by Laura Wolfe
“It’s Bistro Maria.”
“Oh, yeah. I heard about their rat problem. Too bad.” He shook his head. “I know the owners. Best pasta arrabiata in the city.”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard.” My stomach rumbled at the thought of eating a real meal.
“Well, good luck. Remember, never leave without a signature.” He gave my arm a playful punch before dropping his eyes to my chest one more time and strutting back to his desk.
I turned toward the windows where Jacqueline glared at me from across the room. I swallowed against my parched throat, weaving in between the groups of realtors to make my way toward her.
Jacqueline dropped into her chair as I neared. “I see you met Kevin. Stay away from him. He’s the kind of realtor that rifles through his clients’ medicine cabinets to steal prescription drugs. The definition of a slime-ball.”
“Yeah. I picked up on that.”
I opened my desk drawers and cleared out some old papers left behind by Jacqueline’s previous assistant. A business card with Peter Zinsky’s name balanced in my hand. I wondered why the mild-mannered man had sent me that text. It was inappropriate, at the least. He and Jacqueline must have parted on bad terms. Someone with his experience could easily move to a larger company. My palm angled toward the floor, letting the card drop into the trash can. It was probably best not to mention him to Jacqueline, especially on my first day.
Color-coded stacks of folders lined the far side of Jacqueline’s desk, the piles uniform and neat. Near the back sat a framed photo of her and an olive-skinned man with wispy black hair smiling on the beach.
I motioned toward the photo. “Who’s that?”
Jacqueline looked up from her phone, her eyes darting toward the frame. “Oh. That’s my boyfriend, Jeffery.”
Scratching an imaginary itch on my arm, I remembered how Jacqueline had questioned my relationship status during the interview. I assumed she’d been single.
“He’s in Africa for two years. The Peace Corps.” She went back to scrolling through her phone messages. “He claims it’s his life’s calling.”
A long-distance relationship made sense, given Jacqueline’s demanding schedule. “Do you get to see him often?”
Jacqueline pinched her lips together. “No.”
I shifted my gaze, deciding to change the subject. “What should I do to get ready for the listing appointment?”
“You’re going to help me pull up comparable properties and put together the presentation folder.” Her eyes traveled over me, stopping at my feet. “Those shoes aren’t going to work. Take the afternoon off and buy a pair or two. Don’t come back until you have some that fit you. Image is everything in this business.”
My cheeks burned as I pushed my feet further under my desk. She’d noticed my too-big shoes. That was probably why the Real Housewives had been giggling at me. I wasn’t even an hour into my first day, and I’d already screwed up. This was all Astro’s fault.
“Meet me here at 9 a.m. tomorrow so we can go over some of my other properties before the meeting.”
“Okay.” I nodded, my head heavy.
“And, Mara, one more thing.”
I trained my eyes on hers, letting her know I was eager to learn, that I wouldn’t mess up again.
“Don’t mention our appointment at Bistro Maria to anyone.”
4
I’d made the forty-five-minute drive to my parents’ house in the northwest Chicago suburb of Hoffman Estates to see my sister, Emma, on her eighteenth birthday and share the details of my first day on the job. I pulled the kitchen chair toward my usual spot at the dining room table, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. The must of worn carpeting and dusty furniture was cut through with savory whiffs of roasting meat. Emma sat next to me. The red scarf tied around her head was a startling replacement for the auburn curls that used to fall to her shoulders.
As my weight sunk into the familiar seat, my thoughts traveled over my first day at Greystone. Despite a few rough spots, I’d survived, thankful that Jacqueline hadn’t given me any real work yet. I wouldn’t tell my parents, but I’d spent the afternoon browsing for shoes at DSW, Jacqueline’s words still stinging me. Image is everything in this business.
