Top Producer

by Laura Wolfe

  “And now, a special announcement.” Maeve tipped her chin down. “I’ve been told that one of our realtors is going to be named by CBR Magazine as one of the ‘Thirty Under Thirty’ in Chicago real estate.” She paused to build suspense, then smiled like a proud grandma. “Congratulations, Mara!” She clapped her hands in the air, and a smattering of applause echoed throughout the office, followed by quiet mumbling.

  I sat up straight, my heart beating double time. I offered a sheepish smile and an obligatory thank you wave to the others in the room as I felt my cheeks reddening. Jacqueline caught my eye and winked at me, nodding in approval.

  “And next, a quick reminder about our yearly in-house competition for Greystone’s Top Producer Award. Jacqueline Hendersen is currently in first place for the THIRD year in a row, but there are still four months left in the year.” She pumped her fist in the air. “Let’s get those deals signed and give Jacqueline a run for her money!” Despite Maeve’s energetic appeal, the response was subdued. No one cheered. A couple of people chuckled. Jacqueline scowled. I exhaled, thankful the focus was no longer on me.

  Maeve introduced the guest speaker, a lender with mousy, shoulder-length hair wearing a red power suit. As the woman droned on about the differences between pre-qualification and pre-approval, Jacqueline rolled her chair closer to my desk. I eyed the bandage on her ankle and tried not to think about Tony.

  “How’s your ankle?”

  “Fine. No big deal.” She tucked her legs under her chair and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Listen, I need you to do something for me today.”

  I swallowed and looked at my hands.

  “Go on caravan with Kevin. Try to make friends.”

  My head jolted upright. “Why?”

  “Kevin is in the CCC. He likes you. He might take you with him—as a guest. It’s the best way for us to get new leads on developments.”

  “But I’m a woman.”

  “They have special events. Holiday parties and crap like that. Women are allowed at those.”

  “Why don’t you go, then?”

  Jacqueline narrowed her eyes at me. “I told you already. They don’t like me. They know the developers would rather sign with me than them. Someone like you isn’t a threat. You can fly under the radar.”

  I fiddled with the pen in my hand, fingers tightening around it at Jacqueline’s backhanded compliment. I pictured Natalia’s eyes burning into me, and Jacqueline’s foot kicking Tony’s jar of change into the street. Now she wanted me to start hanging out with Kevin? I wanted to tell her to fuck off. Kevin was a slimeball. He’d probably use it as an excuse to try to get in my pants.

  When I didn’t respond, Jacqueline leaned in even closer. “Before your head gets too big, the ‘Thirty Under Thirty’ award? That was all me.”

  I scratched an itch on my elbow, confused.

  “I made it happen for you.” Her grey eyes surrounded me like prison bars. “You never would have been nominated if I hadn’t made a phone call on your behalf to Patricia Abramson. She owed me a favor.”

  My phone call with CBR Magazine spun through my head. Patricia Abramson was the same person who’d selected Jacqueline as one of the ‘Forty under Forty’ the year before. Jacqueline had mentioned Patricia’s name in passing every time we found a new issue of CBR Magazine in our mailboxes. Maybe I hadn’t earned the honor on my own after all.

  “Now, you do this for me.” She paused before stating the obvious. “Don’t tell Kevin anything about any of our deals.”

  I slumped over my desk, my previous resolve to stand up to Jacqueline’s demands crumbling like a decaying house. “Okay.”

  29

  “Do you mind if I catch a ride with you for caravan?” I teetered in front of Kevin’s desk, tugging the skirt of my sundress down to increase its coverage of my bare legs. People milled around me, jingling car keys and arguing over who would ride shotgun. Even from a couple of feet away, I couldn’t escape the noxious fog of his cologne.

  He stopped his busywork and pressed his lips into a smile. “I thought you didn’t go on caravan.”

  “I decided I should go once in a while.” I shifted my weight from my left foot to my right foot. “You know, just to see what’s out there.”

  “I’m kidding, Mara. Relax. You can ride with me.” Kevin threw his man bag over his shoulder and headed toward the front of the office. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late.”

