Top Producer

by Laura Wolfe

  “Sometimes they won’t sign right away, especially if they have an attorney they trust to review contracts,” she said without glancing at me. “But never pressure them. People don’t like that.”

  “Yeah. No one likes a desperate salesperson.” I tapped my toe, trying not to think of how desperate I would be if I didn’t sell some real estate soon. “You specialize in Old Town?” I asked.

  “I specialize in whatever neighborhood the property is located.” She pulled out onto Wells Street. “And so do you.” She smiled, her teeth as straight and white as polished marble.

  My back sunk into the soft leather seat. “How many listings do you have right now?”

  “Twenty-four, including some multi-unit buildings. Five are under contract.” She turned right and circled back toward the office.

  “Nice!” I straightened up, ignoring the way the seatbelt cut into me. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get so many?”

  “It’s only the first few that are hard.” Jacqueline shrugged and focused on the road. “When I started at Greystone, the lawyers at the firm where I used to work sent me tons of business. Then, people saw that I was successful, and they wanted to work with me. Right now, you need to remember three things.”

  My body leaned forward. “Location, Location, Location?”

  She smirked. “No. Network, network, network. It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Tell everyone you meet that you’re a realtor. Everyone. Give them your cards. Sometimes the most unlikely people will contact you. After that, success breeds more success.”

  Jacqueline stopped her car outside the front door of Greystone Realty.

  “I’ll see you in the morning. I’m taking a buyer on a tour of the West Loop.”

  “Okay.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door.

  “I emailed you a list of things to do before tomorrow. If you have any questions about the forms, ask Maeve.”

  “Okay.”

  “Meet me here at 9:00 a.m., and we’ll go get that listing signed. If you do some work on it, I’ll pay you twenty percent like we discussed.”

  “Great. Thanks!” A burst of triumph radiated through me, adding an extra bounce to my step. I waved goodbye to Jacqueline and strode toward the front door of Greystone, calculating my first commission in my head. Two and a half percent of $5,000,000 was around $125,000. My twenty percent cut of $125,000 was $25,000. After Greystone took its fifty percent from me, I’d still have over twelve-grand in my pocket for merely attending a meeting. And Jacqueline, she’d walk away with ninety percent of the remaining $100,000. Unbelievable! I breathed out and smiled. This commission would cover my living expenses for another three months, plus I could probably help with some of Emma’s bills. I’d call my parents later and tell them the good news.

  My fingers wrapped around my phone as I fought my instinct to text Nate and tell him he’d been wrong. I’d never be a realtor with a second job. I was already successful, and he should have believed in me. Releasing the phone, I pulled open Greystone’s front door. No. I reminded myself, swallowing back the hint of acid that rose in my throat. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I was thinking about him. He wasn’t worth my time.

  6

  Jacqueline’s email popped up on my computer screen. The subject line read “To Do.” I slumped back in my chair as I scrolled down, scanning the fifty-three bullet-pointed items for me “to do” by tomorrow. There were properties to look up on the MLS, showings to schedule for her buyers, phone calls to return to agents confirming their showing requests of her listings, new listings to input into the MLS, follow-up phone calls to be made to inspectors, lenders, attorneys, and open house and ad forms to submit to Greystone’s marketing department. My shoulders tightened as I checked the time. It was already close to 3:00 p.m. I could be here all night by the time I figured out how to do all of this. I leaned forward and dug in.

  Three hours later, I’d completed everything on Jacqueline’s list, or at least taken the first steps. I submitted most of the showing requests via the MLS. For others, I left messages. Now I waited to hear back on the showing confirmations. If the agents weren’t available to show the properties, I’d have to scramble to find replacement properties to insert into Jacqueline’s schedule. Agents in the city didn’t use lockboxes. The listing agents attended all showings, which led to a lot of scheduling conflicts. After finishing my first round of phone calls, I’d asked Maeve for help submitting the new listings, having no idea what the abbreviations meant, or how to find the information on taxes and monthly assessments. The office manager pulled up a chair to my computer and skimmed over the information.

