I like it. You can also look at it as a personal victory for you. By investing in a good old house like this, you are basically delaying gentrification.” He laid his hand on the cover. “Can I look?”
Her palms were damp, but she kept her expression neutral. She wanted so badly to impress him. “Please do.”
She folded her arms, emulating her father without meaning to. She’d been working hard on the project, and she was was feeling good about what she’d learned. But she’d also thrown in something big that he wouldn’t expect. She couldn’t wait to see his reaction.
“I went a little deeper than you asked,” she said. “Instead of comparing this building to another, I compared it to six others. I did the research on all of them, so that’s laid out there in the beginning, in those columns.”
He opened her booklet to the table of contents, and after he read through it, he smiled.
“Sassy. This is…”
“I know,” she said, grinning madly. “Far out, right?”
He turned to the first section and gave a low whistle, scanning the columns she’d mentioned.
“This is the chart, and I was right. The building I initially chose was the best one. See the number of units versus cost outlay?”
“I sure do.”
“But what you don’t know is that I found something better.”
“Oh? Lay it on me.”
“I don’t have to worry about purchasing costs.”
He looked confused, then he studied her pages. After a beat, he stared back at her. “Your father’s home?”
“It’s my home now.”
“But Sassy, this house is your birthright. Do you really want it to become a rooming house?”
“That’s exactly what I want. Read on.”
She watched his expression as he took it all in, finally seeing on his face the expression she’d wanted. It said, Oh yeah, Sassy. This is boss.
He asked a few questions, and she wrote down notes for herself, then he closed the report. “This is so good, Sassy. And knowing you, when you present it in person, you’ll win over every single person in that room. Your dad was right. You’ll be better than either of us if you keep this up. Will you still let me work here when you take over?”
She grinned, feeling more than just a little proud of herself, and more than a little crazy about Tom. She wanted him to look at her that way—and more—forever.
“Depends on how you behave, mister.”
“Guess what? You win a prize.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a red Pez dispenser with a Snow White head on top. “Here you go.”
She popped the little head up and crunched on a pink candy. “What do I get if there’s even more to the plan? Because there is.”
A dark eyebrow lifted. “Hmm. Depends on what it is. Good plans, of course, are worth more.”
She handed him another sheet of paper. “Future plans.”
“What?”
“I’ve worked out what we could do if all goes well. We can potentially buy another in two years or so. Maybe more than one.” She held up a finger. “But! If it doesn’t work, I still own the building. It’s in a prime location. We’ll make a profit no matter what.”
“So good, Sassy. You win the grand prize.”
“Which is?”
Those blue eyes sparkled. “Dinner tonight?”
Now was the time. She felt it. She lowered her lids to half-mast and her voice to a purr. “With drinks at my place to follow.”
He felt it, too. She saw the blue in his eyes deepen to black, and she was lost. Sean Connery had nothing on this man. The heat coming from his gaze melted her insides.
“I’ll bring Pixy Stix,” he said smoothly. “What flavour?”
“Surprise me.”