  I shot a look at Jacqueline as I followed Kevin out the front door. She glanced up and watched me leave, stone-faced.

  “Thanks for the ride.” I slid into the passenger seat of Kevin’s Lexus.

  “Sure thing. Let’s see where we’re going.” He scanned the property list on his phone. “A single-family in Old Irving.” He pulled onto North Avenue and headed toward the expressway. “Congrats on being one of the ‘Thirty Under Thirty.’”

  “Thanks.” I kept my eyes focused out the window, hoping no one would find out it was all a scam. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “It’s a big fucking deal. You’ll get a lot of business from that.”

  “You think?”

  “I don’t think. I know.” His eyes flicked from the road to my exposed knees while he talked. “So, how’s it working with Jacqueline?”

  Buildings flitted by outside, and I wished I was locked safely inside one of them. “It’s good. I’ve learned a ton from her.” I left out the parts about her making me a target of the Russian mob, kicking a jar of change out of homeless guy’s hand, tricking me into stealing family heirlooms from an innocent woman’s condo, and the handful of other illegal things she’d done.

  “She hasn’t slit your throat and left you on the side of the road yet, so that’s good.” He chuckled. “You should probably separate yourself from her, now that you’ve got your footing. Her ethics are questionable if you know what I mean.”

  I wondered if Kevin saw the irony in the situation. A guy with hair slicked back, doused in cheap cologne, wearing a gold chain around his neck, and engaging in borderline sexual harassment giving advice on ethics.

  “Oh, no. Jacqueline is fine. She’s never screwed me on a commission or anything.” I straightened my shoulders, inexplicably feeling the urge to defend her. Part of me wanted to confess that I was the one who screwed her out of the listing on Mohawk, but I’d never mention it. My hands encircled my purse, sliding it forward onto my knees as my fingernails gouged into the leather.

  Despite Jacqueline’s missteps, it was uncomfortable talking about her behind her back after she’d done so much to help me. She’d kept me in business with the draw she’d given me. She’d held a fundraiser for Emma. She’d paid for the legal work to get the protective order against Peter. Besides, Kevin was the one who’d duped me, not Jacqueline. He’d stolen the Sabatinos’ listing from under our noses.

  “You find the Sabatinos a restaurant space yet?” I held my breath. It was a sore subject, but I wanted to remind Kevin what he’d done.

  “No. Those people.” He shook his head in disgust. “I’ve found them the perfect space about ten times now. They find something wrong with every one of them. So high maintenance.”

  I smiled to myself, thankful I wasn’t dealing with them right now. With everything I had on my plate, I barely had time to work out, much less hang out with my friends, or go on a date. Kevin veered off at the Irving Park exit and headed west before stopping at a red light.

  “Why does everyone think Jacqueline is so unethical?”

  Kevin threw his head back and laughed. “Are you serious?”

  I shrugged, not saying anything. I knew why I thought she was shady—spray-painting gang tags on buildings, staging a robbery, sabotaging Natalia’s business, forcing me to go on caravan with Kevin to weasel my way into the CCC. But, as far as I knew, no one else knew about these things.

  “No one gets as far as she has in Chicago real estate without screwing people over.” He studied my face as if gauging my level of understanding. “She�
�d kill her own mother to get both sides of a commission.”

  The light turned green, and we drove on in silence.

  “Has she ever mentioned anything about the property on Byron Street?” He gripped the steering wheel so tight I could see the whites of his knuckles.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I brought in a buyer there last year. Solid offer, only contingent on the inspection. Long story short, black mold and water suddenly appear in the basement the morning of the inspection. I swear it hadn’t been there when we toured the property five days earlier.” He paused, looking over at me. “My buyer walked. A few days later, guess who brings in her own buyer?” Kevin poked his finger through his crispy hair and scratched his scalp, his eyes searching me. “See what I mean?”

  “Yeah. She did mention that. She said the mold had been there all along.”

  “No fucking way. It wasn’t there.”

  “It sounds a little sketchy, but you have no proof.”

  “There’s never any proof, Mara. That’s the problem.”