My eyes refused to connect with the checkout woman as I handed her my credit card to pay for the new pair of shoes. Even with Grace paying me $1200 a month, my savings account would only cover one more month of my mortgage. My parents couldn’t help either. Not that I’d ask. The silence on the phone when I’d told them I’d lost my consulting job had spoken loud enough. Emma’s expenses had stretched them to their limit, and I wouldn’t be an added burden. I couldn’t wear Grace’s enormous shoes to listing appointments and showings, though. I’d look like an amateur. From now on, I’d store my shoes on the upper shelf of my closet, far away from Astro.
I scooted my chair closer to the table and smiled at Emma, who rested her chin in her hands and grinned back. Mom had gone all-out with her decorations again. A candy owl hung on the wall, and a dozen candles lined the middle of the table amid glitter and confetti. The homemade centerpiece flickered in the glow of the flames, the number “18” sculpted out of marshmallows and dotted with jellybeans.
Mom saw me staring and smiled. “I got the idea from Pinterest.”
Emma was six years younger than me, but we shared a closeness only two people raised by the same quirky parents in the same overstuffed 1970’s suburban split-level home could share. Like most little sisters, she’d annoyed me with her constant awareness of my location, my friends, and my activities. She’d only wanted me to include her, but I hadn’t always been there. I’d been too consumed with my happiness to consider hers.
Now, Emma had Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma. Instead of enjoying her senior year of high school, she was undergoing endless diagnostic tests and chemotherapy. She was being poked and prodded by out-of-network doctors whose services were only fractionally covered by Dad’s subpar health insurance policy. I lay awake at night plagued by guilt, wondering why Emma, the good one, the sweet, kind, athletic, straight-A student, was the one afflicted with cancer, while I, the screw-up, had skated by without a mark.
The four of us sat at the cluttered table, doing our best to pretend that everything was normal.
“How are you feeling, Em?” I asked. “Can you eat?”
“Kind of.” She pressed her lips together and pushed the mashed potatoes around on her plate. “I’m taking medication for nausea, but I don’t think it’s working.”
It had only been a month since I’d seen my sister, but I was caught off guard by the effects of the chemo. In addition to the hair loss, her tanned skin had faded to the sickly shade of sour milk. She’d lost weight before the diagnosis, but now she was even thinner, the sharp edges of her bones visible beneath her clothes. It was her eyes, though, that hurt me the most. The colorful glints of happiness were gone like someone had switched off the lights.
“Eat what you can, honey,” Mom said. “Then you can go rest.”
Emma nodded and turned a green bean over on her plate with the end of her fork.
“I’ll watch a movie with you before I drive back to the city,” I said.
“Oh, thanks.” Emma looked down at her plate and then back at me. “I’m just…so tired. Sorry.” Her gaunt face wavered in the candlelight.
I shifted in my seat, feeling useless. “It’s okay. Mom’s right. You should rest.” Not wanting Emma to detect my fear, I focused my eyes on the marshmallow sculpture.
“How was your first day in the world of real estate?” Dad asked between bites of his pork chop.
“Great. I already have a listing appointment scheduled for tomorrow with Jacqueline. Remember the story I told you about the rats?”
“That was insane.” Emma grinned. “What are the odds?” She reached for a glass of water. Blue veins bulged under her translucent skin.
“Yeah. I know. Anyway, Jacqueline says that a problem for someone else is an oppor
tunity for us. She’s going to convince the owners of Bistro Maria to sell the restaurant and find a new location. If they agree, they’ll use her as their realtor, and I get twenty percent of everything.” My voice had taken on a crazed tone. I’d never felt this much excitement while working at my mindless consulting job. Averly Consulting had been like a vise squeezing the soul out of my body. I didn’t know which had been more depressing, my crappy paycheck, or working alongside a boatload of other desperate college grads who’d given up on their dreams.
“Well, I hope it works out for the long-term.” Dad spit a piece of gristle into his hand. “You need to apply yourself more. Especially with that condo you went out and bought.”