  Maeve sighed and adjusted her glasses. “This is why we normally require our new agents to go through the training course on the first day. Jacqueline likes to do things her own way, though.” She pointed to an abbreviation on the screen. “Anyway, ‘POO,’ stands for ‘percent owner-occupied.’ That one usually throws people for a loop.”

  “The POO in this building is a hundred percent,” I said, and we both laughed.

  I wouldn’t forget that abbreviation again, but words continued to pour out of Maeve’s mouth as she flipped back and forth through forms. My brain barely registered half of the instructions. After checking her watch for the third time, she stood.

  “I need to get to a networking event tonight, but that should get you started.”

  “Okay, thanks.” My feet fidgeted beneath the chair. I leaned my head back, overwhelmed by the information dump.

  “It takes a few times. You’ll get the hang of it.” Maeve looped her bag over her shoulder and hurried toward the darkening windows at the front of the office.

  I picked my way through the online MLS forms one abbreviation at a time, leaving some spaces blank and guessing which combinations of letters went in others. When I finally reached the Open House and Ad forms, I had no idea what to do. I searched my surroundings as if instructions would magically appear on the wall, but there was only one other person left in the office at 8 p.m.

  Kevin shuffled papers at his desk in the back corner, humming a song to himself. I cursed Jacqueline under my breath. Why hadn’t she given me more guidance? With no other options, I raised myself from my chair. The Berber carpeting felt more like wet cement as I approached his desk.

  “Hey, Kevin.” I held up my laptop, thankful, at least, that I’d selected a high-collared shirt today. “Would you mind helping me fill out these forms? I mean, if you’re not too busy.”

  “Sure thing, darlin’.” His mouth twisted to the side. “Didn’t Jacqueline go over this stuff with you?”

  I shook my head, clicking open the page on my screen.

  “Well, you’ll get the hang of it. I’m sure you’ll do a better job than Peter.” Kevin’s eyebrows furrowed. “Poor bastard.”

  I straightened my shoulders. “What do you mean?”

  Kevin leaned back in his chair, his eyes darting around the empty office. “That guy was off his rocker. He followed Jacqueline around like a puppy dog, barely muttering a word to anyone else. Then, a few weeks before Jacqueline canned him, something must have happened.”

  “What?”

  Kevin threw his hands in the air. “Who knows? He started wearing the same clothes every day, skipping showings, and refusing to do Jacqueline’s busywork. His eyes were red and swollen all the time. I tried to talk to the guy, you know, help him out, but he wouldn’t even look at me.” Kevin sighed, his chair creaking. “There’s a rumor it was drugs. Rita heard he stole money from Greystone’s escrow fund. The word on the street was that his marriage was on the rocks, too.”

  I tugged at my sleeve. “That’s weird. Peter was so on top of things when he helped me with my condo.”

  Kevin chuckled. “Working with Jacqueline for so long probably drove the poor guy insane.”

  Peter’s text scrolled through my mind. Maybe he had become unhinged. My muscles tightened as I cleared my throat. My instinct was to defend Jacquelin
e and tell Kevin I already had thousands of dollars coming my way because of Jacqueline, but it was pointless to argue.

  “Where does Peter work now?”

  “No clue. The guy didn’t keep in touch with anyone.” Kevin nudged me with his elbow. “Too bad Jacqueline’s such an underhanded bitch because she sure is easy on the eyes.” He raised his eyebrows.

  The sickening sensation in my gut rose higher in my throat. “She has a boyfriend.”

  “Yeah. So I heard. The poor guy had to move to Africa to get away from her.”

  I crossed my arms in front of me. “He’s in the Peace Corps.”

  Kevin waved my words away. “Yeah. Yeah. Whatever. Anyway, you have a good head on your shoulders, so I’m sure you’ll come out on top. Just watch your step, like I said.”

  I nodded, my jaw clenching. Shifting my weight away from Kevin, I pointed toward my screen. “So, what about these forms?”