  I thought about Natalia’s threat to expose us and hoped that Kevin was right.

  Kevin turned on his flashers and parked in an illegal spot in front of a white Colonial-style single-family where baskets of geraniums lined the porch.

  Deal-less Ellen Barkley emerged from the car behind us carrying a spiral notebook, a pen tucked behind her ear. “What wonderful curb appeal!” she said, craning her neck toward the upstairs windows and removing the pen to write something on her pad.

  I was beginning to understand why Jacqueline didn’t do well on caravan.

  It was a long tour—eight properties scattered across the west and north side of the city. After the seventh condo, a studio in Edgewater, Kevin studied the list on his phone.

  “What do you say we bail on the last property and grab something to eat?”

  My teeth clamped down on the inside of my cheek, a tightening in my gut telling me to avoid any more one-on-one time with Kevin. But I hadn’t found a good time to bring up the CCC yet. And I was curious to hear more of his stories about Jacqueline. On top of that, I’d only eaten half of a piece of pizza at the broker’s open. My stomach rumbled.

  I pointed toward the lake. “There’s a good sushi place a couple of blocks over.”

  “Can’t. I’m allergic to shellfish. My EpiPen is in my bag, in case you ever see me blowing up like a balloon.” He pretended to jab an object into his leg and laughed. “Do you like Indian food?”

  A few minutes later, we were seated across from each other at a miniature table at The Jewel of India restaurant. I tore off a piece of naan and bit into it.

  “So, what do you do for fun? You know, in all your spare time?” Kevin chuckled as he chewed.

  “I don’t know—I workout at East Coast. Hang out with my friends once in a while. That’s about it.” I looked down, trying not to think about how lame my life sounded.

  “I’m recruiting volunteers to join our Habitat group. Thought you might be interested.”

  “Habitat group?”

  “Habitat for Humanity. We build houses for deserving families. It’s only one day a month. Gets you outside. Helps people. All that. No skills required.”

  Kevin built houses for needy people in his spare time? I nodded, hoping my face didn’t betray my shock. “Cool. Yeah. As long as it fits with my schedule, I’ll be there.”

  “Great. I’ll shoot you an email later.” He continued chewing. “How’s your sister doing, anyway?”

  “Oh. Emma’s good.” I picked up my fork and then set it down. “She finished her last round of chemo, and the doctor says she’s cancer-free. She’s starting at Illinois in a few weeks.”

  Kevin tipped back in his chair. “Wow! That’s great news. I’ve been pulling for her.”

  The slackened look of relief on his face told me his feelings were genuine. I remembered how he’d participated in the charity run while refusing to wear Jacqueline’s self-promoting T-shirt, and I couldn’t help smiling.

  “Thanks.” I tore off another piece of bread and took a deep breath. Kevin had disarmed me with his thoughtfulness, but I needed to stay focused on Jacqueline’s mission. I cleared my throat and leaned forward. “So, I heard you’re in the CCC. It’s like a secret society, right?”

  “Not really. I own a few rental buildings. Two in Edgewater, one in North Center.” Kevin gulped his iced tea. “You have to own or develop commercial real estate in the city to be a member.”

  “And not be a woman,” I said, my voice slipping out sharper than I’d planned.

  Kevin tipped his head back and made a face. “Yeah. Yeah. That, too. A guy I know invited me to a meeting once. I guess I schmoozed my way in.”

  “What’s it like?” I diverted my eyes toward a mural on the wall, hoping to hide my false intentions.

  “Honestly, it’s the shit. Lots of big players. It’s good to know who the heavy hitters are, you know?”

  “Yeah. That sounds great.”

  “These guys have so much money it’s sick.” He smirked, shaking his head. “We can bring guests to some of the events.” He winked. “Men or women. You should come with me sometime. Those developers would love to have one of the ‘Thirty Under Thirty’ show up at their party.”

  “Thanks.” I exhaled, amazed it had been so easy, but also feeling slightly nauseous. I hoped he was inviting me as a colleague and not as his date.

  He lowered his eyes at me. “As long as you don’t steal any leads for Jacqueline.”

