Chapter 8: Thursday

“Scripts are our best friend.” Wendy declared with the vocal intonation of a nursery school teacher. It was Thursday morning. She had just wrapped up another lecture about consorting with enemy agents.

After a restless night, I arrived at the office a bit early. Wendy showed up soon afterwards and caught me chatting with Roy and Nancy Somebody-or-Other. They were an older couple who happened to be million dollar producers with lots of credentials after their names. They were Metro Realty Pros’s top agents. I had found them sitting in front of one of the computers surfing the Multiple Listing Service—the database showing real estate agents every piece of property available for sale—something I was chomping at the bit to do, but hadn’t the foggiest how to start. So, I asked them for a quick tutorial and they graciously obliged.

They had asked about me and how I got into real estate (I vaguely said change of career). As soon as I finished answering, they started giving me their impressive credentials, in a way that wasn’t exactly bragging. They were just making conversation. In the brief ten minutes we visited, I had a hard time seeing them as the cut-throat types Wendy swore infested the real estate pool. Instead, they struck me as the type who held hands everywhere they went and wore matching Mickey Mouse shirts when they vacationed at Disney World.

The pursed lips and slanted eyes on Wendy’s face when she saw me laughing with them had been murderous. Even Roy and Nancy had excused themselves, with polite, “nice to meet yous” and went back to studying the computer.

Now, I was sitting across from Wendy, my Metro Realty Professionals notebook open ready for today’s topic.

“Scripts?” I asked stupidly.

She eyed me. “I take it in addition to not writing your thank you notes to your new teammates,” she started, (“How are they supposed to remember you if you don’t thank them?” She had asked with all seriousness, as her star-and-only pupil hadn’t done her homework. How indeed?) “You didn’t watch Don Kublensy’s video last night? It is one of his best.”

I didn’t answer, feeling ashamed for my lack of enthusiasm. Nor did I wish to explain how my second job—the paying one—took precedence over Don Kublensy’s gesticulating clichés. So I let it go and let her comment hang.

She blinked first. “A script gives you the right words to use for any occasion. If you don’t learn to how to use the right words at the right time, how will you know how to sell real estate?” She stopped, allowing me to absorb the enormity of her announcement. “Words matter, Tina. If you do not know what to say, you will always be tentative about prospecting, making listing presentations and helping solve buyer and seller concerns. You need to know what and how to tell them if and when there is a problem, what to say to convince them you are their expert and how to persuade them to trust you. You are their real estate expert for life.”

“Yea, I’ve been meaning to ask. About that ‘expert for life’ thing—”

Wendy cut me off. “Tina, everyone is frightened about scripts at first. But, they are what give you power. In essence they do the talking for you.” She took a breath and looked in my eyes as if she were about to share an intimate secret, “They are the right words. Always.”

I considered this for a moment. “So, scripts are like a sales pitch.”

Wendy recoiled. “Tina! Of course not. Scripts are meant to put you at ease. This way you are able to give your potential clients one-hundred percent of your attention without having to resort to saying things like, ‘I’m not sure’ and ‘I will get back to you.’ Scripts give you these answers.”

I bit my tongue to avoid pointing out sometimes, “I will get back to you,” seemed like the perfect thing to say when someone didn’t really know the answer.

Instead, I went with the mild, “Do you use scripts?”

Wendy flashed a smile, obviously thrilled I was finally seeing this her way. “I always use them. It is what has gotten me my success.” I nodded, relieved to have reinforcement these things worked.

When I unlocked the apartment in the afternoon, pausing long enough to make sure there weren’t any tell-tale signs of suspicious activity. I locked the door behind me, changed into jeans and threw my hair in a pony tail.

I opened the door from my studio to the main house as quietly as I could. It didn’t matter, the twins heard and were clutched on my legs before I had completely walked through the threshold.

“Hi Tina!” the one on my left leg called.

“Hey Big B. How are you today?” I gave a quick ruffle to their mops. “I have something for you when your mom says it is ok,” I said, holding up cookies I had swiped from the office break room.

Laura peered from the living room. “How’s it going?” She asked. Her demeanor was the usual pleasant-border-line-no-nonsense one, but I was taken aback by her appearance. I had never seen her look out of place. Laura looked worn and tired. I figured Frieda brought the kids over early and Laura hadn’t gotten enough sleep. I made the split-second decision to waive the other night’s mystery-man conversation to a later time. “How was orientation today?” she asked.

“Not too bad. I have homework though.” I said, handing her a cookie. “I feel like I am in tenth grade again.”

A bemused look spread from ear to ear. “Homework huh? I bet you didn’t think it would so tough. So, what are you supposed to do?”

“I am to rehearse my expired script.” She raised an eyebrow. I continued. “It seems, scripts are the answer to all of life’s conundrums,” I said.