  By the time I stepped into the lobby of my building, my eyelids drooped, and my stomach churned with hunger. A corner of an envelope poked through my mailbox, so I paused to unlock the box. On top of the junk mail lay a white envelope addressed to me from The West Gate Loft Condo Association. My condo board. I’d never attended any of the meetings, so the contents of the envelope were a mystery to me. I ripped it open, my eyes drawn to a giant red number glaring against the white paper: $3,895. I backed up and read more carefully.

  As discussed in the last three meetings, the Board has approved a special assessment to replace faulty window caulking throughout the building. The amount owed by Unit 401 is $3,895, due within 120 days.

  What? My back leaned into the wall. I remembered Peter mentioning something about discussions to replace the window caulking before my closing. But $3,895 for caulk? How was that even possible? I clenched the paper, envisioning my depleted bank account. Dad had warned me about the unexpected expenses of homeownership, but I’d ignored him. My breathing slowed with the memory of this morning’s appointment at Bistro Maria. If we sold that property, this special assessment would be a non-issue. I folded the condo board letter and pressed the button for the elevator, confident everything was under control.

  7

  I cradled my steaming coffee mug, avoiding the pile of dirty dishes Grace had left on the counter the night before. Her hoop earrings and silver necklace lay in a heap dangerously close to the sink. Astro stood on two legs, his front paws resting on the counter. He skipped over the jewelry and sniffed the remains of her meal.

  “Down!” I pushed Astro away. Grace was always leaving her things lying around. I’d have to talk to her about cleaning up after herself. And about training her dog. I’d had a rough night’s sleep, my scattered thoughts bouncing from the surprise special assessment to Emma’s frail condition, to competing feelings of longing and hatred for Nate.

  On top of that, my second mortgage payment was due in a few days. I hadn’t meant to, but I’d lied to my parents. My monthly payments were higher than my rent; eight-hundred dollars per month higher. I should have considered taxes and insurance and the possibility that Nate would leave me. Astro’s tongue slid over the back of my hand, leaving a trail of drool. At least I had Grace.

  My phone showed a missed call from Jacqueline. I gulped another mouthful of coffee and listened to the message.

  “Mara, the listing for 1300 N. Astor was entered incorrectly. Never leave the information blank if we have it. It makes it look like we’re hiding something. Also, the photos you posted don’t work. You have five photos of the bathroom and only one of the living room. The photo of the kitchen has a dirty dish in the sink. No one wants to envision themselves scrubbing dirty dishes in their new kitchen. You were supposed to choose the best photos, not use all of them!” She paused to take a breath. “Next time, ask me if you don't know how to do something. Also, change your voicemail greeting to something more professional.”

  My heels pressed into the floor. Jacqueline was demanding. She hadn’t given me any instructions, so I didn’t know how she could have expected anything different. Still, I felt like an idiot for the bathroom photos. The learning curve for my new career was steeper than I thought.

  I lowered my phone, preparing myself for the day ahead and hoping my pink skirt with the white flowers was clean and unwrinkled. Once at Greystone, I’d make some adjustments to the MLS entries and redeem myself. Jacqueline could walk me through the things I’d had to guess at last night.

  “Morning.” Grace stumbled out of the second bedroom rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Even just out of bed, her shiny, black hair fell to her shoulders in smooth layers, her luminous skin glowing in the dim morning light. “I smell coffee.”

  “Help yourself.” I waved toward the counter. My gourmet coffee maker had been a gift from Nate last Christmas, which had the unfortunate effect of making me think about him whenever I poured a cup.

  Grace scratched Astro behind his ears and then pulled a mug from the cabinet. “Bummer, we keep missing each other. How’s your new job going?”

  My fingers squeezed the handle of my mug as Jacqueline’s bitchy message echoed in my ears. “Okay. There’s so much to learn.”

  “Any more rats run through restaurants?” Grace raised an eyebrow at me.

  “No, but we’re signing the listing with the restaurant owners today.”

  “Of course, you are.” Grace chuckled as she poured herself some coffee. “You must have been Mother Theresa in a past life, the way the universe lines itself up for you.”