  My stomach sunk with unexpected weight. “No. I’d never do that.”

  Kevin chuckled. “I’m only messing with you, Mara. You need to loosen up a little bit.”

  I nodded, smiling. Kevin was only trying to be nice. It didn’t feel right to take advantage. Yet he hadn’t hesitated to take advantage of me on the Bistro Maria listing. According to Jacqueline, we were merely evening the playing field.

  30

  “Sweet car!” Emma leaned through the front door of my parents’ house as I stepped out of my BMW. Despite the ninety-degree temperature, she wore the same pink knit hat that she’d worn at the charity run four months earlier. I did a doubletake at her appearance, which had deteriorated even further since I’d seen her five weeks ago.

  “Yeah. I’m pretty cool.” I hugged Emma, her body like a sack of twigs in my arms.

  She covered her mouth and turned away, coughing.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Good.” She cleared her throat. “I’m done with chemo!” She hopped off the ground as she said the words.

  “That’s awesome. I knew you’d beat it.”

  I stepped inside where Mom and Dad appeared in the shadowy hallway.

  “We kicked that thing, didn’t we, Em?” Dad patted Emma on the back. My sister nodded. It had only been a few weeks, but Dad looked older somehow, his hair a lighter shade of gray. Or was he thinner? I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Mom peered around me toward my new car. “Well, isn’t that sharp?”

  “That’s my new ride.” My smile froze when I saw Dad’s expression.

  His forehead creased with wrinkles. “A BMW? Isn’t that a little excessive?”

  I’d kept my luxury car a secret from my family for as long as possible. With my extravagant purchase exposed, I felt slightly ridiculous. Dad had been busting his butt in the marketing world for years, and he still drove a Ford. The city was a different world, though.

  “Everyone expects realtors in the city to drive nice cars,” I said. “Clients want to work with successful agents. Success breeds more success. That’s what Jacqueline says.”

  My cell phone buzzed with incoming texts. I scanned the messages. No emergencies.

  Dad frowned. “Just be careful. Real estate is cyclical. You need to save up your money for a rainy day.”

  “I am, Dad.” I rubbed the edge of the paper folded inside my pocket and smiled to myself.

  Mom waved us through the kitche
n. “I just put some appetizers out on the patio. The heat’s not too bad in the shade.” She opened the sliding glass door. “Does everyone want some lemonade?”

  “Sure.” I followed Dad and Emma outside.

  We found our seats on the patio, and Mom joined us a minute later carrying a glass pitcher sweating with condensation and filled with ice cubes and lemonade. She poured four glasses and then thrust a bowl of pretzels in my face. I took one, although my late lunch at Jewel of India sat like a brick in my stomach.

  “Dig in.” She leaned forward, smiling. “It’s so good to have you home.”

  I breathed in, my body feeling lighter than it had in the city. The four of us were together. I made a conscious effort to appreciate the time with my family. Emma’s disease reminded me that it could all be taken away so quickly. The fenced-in back yard beyond the patio was small by suburban standards, but enormous compared to city lots I’d been spending so much time in lately. Everything about the yard was familiar and welcoming—the rose bushes in the corner, the towering maple tree, the wooden privacy fence. My parents installed the fence when I was seven. I stared at a brown spot on the grass where I’d once shown a toddler-aged Emma how to run through the sprinkler, encouraging her to lean into the cold water and get her face wet. She’d been wearing a red bathing suit that looked like a ladybug. That day had been hot like today and smelled the same, too. Images of birthday parties, picnics, and family soccer games flickered through my mind. Suddenly, I wished I could get those days back, that I’d known enough to appreciate them. At least Emma’s treatment would soon be paid off, and my parents wouldn’t have to sell the house.

  I refocused my attention on the pretzels in front of me. “Anything exciting been going on here?”

  “I got an email from my roommate,” Emma said. “Her name is McKenzie. She’s really nice. I warned her about my hair.” Emma pointed to her head. “She said she’d shave her head, too, and grow her hair out with me, but I told her she didn’t need to do that.”