Late Bloomers

Chapter 1

Spring Fever

For many years now, March had been one of Margot Roberts’ favorite months. For one thing, as a Westchester New Yorker, it generally marked the end of the colder days of winter. You could often see couples romantically walking hand in hand around the block wearing just a light jacket. You could also see teenagers kicking an early soccer ball or walking their Golden Retriever beyond the back yard.

Unfortunately, those were not things that filled Margot’s bright afternoons these days. Her dear husband of twenty-one years had passed away five years ago.

It had been a storybook marriage with two successful people who often travelled together and at least a few times a month shared dinners in fancy restaurants.

It was easier to do that when their teenage daughter Annie was still home.

A few years back, the 18-year old got a scholarship at St. Andrew’s College in Scotland, where she studied international business and then moved onto Cambridge where she gained a master’s degree.

Evidently, the young woman inherited the genes of both her parents. Her dad, George, had been a successful stockbroker at Merrill Lynch for many decades until he suffered a sudden and fatal heart attack.

Margot had also spent her post college years in the financial world. She started as a bank teller for Citibank in Hastings, New York. After several decades rising up the ladder, she became a wealth management advisor, earning more $150.000 a year.

It barely compensated for life alone in Dobbs Ferry, New York. However, there were some bright spots in her early spring days.

On this particular weekend, she played many of the LP’s that had been shelved since Christmas. She particularly enjoyed I can see clearly Now, by Johnny Nash, April Come She Will, by Simon & Garfunkel, and Here Comes the Sun, by the Beatles. Consequently, she ordered some hydrangeas, summer lilies and packs of pansies…which she happily planted on Sunday. She also bought several orchids bouquets, which she placed on the dining room table and on the living room cocktail table.

The entire experience brightened her weekend. By Sunday night, she was smiling, and even looking forward to her Monday morning at Citibank. She brought one of the orchid bouquets to her office desk, and began serving the needs of many clients, most of whom had pre-ordained meeting times.

Her typical customers had financial needs—either emergency-oriented or forward-looking. The emergency-oriented could vary from anything such as funerals to divorces. Not so fun. She preferred the forward-looking, wealth management assistance. Here, she could help her customers look for the next house of their dreams, the ideal car, or a grand vacation. Given her decades- long ability to the Beatles.

Her joy didn’t come solely from music. She took much pleasure in planting tulip bulbs and early orchids in several of her backyard gardens. She also inevitably would visit her favorite greenhouse in Ardsley, New York.

As a regular, she knew most of the staff and vice-versa. Frank Meyer, the owner of the place, greeted her by her first name. Margot, nice to see you on this bright Saturday afternoon. Are you looking for something that can spread cheer throughout the inside of the house…and get a head-start on your out- door gardens?

Maybe both," Margot answered.

Juggle numbers, she could often make her clients’ dreams come true. Not surprisingly, it was her favorite part of the job.

However, it was not a breeze. It took the ability to truly assess her client’s needs….and assess the dollars and cents that were accessible (or borrowable). It required financial acuity. Often, would take several days to respond with a positive answer. Very occasionally, she would need to tell her clients that their request was denied by the higher authorities.

Inevitably, there would be a few surprises in the day. Perhaps a teller would refer a customer who needed immediate financial assistance. Occasionally, she could figure out a way, but occasionally, she would be overruled by the NYC office.

Hopefully, such dashed hopes would not be the last meeting of the day. When it was, she would head home, listen to some spring songs like It Might As Well Be Spring, by Frank Sinatra and smell the orchids on the table. Instinctively, she would begin smiling again.

Chapter 2

A Fresh Start

The next day at the bank, Margot had a 9:15 appointment with a fifteen-year Citibank client named Cliff Sanders. Not knowing him well, she asked her secretary to pull out his file and quickly reviewed it before he walked into her office.

Ms. Roberts…. Cliff Sanders, he said when he walked to her desk and introduced himself with a hearty handshake.

Mr. Sanders, nice to meet you, she said. Call me Cliff, he responded.

How can I help you? she asked.

A fresh start, he responded, as if he had rehearsed the line. I’ve been a client of Citibank for perhaps twenty years. Thanks to you, and the bank’s help, I have succeeded in running a successful Toyota dealership in Yonkers, New York. Fortunately, Toyota has been a good selling car. But relax, I am not trying to sell you a Toyota Carolla or a Rav 4 today.

Good, Margot responded. I don’t need a new car right now.