  Ever since Grace had first met Mom and Dad at parents’ weekend six years earlier, she operated under the illusion that I lived a charmed life, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

  “My life’s not that great, actually. Remember how my sister has cancer, and my boyfriend dumped me?”

  Grace sipped her coffee, her eyelids lowering. “Emma is going to beat it, and I’m sure there’s a male supermodel who’s also the CEO of a Fortune 500 company preparing to move into the condo next door and sweep you off your feet.” With a raise of her arm, Grace ambled back toward her bedroom, coffee cup in hand. “Good luck with the listing thing. Oh, hey. Can I have my shoes back?”

  “I’m holding them ransom until you pay me your rent.”

  Grace grinned. “At least you’ve learned something useful at your new job.”

  Ignoring her, I headed toward my room to retrieve her shoes with Astro trotting behind me.

  ◆◆◆

  I arrived at the office ten minutes early, confident and put-together in my favorite silk skirt and tall boots. My hair was smoothed back into a low ponytail, the same way Jacqueline wore hers. She was on the phone and hadn’t acknowledged me yet.

  “You’re a piece of shit, Kevin.” Jacqueline spewed the words into her phone, glaring. “Your sorry ass can’t find your own deals, so you have to steal them from me? Is that it?”

  My teeth grated against each other as I perched on the edge of my office chair, unable to breathe. I was afraid to learn which deal he’d stolen. Mumbling echoed through her phone.

  “Those were my clients. That was my listing.” Jacqueline’s eyes bulged, showing a circle of white all around her gray-blue irises. “If you don’t think there’s going to be payback for this, you’re very wrong.” Before Kevin could respond, she hit a button and killed the conversation.

  “What’s going on?” I rolled my chair back, my mouth turning dry.

  She stared toward me, her eyes solidifying. “That son of a bitch set up a meeting with the Sabatinos yesterday afternoon.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “He offered to list their building and only take a two percent commission for himself. They signed with him.” She scribbled something on a piece of paper and shook her head.

  I sucked in my breath and felt dizzy. I’d ignored my instincts and told Kevin about our listing appointment. How could I have been so stupid? He’d even warned me not to leave without a signature. I couldn’t speak. I squeezed my eyelids closed
and fell into my chair.

  “I got a phone call from Anthony this morning,” Jacqueline said. “He wanted to cancel our 10:00 a.m. appointment. I knew we’d gotten screwed by someone.”

  “You were right. Kevin is a slime-ball.”

  “Never tell him anything about our business. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah.” I twisted the beaded bracelet on my wrist, hoping Jacqueline couldn’t detect the guilt flashing across my face. “Can’t you complain to Maeve?”

  Jacqueline huffed. “Maeve is useless. She’ll slap him on the wrist and send him on his way.” She narrowed her eyes and spun toward Kevin’s empty desk. “That jackass! He’s targeting me. I know it.”

  I followed Jacqueline’s death stare toward Kevin’s spot in the back corner of the office. “Why would he target you?”

  She tapped her nails on her desk, her eyes drifting off into space. “Because, a while ago, he accused me of sabotaging one of my listings before the inspection. Kevin’s buyer freaked out over a little mold in the basement. His buyer canceled the contract, and I ended up selling the property to one of my clients, instead. Kevin convinced himself that I somehow put the mold there before the inspection.” She huffed and shook her head. “How would I even do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “That’s crazy.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  My toes curled inside my boots. I hadn’t been prepared for this much drama so early in the morning. I wondered how Kevin could have pretended to be a wise mentor to me last night while knowing the whole time he was screwing me over. Jacqueline was right. I couldn’t trust anyone.

  “What did Anthony Sabatino say to you?” I asked.

  “He thought our commission was too high.” Jacqueline slammed her hand down on the desk. “Those idiots! Don’t they know they get what they pay for?”

  I didn’t answer. My cheeks burned, and I hoped my skin wasn’t turning an embarrassing shade of red.