Chapter 14: Wednesday

My shift at Price Bargains seemed about four hours longer than normal. Amy stopped by about ten minutes after my shift started. I just finished passing out energy drinks to my regulars—a group of power-walking seniors who came by daily to get in their exercise and mooch breakfast at the same time. “Energy drink,” of course, loosely translates from marketing lingo to highly caffeinated soda pop, probably causing some of them to up their heart meds.

Amy started to reach for a quarter-filled Dixie cup. “Tina” she whined in her most obnoxious, nasally way, “I just knew you would be here in your other job. Real estate is hard for you, isn’t it? But I hope Mr. Daniels called you. He said he would.”

I told her yes, thank you, Mr. Daniels had talked and it looked like I had a listing.

She raised her eyebrows. “Really? Already?” I nodded, making a mental note to analyze her obvious surprise later. “So,” she said, “You are going to get me in to see Jet then right?”

I was afraid of this. “I already talked to him.” I said, which was true. He just wasn’t interested. But, the anxious look on Amy’s face made me feel a smidgen (and only a smidgen) sorry for her. She was truly intent on meeting Jet. And, I got the impression she held him in higher esteem than the Jimmy Choo leather and suede slingbacks she had on (and one thing I knew about Amy was she was a slave to her shoes). She gave me a pitiful look, so I threw her a bone. “He said he would get back to me.” Which was also somewhat, sort of, kinda true.

“Oh Tina! Thank you,” she gushed, coming behind my demo cart and giving me a full-body hug, sucking the life out of me. “You will let me know? Or should I call him?”

I took a breath, quickly rationalizing. Fibbing to Amy wasn’t the same as actually telling an outright lie. “He or I will call you. He is busy this week.”

At my break, I called Laura on her cell with no results. Laura worked hard to keep the Hacienda after Charlie was busted. She never complained—ever—about anything. She worked diligently, making the best life she could for her boys. Her mother and step-father, thank God, have been beyond supportive.

She didn’t know she was pregnant when Charlie was arrested. And, according to Laura, he just dealt, he didn’t use—which I thought at the time she told me this was pretty bizarre for Laura. She’s so down to earth. Being in denial just doesn’t seem to come naturally for her. Anyway, Charlie had been sitting at the Sweet Shop, enjoying their prize-winning Buffalo chicken wings (and most likely a lap dance), when he was set up by a Phoenix narc. He pled guilty and got five years. Laura divorced him, emphatically telling me the divorce had been a long time coming. If it had been me, a long time or not, I would have dumped his ass for just hanging out at the Sweet Shop.

I zipped over to Metro Realty Pros immediately after my interminable shift, leaving another message for Laura, wishing her a fun trip, before walking in the door.

“Hey” Val said to me in the friendliest tone she could muster.

Surprised, I responded, “Hi Val. Is Wendy in?” Val, who was wiped out from all of this chumminess, nodded and pointed down the hall. Before stepping into Wendy’s office, I strolled into the bullpen to say hi to Roy, Nancy and Dee.

Dee was on the phone when I got back there, and Roy and Nancy were busy telling about their weekend trip to San Diego to Sebastian, another agent who graciously had given me his extensive credentials. I began to suspect it was part of the rules of real estate sales. “Hi I am Mary Smith, Accredited Residential Expert, Qualified Buyer Ambassador and million dollar producer.”

All of my new colleagues occupied, I scribbled a quick note to Dee about my Friday meeting and left it on her desk before strolling into Wendy’s office. Wendy glanced up immediately with a questioning look on her face. I tried to contain my excitement. “I have an appointment Friday to list a home.”

She didn’t hide her astonishment. “Congratulations.” She said with more cool than I thought she had in her. “Are you prepared?”

“No, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Wendy motioned me to sit in the empty chair. The seat cushion looked like it still had an imprint of my butt from last week’s training. I began telling her about my cold calling, but opted not to explain where I got my list of potential names.

Wendy didn’t care anyway. “So, do you have a listing presentation?” she asked.

I shook my head. I intended to ask her if there was one Metro Realty Professionals had. “Well, I was wondering…”

She cut me off, not masking the discouraging sigh as anything but. “Tina. You will need your own listing presentation. Listing presentations are as unique as you” She put up a palm, stopping me from asking the obvious. “To produce your listing presentation (she said “listing presentation” in a way to evoke maximum awe), you will need a laptop computer. You own one of those don’t you? Also, you will need a yard sign, lock box and listing forms—which will be kept on your laptop. You can print them out at you’re appointment on Friday. It will evoke confidence for your client.”

“About that—” and before I could explain, no, I did not own any computer, much less a laptop, and surely agents before me had gotten along swimmingly without them for decades past, nor was there a legal or practical means to get one in the next two days, nor did I have the foggiest idea where to get the aforementioned yard sign and lock box. I silently swore at Wendy. Why did she wait until now to mention this?

Our conversation was interrupted by my ringing cell phone. And, so did Wendy’s. Wendy made a gesture for me to answer mine as she picked up hers.

