RED-HEADED WHITE SPECKLED OWL
Paul When I was young, adults called me an Oxymoron because I'm a Jock / Nerd. In high school, I played three sports: Baseball, Soccer, and Wrestling, plus being active in Mensa, Computer Science, the Library, and Accounting. My fellow teammates heard me being called oxymoron, and they knew I wasn't stupid, but they started calling me OX.
At the beginning of the summer before my junior year of college, where I was on full-ride sports and academic scholarships, I picked up a job working for Gerald Brightman, who was a businessman involved in a wide variety of investing, buying, and selling companies. The job was supposed to be a fetch-and-carry person, plus being a hulking presence to protect my boss. But he quickly started using my brain to help with his business ventures after I questioned the purchase of a small business he was looking to buy.
Over the next three years, he turned over much of the research needed after spotting possible business purchases to me. Sometimes, I saw a prospect for him, and if he bought it, I would get a high commission.
We had been working on one prospective investment I found over four months ago, and he was going to buy shares in it on Monday afternoon before the exchanges closed.
But I got a call Sunday night from one of his sons that he had died from a heart attack that afternoon, and I was fired as of now.
All that night and the next morning, I thought about him and this deal. In the bank, I had the money to buy into this from an inheritance and savings from investments. At 2:30, I went to the bank and transferred all but $1,000 to purchase stock. I got a lot more shares than I expected; I now owned over a quarter of the company.
In the middle of the next week, the company received a multi-year contract worth millions, which we had found out about during our investigations. The shares increased by 143% when I sold them two months later.
Gerald's sons, who had never had anything to do with him when he was alive, found out I had made this sizable profit, and they wanted their share. Then I told them to go fuck themselves. It was all my own money.
The sons threatened me, and I knew they had friends who would be willing to hurt or kill me for a few dollars. I contacted a friend to sell everything in my apartment and deposit it in my bank account minus his fees for acting as my agent. I slipped into my apartment, packed what I could into my pickup, and drove away, not knowing where to go or what to do. Over the next few weeks, I toured all the places I had always wanted to see. But I quickly found that I needed to settle down; besides, I was getting bored. Also, doing business in coffee shops wasn't safe or secure.
Finally, I returned to where I spent my first fifteen years, on the outskirts of a small northern Texas town, where we lived before my family moved to Minnesota for my dad's work. I was able to rent-to-own the same house we had lived in before the move. A home office was quickly set up, where I started looking for new investments.
I did everything using my middle name as my last name. So, I was known as Paul Warren. It's amazing what you can do when you are paying for everything with cash.
After being there for a couple of weeks, I went into the library to find a government pamphlet that wasn't online when I saw her: Sammy Jo Landry, the focus of my teenage angst. Sammy had been a red-headed, white-skinned, massively freckled girl built like Jane Mansfield. But she hid behind oversized round glasses and baggy Goth coverall dresses. That is why I nicknamed her "The red-headed, white, speckled owl." I had been obsessed with her back then and found I still was.
Sammy I knew instantly who he was: Paul/Ox, the boy I wanted for my boyfriend when I was fourteen. Six things had happened that year. I started a major quick female growth spurt. Paul and his family moved away. My periods, which started late, were normal in my family. I was welcomed into the family with a great celebration. I adopted a baggy, loose clothing style.
I was also found out about my skills in art, managing things, and being a people person for business by our neighbor. She asked my parents and me to meet and asked, "If I wanted to be trained in helping running her Gallery. For helping her, she would pay for all the costs of me attending a local college, plus the normal salary of a starting employee to start with." I loved art, artists, and the people at the Gallery.
After five years, one year after her husband died, the Gallery owner found she was needed to care for her sister. My parents offered to buy her Gallery and home. She said yes and left. They paid the appraised price and sold the house. I paid them back the following year.
I worked my college classes around the Gallery and other employee's shifts. I loved both and committed to both. I didn't have any boyfriends.
With the Gallery came four vacant storefronts.
Hearing that a friend's uncle, Ben, wanted to move back and start a bakery but didn't have the funds or credit score to do it. I talked to my parents about it, and they agreed we would check it out and we could be partners if needed.
After watching him work and tasting his baked goods, I offered him twin storefronts and set up. With a contract slowly to buy me out. He quickly agreed.
After being set up, the bakery had two weeks of slow sales, but afterward, it grew steadily. After three years, a mom-and-pop grocery store from ten miles away came to us and said their baker had retired, but their customers still wanted good baked goods. After long talks with our employees about expanding quantity while keeping the quality output, they agreed. Most of them worked part-time but would love to work full-time. It was decided to give it a four-month trial, with the rental of a used van and hiring a retired driver. After a month, it was a great success. Then, the cake and event cake orders started.