I lowered my fork and stared at my plate. Dad had warned me against buying the condo and made sure to bring it up every chance he got. My new career in real estate was different, though. It was finally something I cared about.
“Who knows where I’d be if I’d stayed with one company all these years.” Dad’s face drooped as if comprehending a lifetime of poorly planned lateral career moves. He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “And make sure you get good insurance coverage.”
Mom widened her eyes and glanced at Emma. “I thought we weren’t talking about that tonight. We’re all together for Emma’s birthday. That’s what’s important.”
Emma peered at me. “Thanks for driving over.”
“Of course.” I fidgeted with my silverware, avoiding her empty eyes.
Dad cleared his throat. “Real estate’s a risky business, Mara. You’ve got to be careful. Did you hear about that developer who shot himself in the head last month? He went from being a multi-millionaire to having nothing in the blink of an eye. Dad shook his head. “Pass the potatoes, please.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Dad, everyone knows that guy was super shady. He was connected to the mob or something. Besides, I’m not investing in anything.”
Dad continued devouring his food. “At least you’re learning from Jacqueline Hendersen and not jumping in headfirst like some idiot. Tom can’t say enough good things about her. He was in a bad spot after his divorce.”
“She’s really good at what she does.” I thought back to the day Jacqueline had shown me my condo. She’d impressed me with her knowledge, living up to her reputation as one of the city’s top realtors. While the other sellers’ agents had shown up late, fumbled for keys, stared blankly into space when asked about potential special assessments, Jacqueline had operated with confidence and efficiency. Information flowed from her lips in an effortless stream. She knew the history of the building, the background of the builder, the tax increases from the last three years, the ratings of the schools, the nearest grocery store, and the shortest route to the entrance ramp of I-94. I wanted to be as good as selling real estate as she was.
Dad stopped chewing, zeroing in on me. “Don’t go quitting as soon as something doesn’t go your way. We can’t afford to make your condo payments.”
It was clear that Dad and Nate held the same opinion of my work ethic. I straightened myself in my chair, hardening my voice. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
Emma snorted. “Yeah, right.”
Mom giggled, and Dad’s frown morphed into a smile. I relaxed the grip on my fork and chuckled along with them. But as I reached for another roll, I couldn’t bear to look at the untouched food on Emma’s plate.
5
Jacqueline zoomed her gleaming, black Mercedes sedan into an open spot in front of Bistro Maria. It was as if the space had been created just for her, as if she was a member of some secret city parking VIP list. The focused expression carved onto her face never faltered. She wasn’t surprised by her luck. She expected it to be there.
“Always show up a few minutes early for appointments. It shows you’re prepared.” She held up her phone, tapping on the parking app to pay for the metered space.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I fought to contain the nervous energy surging through my veins. Jacqueline said I was only playing the role of a spectator today. My purpose was to watch and learn. Still, my knees bounced, and I caught myself chewing my thumbnail. My stomach growled, and I wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or because I’d only had time to eat a granola bar for lunch.
“Let’s do this.” Jacqueline waved me toward her.
I bounded after her, my new shoes hugging the sides of my feet.
The Sabatinos burst through the swinging kitchen doors and welcomed us with hugs and kisses as if we were long-lost relatives. Jacqueline introduced me as her assistant. The couple smiled, nodded their heads, and insisted we call them Anthony and Camilla. Camilla ushered us to a private table in the back corner of the restaurant. The luscious aroma of tomatoes, onions, and garlic wafted through the air. Diners occupied a couple of tables near the front windows, but most of the restaurant was empty. The news about the rats had taken its toll.
“Would you like some food?” Camilla asked as we pulled our chairs toward the table.
“No, thank you,” Jacqueline said. “We’re only here to discuss real estate today.” She sat tall in her chair with hands folded in front of her.
“Our business is no good. You know, since the rats.” Anthony looked at his hands and shook his head. “The city inspectors are coming tomorrow. They might force us to shut down for two weeks.”