“It’s Dee. Just go along with anything Wendy says and get over to Selma’s as fast as you can.” She clicked off.

Wendy’s call lasted about ten seconds longer, with her assuring the caller she would take care of whatever crisis had emerged.

“Excuse me.” Wendy said with as much authority as she could command, replacing the receiver. “There is an urgent matter I need to take care of. Why don’t you come by tomorrow afternoon,” Wendy said. I agreed, and high-tailed it out of the office.

When I got to Selma’s, Dee, Sebastian, Roy and Nancy were sitting at the corner booth in the back. Roy had his laptop out and the other three were converged around his computer looking at something. “Hey guys.” I said, tentatively.

Nancy jumped out of the booth, pecked my cheek and hugged me, with Dee at her heels. “Great job!” Nancy said.

I looked dumbfounded, which caused Roy to chuckle. He answered my look. “That would be great job on your listing appointment. We overheard you mention it to Wendy.”

Dee moved over to make room for me. The same waitress from two days earlier put a glass of water in front of me. “We had Val call Wendy and tell her the copier is jammed.” I raised an eyebrow. “Well, it was jammed,” she looked around for reassurance from the group.

“Especially after you put a bunch of double stick tape on a piece of paper and ran it through.” Sebastian muttered approvingly.

 “Anyway,” Dee continued, pleased with herself. “You have a listing presentation and probably need to know what to do.” She rubbed her hands together and nodded to Roy. Let’s get started. What’s the address?”

For the next two hours, Dee, Roy, Nancy and Sebastian tediously coached me. They started by Roy pulling up the tax records for Lillian Field’s property, which she and Mr. Fields had bought in 1975. They ran market comparable properties for everything on the market currently in the area. Sebastian, who excused himself to the adjacent booth, took the list of properties in the area for sale (Roy had printed them out for me) and started calling the owners setting up appointments for me to review the competition tomorrow morning.

At this point, Nancy and Dee slapped down the appropriate listing forms required by the powers that be. They laboriously reviewed them with me, highlighting everything I learned in real estate school a month earlier. I should mention, when I say “highlight” Nancy used four different markers, color-coding different clauses and giving me tips on how to present these forms without causing Mrs. Fields a one-way ticket to visit Mr. Fields.

Sebastian returned to the booth after a bit, “We start at 11:30 tomorrow morning.” He looked at me and added sheepishly, “I hope you don’t mind so early.” I shook my head, in awe. It would never occur to me to review the competition.

Nancy took all the forms I needed, plus the tax records, plus the comparable properties, plus the market comparables (they had decided we would discuss price after I reviewed the competition) and put them in a manila folder. “I bet Wendy fed you a silly line about needing a laptop computer.” She said with a smile.

I explained my brief meeting with Wendy and Dee broke out in a fit of giggles. “You know why she won’t work with you don’t you?” I looked at her, curious. She chuckled again and inched a little closer. “Because, you got Jet Tyson on your team.”

This drew a more astonished look as well as another cluck from Dee. “She is jealous. Do you know what an honor it is to get Jet Tyson to agree to do a loan for you?” Apparently, I didn’t, because the four of them were looking at me with unabashed admiration.

“Um, a couple of questions about that…”

“Wendy told us yesterday you were working with him. She was saying you were going to be the top agent because you had assembled the ‘finest team’—her words—but she kept on about how she was so impressed at your progress. She said you had had top people working for you.”

Sebastian cut her off, “Translation? She was hopping mad and wasn’t about to have you work with him when she has been begging him for years to do her loans.” I quickly drew a parallel between Wendy and Amy. Definitely, I decided, Wendy’s aura was just as screwy as Amy’s.

“I heard Wendy even offered him whatever it would take just to make sure her loan went through—if you know what I mean.” Dee said, whispering that last part. “And, he still refused.” It surprised me. After all, “Wendy” might constitute as a nature name?

“Um… Have any of you actually done any loans with Jet?” They all shook their heads. I took it as a lead in to my next inquiry. “Um, so, have any of you ever met him?” Negative. I did an internal sigh.

“What’s he like?” This came from sensible Roy of all people! The four of them leaned in, anxiously looking at me, expecting me to give a detailed explanation of a high-society celebrity and suave man, not the beach-bum volleyball playing horn-dog I met (who had some innovative ideas about finding prospective real estate clients).

I proceeded cautiously, not wanting to spoil the image Jet had worked so hard to portray. “He’s pretty down to earth.” Sebastian did a disbelieving laugh. “Really, he is! He plays professional volleyball and does the loan thing more as a hobby from what I can tell. He even is the reason for this listing appointment on Friday—which by the way, I can’t thank you all enough for helping me with.”

I took a sip of the iced tea, which had miraculously appeared at the table for me some time earlier, before telling them about how he was the one who suggested I call obituaries. I neglected to tell them I truly suspected Jet had pulled the obituary idea out of his ass during our phone call Monday as way to detract from the Amy conversation.

Roy let out a belly laugh, with his precision-cut white hair moving precisely with his head.

“Genius!” Nancy exclaimed, clapping her hands together.