Ben made a call to a friend who was visiting for the weekend, then returned and gave his two weeks' notice. He was fired instantly, so he showed up for work Wednesday. At their request, Ben, his wife, and I sat down and was told they didn't want to own the bakery. They thought that with him as manager/baker and her as cashier, they would like 20% of the net profits weekly instead. After talking with my dad, a lawyer, everything was written up, and I owned a bakery outright after buying back their small portion.
After the bakery had been open for about two and a half years, a young woman came into the Gallery looking for the owner. When I told her, that was me. The woman stammered and stared at me. Finally, she asked, "You own the bakery and this Gallery?" Then I nodded. "I'm Emily Emerson; can we sit down and talk for a while about business?" she asked.
"Yes, but I need to have a friend watch the galley." The call was made, and a friend showed up quickly.
We went into the office, set, and Emily started talking, "I went to college to get my degrees in fashion and management. I was hired to work in a very upscale women's clothing store while I was in college. I quickly was moved up till I was the manager and loved it. One day, I was called into the office and was told the owners were getting a divorce. Did I want to buy the store? After two days, I answered no."
I said, "I was sorry to hear that."
Emily continued, "After two months, they sold the store. The new owner was a Bitch on wheels. She ordered clothes from China but had them reworked with local labels. She cheapened everything but the prices. I checked on you, but not your age, and checked the local area for the need for a high-end women's store here. The nearest is over twenty miles away in a decreasing worse area. My Grandma and aunts praise you."
"Okay. What do you want me to do?" I questioned.
"I want you to check on me. Here is a list of companies I worked with before with the store. I was hoping you could open a shop with everything local or the USA. That foreign stuff doesn't hold up. I will give you a five-year contract to work for you, with reservations, with renewals every five years. I don't want the stress of being the owner. I will be the "Jack-or-all-trades" in the beginning until you need more help. I will work my way back to the manager. I can order to start out, but I will want a bookkeeper sooner than later. Here is where I work now; I hope to see you checking on me soon. I will be here till Sunday afternoon if you have questions now."
I went and checked on the store, and Emily was working. I saw the owner and decided Emily underrated how bad she was. Checking the clothes, they weren't of the quality they were advertising on their labels. In fact, I put my finger through a hole in the shoulder of a blouse. The next morning, I checked the companies Emily had given me, cold calling about hiring her. It was all positive.
Then, I called my mom and grandmas for their inputs. Mom's mother told us to come for supper tomorrow night because we couldn't work this out on the phone. For hours, I was put through the wringer about Emily, the store where she worked, and my feelings for her. We finally came to the same answer." The next morning, early, I asked her to meet us for supper after she got off, which was our treat.
The "Stylish & Fun Women's Clothes" opening was agreed upon that night. I took a large sum from my family trust fund, which I had never touched before.
Emily put in her two-week notice the next day and requested her vacation pay, her 401(k), and to sell back her shares the last day she worked.
Two months later, the store opened with a flurry of excitement from women in the area. As they entered, for the first month, they received a 5% off for their entire sale that day.
After a few jokes, we started a card on each woman's sizes, special needs, and favorites so their partners, family, and friends could buy those items they would like and use. The stories that came from these cards were numerous. The sticky notes on them started early with the women's desires.
Everyone was happy with this. Customers brought young women for their first adult clothes.
All my businesses were growing well, but my personal life stayed stalled.
Paul Covertly checking, I found out she owned and ran an Arts & Crafts Gallery, a bakery, and she sold locally and USA-made exclusive women's clothes. However, she still wore unstylish Goth-style clothing that covered almost all of her. She was never seen in the clothes she sold.
She mostly stayed apart, with only a couple of female friends. She stayed at home to read a massive number of books and watch DVDs. I returned to the library later and tried to get into their database using my old sign-in as a volunteer from years ago. They hadn't canceled it. I quickly printed out the list of books Sammy had signed out, several of them multiple times. She was a paranormal romance junky. After reading the synopses of several books, including all the multiple checked-out ones, I created my action plan for her and us.
The next day, I was by the library checkout when she came to return her books. As she dropped them into the return bin, I walked up behind her and sniffed the air behind her. She heard me, blushed, and walked out quickly.
Over the next three weeks, I "accidentally" bumped into her all over the small town. Each time I would try to talk to her, she was standoffish or shy.
Sometimes, in the meetings, I would take a large breath through my nose and smile at her while asking her out on a date.
After about the seventh time I asked her out, she said yes. We went to a dinner club and started to get to know one another. The first thing she wanted to know was, "Why her?"
The truthful answer partly scared her and intrigued her. I said, "That when I first saw her again, I felt drawn to her. Every time I got closer to her, the feeling got stronger, that we had a real connection."