Jacqueline reached out and placed her hand on Camilla’s arm. “I’m sorry to hear that. You need a new location to put this all behind you. We’re here to help.”
She slid a Greystone Realty brochure across the table to them. The quality was impressive, printed on thick blue card stock, and personalized for their location. She began to go over the contents with them, page by page.
“As you know, our office is only a couple of blocks away. We specialize in Old Town. I have several buyers on call who are always interested in anything for sale in this general area.”
I smiled, pretending like I had buyers on call, too. I needed to stick with Jacqueline until I could build my portfolio. Her cell phone buzzed, and she reached down to silence it before continuing.
“This is a great time to sell. The market has rebounded, and prices have appreciated dramatically over the past two years.”
Anthony and Camilla studied the first page.
“On the next page, you’ll see a list of properties in this neighborhood that I’ve sold in the last five years.”
Anthony flipped the page, revealing over fifty addresses. My mouth opened at the sheer length of the list. Remembering I was supposed to act like I knew what I was doing, I cleared my throat and sat up straighter in my chair.
“Wow!” The man looked at his wife. “You sell all these?”
“Yes, sir. I know the neighborhood very well.”
I nodded along like I’d had something to do with the sales, too.
Jacqueline pointed to the corner of the brochure. “Starting on page five, you’ll see the comparable properties that have sold in the area in the past year. As you can see, these buildings are averaging between $500 and $600 per square foot.”
The couple flipped the pages, examining the addresses and photos as if reminiscing over old friends.
“Ah, yes. 1526 N. Wells. I remember when that sold. And Cafe Leone used to be in that spot. Much smaller space than ours. Very dark.”
Jacqueline inserted herself into the conversation as soon as they reached the last property on the list. “Based on these recent sales, I’d suggest we list the property in the $4,900,000 to $5,000,000 range. We can always list it higher, but overpriced properties generally take much longer to sell.”
Anthony’s eyes stretched wide, and he faced his wife. Camilla covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes crinkling in the corners.
“This is good news. Yes?” Anthony squeezed Camilla’s hands.
“The commission is five percent of the sale price.” Jacqueline stated the commission as a fact. She had no conscience.
Anthony�
�s smile sagged. He tilted his head toward the ceiling, appearing to do the calculations in his head.
“Two-and-a-half percent will go to the selling agent, and two-and-a-half percent will go to the listing agent, that’s me, Mara, and Greystone,” Jacqueline said, the confident tone of her voice leaving no room for haggling.
My stomach flipped at the mention of my name.
Jacqueline leaned closer. “All advertising costs are included in the commission.”
Camilla cleared her throat. “You said you have a perfect restaurant for us in West Loop?”
“Yes. There are many options. Either leasing or buying.” Jacqueline glanced around the empty restaurant. “At 1:00 p.m. in the West Loop, your restaurant will be packed with the business lunch crowd, and you’ll get the local young professionals on the weekends.”
She pushed a listing agreement toward them.
“My standard duration for a listing is six months to a year, but I think we can sell it much quicker than that.” She handed them a pen. “All I need is your signature at the bottom, and I can list it in the MLS and all the commercial listing services. As I mentioned, I’d like to bring over a couple of buyers before inputting the listing.”
Camilla started to pick up the pen, but her husband grabbed her hand.
“Uh, thank you, Jacqueline. Mara.” He nodded to each of us. “Thank you so much for your time. I’d like one day to have our attorney look over the contract. This is big move for us. Then we will sign it. You have my word.”
Jacqueline adjusted her position in her chair and forced a smile. “Yes, of course. There is no pressure.” She began to stand, but then lowered herself back down. “Let’s meet back here tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.? In the meantime, please call me with any questions.”
“Yes. Okay, 10:00 a.m.” They stood up from their chairs and shook our hands.
I buckled myself into the front seat of the Mercedes, amazed how Jacqueline had made everything look so easy.