She nodded knowingly, amusement in her eyes. “Conundrums, huh?”

“Yes, if I use a ready-made script, I can be able to tackle any situation that comes along.” I explained what Wendy had told me. With a script, I can ask a potential client to list their home in such a way they cannot refuse. I can get a buyer to buy without objection. It was the beauty of scripts, Wendy said.

“Try me.” Laura said, a mischievous smile spread across her face.

I put my hand up to my cheek, with my thumb towards my ear and my pinkie closer to my mouth as a pretend phone. “Ring, ring.”

Laura did a similar movement. “Hello?” she answered.

“Hi Ms. Jamison. This is Tina Cavanaugh with Metro Realty Professionals Real Estate Service.”

Laura looked up and scrunched up her lips. “That is a long name for any company. Can’t you shorten it?”

I pretended to look pissed off. “Just work with me here.”

I put my hand-phone back in place. “Hi Ms. Jamison. This is Tina Cavanaugh with Metro Realty Professionals Real Estate Service,” I repeated. “I noticed your listing at 122 Main Street expired recently. I was wondering if I could ask you about why it expired.”

Her hand-receiver dropped again. “Nobody lives at 123 Main Street,” She said knowingly.

“1-2-2 Main Street. Do you want to know how these scripts work or not?”

“All right. Ask me again.”

“I noticed your listing at 122 Main Street expired recently. I was wondering if I could ask you about why it expired.”

“Um sure. The agent I had before didn’t do anything to sell it. He never kept in touch. He didn’t market it and he never followed up.” I was impressed. Laura knew the right answers.

“Certainly an unresponsive agent can be a trying experience, Ms. Jamison. Let me ask you, do you plan on relisting it?”

“I hadn’t decided.”

“If I can show you ways to relist your property with great success, and, if I can show you this in a way to attract buyers, would you be interested in hearing about something like this?” I nodded in Laura’s direction, suggesting she should say yes.

“Well,” she started, “I was thinking of just trying to sell it myself.” Laura stuck out her tongue and gave me a finger wave.

I quickly recovered. “Actually, it is a noble move, Ms. Jamison. May I ask you, what advantage do you think this might gain you?”

“I think I can make more money that way.” Laura said.

“If I could show you ways to net you more money and help you sell your home quickly—without a lot of effort on your part, would it be of interest to you?”

Laura looked up, giving me a nod of approval. “Sure. How?”

“I have a proven method that will work for you. Even if you decide to sell it yourself, this method might be of value. I would be happy to discuss this with you in greater detail, Ms. Jamison. Would Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday evening next week work for you?” I said with a grin.

“Wow.” Laura said, releasing her hand-telephone. “I like how you nailed down the appointment,” she said with an air of awe. By the way, what is your “proven method?”

I flopped back on the couch and blew out a breath, “I don’t know yet. We haven’t covered my proven method in orientation.”

The knock at the door made me jump. Matt peered through the window. I got up, opened it and sank back onto the couch. “Anyone feel like a pizza?” Matt asked, placing the six pack he was carrying on the counter and scooting into the barstool next to me. He handed a bottle to me and took one for himself.

“Not for me thanks. I am working tonight.” Laura said, holding up a bottle of water. She looked at me, apologetically. “I forgot to tell you. Do you have plans?”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. My social life is non-existent.”

Laura looked at Matt. “We should change that.” I blushed. Matt took a swig, ignoring her.

With the pizza and Laura gone, Matt and I were in the back yard, sitting on Laura’s big metal swing, watching the boys play. “So,” Matt asked. “Why does Laura think you need a social life?”

I blew out a breath, “Beats me.”

“Let me guess.” He said, “Some bad breakup and you are off the market.”

I laughed, “more or less.” I told him the short version of the Preston Wallace tale. Frankly, Preston and Shades Crest seemed like a lifetime ago. I wrapped it up, “That’s how I got here. And you?” I asked.

Matt sighed and sat back on the swing, looking out at the boys. “I got married while in the Marines.” He started.

“Marines? Wow.” I was impressed.

“Yea. I loved it. I would still be in it today if it hadn’t been for… well, my life took a turn. You know those vows, sickness and in health?” I nodded. “I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease three years ago. Marlene couldn’t handle it and left. It also ended my career in the military.” He looked at me. “I am in remission now.”

“Great.” I said and I meant it.

He looked straight ahead. “I am also in remission from relationships too.” He said with an apologetic chuckle. “The divorce was a big blow.”

“I can relate. About the remission from relationships, I mean,” I said.

Being with Matt was nice. I had forgotten how much I truly enjoyed the actual companionship of a man. Not just the physical part, but just hanging out. Not that Preston provided me with any mental stimulation (for that matter, any decent physical stimulation). But, knowing Matt was in no position to give anything made it much simpler.