That’s great, he retorted, But I could use a new start right about now. Such as? she asked.

I am thinking about selling my successful dealership, and restarting my mid-life.

Wow, she innocently said. Impressive…. I guess. What…and why? "Here’s the why: I have the most successful dealership in Westchester County. What more do I want? The most successful dealership in all of New York?

Look at my file, you’ll see."

I did take a quick look at it, Margot answered. It looks as if you have a gangbuster business.

Exactly, he agreed.

And… she probed.

I am 55. I still have my health. I have a happy marriage.

Congratulations, Margot smiled.

And I still have two kids who live in the area.

You’re lucky, she said. So why give it up?

With a smile, Cliff reached in his attaché, and pulled out several sheets of paper. They contained some sketches of sunsets, pastels of NYC bridges, and some portraits of young people (presumably his kids).

Beautiful, she smiled.

That’s what my high school and college teachers thought…but I decided to postpone that until I had enough money in the bank. I’ve had several art shows, and they are well-received. I think it’s time for me to be a full-time artist, Cliff answered.

What does your wife think?

She loves my paintings, and wants to see me happy as I get older.

Margot took a deep breath, and then looked again at his financial file… partly to stall for time. Yes, if he got a good price for his Toyota dealership, he would have plenty of money to retire for life. And if he sold a few paintings, he might actually enjoy the upcoming decades of his life.

You’re a lucky, talented guy, Margot encouraged him.

So you think with my equity at Citibank, I can make this transition? he asked.

I can almost guarantee it, she answered. Hopefully, you will get close to your asking price…and if you do, you will have a monthly income about equal to what you now have.

And if I sell a few pieces of art each month, I may be able to buy my kids an ice cream cone, he chuckled.

You may be able to buy them more than that she smiled, and told him that she would most likely have an answer for him tomorrow about a monthly payout of his Citibank savings.

Thanks to her encouragement to the Citibank headquarters, the deal went through.

Margot quietly envied him, and even hoped she might one day buy one of his paintings.

The rest of her day at Citi was consumed with arranging loans for young families looking to buy their first house. She also helped a mother set up an account for her teenage son who would need access to cash during his freshman year in college. On the sad side, she did help a couple gain enough cash from their savings so they could pay for their grandmother’s funeral and burial.

It was a typical day for Margot. She felt she had by and large helped customers going through a crossroads in their lives. However, her assistance to Cliff the artist somehow made a special impression on her. The whole idea of regenerating one’s life stuck in her brain for the next several hours. Truth be told, it resonated for several days…even months.

Chapter 3

Just Like Starting Over

That evening, Margot decided to parlay her inspirational day at Citibank with some action. For starters, she watered all the orchids and lilies in her house. The fresh smell alone made her feel refreshed. She even took a quick walk in her backyard gardens to see a few shoots that were poking their sprouts above the ground.

Looking at the sky, she saw a few patches of blue through the white clouds.

It was enough to bring on a smile.

Once inside the house, she decided to continue this rejuvenation with music.

She looked through her stack of LP’s and found one title that could match her upward hopes. It was the John Lennon song, Just Like Starting Over. To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t completely familiar with the song, but imagined that it must deal with her headset of rebirth.

Sitting in her easy chair, she began to listen to the tune and the lyrics:

Our life together is so precious together

We have grown. We have grown.

But when I see you darling

It’s like we both are falling in love again. It’ll be just like starting over.

Starting over.

Everyday we used to make it love

Why can’t we be making love nice and easy

It’s time to spread our wings and fly

Don’t let another day go by my love It’ll be just like starting over.

Starting over.

It was obviously the wrong sentiment for Margot’s mood. Instead of addressing a brand new start, it emotionally conjured the good old days with her late husband George. Margot got up from her easy chair and turned off the record player. She also grabbed a nearby hankie and wiped away her tears.

Not surprisingly, a kaleidoscope of lost memories flooded into her heart. It was not a path to rebirth.

As she reluctantly reminded herself, her dear George was gone. He was not coming back. It was counterproductive to dwell on days that were lost forever.

In the silence of her house, she poured herself a cup of tea and tried to change the subject. Enough music. She turned on the TV, and listened to the latest sad headlines of the day. Damn, there was no escape anywhere. With her remote, she turned off the latest stories of mass killings and political chaos.

Margot then warmed up a pasta dish from the night before and ate alone at the dining room table. She also poured herself another glass of wine and dined in silence.

After