Might as well get myself something to eat, stop thinking about the white hand prints on Celine’s jeans, and Brenda's funk, and study for my real estate test that was coming up in two days. The test and only the test should be my sole focus for the next forty-eight hours.
My own real estate license. I would be a realtor in my own right. I could earn commissions instead of the so-so salary I was getting as Sunny’s assistant. Of course I would always be thankful to Sunny for hiring me and teaching me so much. Hands on experience was something that money couldn’t buy.
I spent the rest of the evening reviewing real estate questions and answers very likely to be part of the exam. My studies were fueled by instant noodles and tortilla chips, washed down with sugar-free Dr. Pepper. I felt so American.
I went to sleep thinking about—no, not real estate, but forbidden fruit and its red bandanna.
EIGHT
THE OFFICE WAS rather quiet for a Thursday morning. Then again, it was barely nine-thirty. Most of the agents started trickling in around ten or so. I wasn't sure why Sunny wasn’t at her desk. She was known to be a morning person.
Around Desert Homes Realty being a morning person translated as someone showing up before eight in the morning, fully dressed, neatly groomed and smiling (or so I’m told, since I have yet to make it in before nine).
Kassandra, our front desk receptionist, came around carrying her mug that said ‘another morning in Paradise’ over the picture of the local Paradise Lounge. I had a strong feeling she hadn't gone home at all the previous night. She was wearing her generic jeans and knit top, but she wasn’t neatly groomed. The mascara had slid off her glue-on lashes and landed in the creases under her eyes. It wasn’t pretty. She'd surely fix it on her first bathroom trip of the day.
I tried to avoid staring at her, but I could swear she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her ample breasts pressed against her light knit top, which wasn't the professional image Sunny counted on. After all, Kassandra was the first smiling face clients encountered upon stepping into the lobby of our real estate company. Okay, I was sure now. That was the same top she'd worn the day before, but then she'd had a bra on. Wow.
“Monica.”
“Yes?” I answered, wondering if she could read my mind. She claimed to read Tarot cards.
“Can you tell I’m not wearing — you know.” She pointed to her bust. “A bra?”
Head cocked, I surveyed her chest, now inches from my nose. The main phone line rang, startling Kassandra, causing her to spill some of her coffee on the spot where her right nipple fought for freedom.
She glared at the phone. “Damn, got to take this.”
“Any idea what time Sunny is due in?” I asked.
She shook her head and shuffled off to her desk.
I bet she hadn’t slept a wink the previous night. Oh, well. Nothing I could do about it. I had my own worries. Friday, tomorrow, was the day I would take the exam for my license. With all the classes completed, and mock tests passed with flying colors, as they said in America, it was now or never. What if I didn’t make it? Only 25% missed answers were allowed. One in four. I sighed. Clear your mind Monica, you’ll be fine. You aced your driving test, you can do anything.
“Monica! Hey, Monica,” Kassandra called from the front office.
Luckily for her we were the only two there. Sunny would have had a fit if she'd heard us raising our voices.
“I’m going to the bathroom to see if I can wash off the coffee I spilled. It’s — you know — in a peculiar place. Keep an eye on the front door. I’ll take the phone with me. And Sunny just called to say she’ll be in by ten-thirty. She’s having breakfast with your aunt Brenda. Monica, did you hear me?”
“How can I not? You’re loud enough to wake Sleeping Beauty. Go, go already. I’ll sit at your desk. Go.”
I fought the urge to remind her Brenda wasn’t really my aunt, then again, why bother? Brenda and Sunny were having breakfast together along with a gossip fest, I assumed. Interesting. I hoped it would help Brenda. It had to be a last minute thing because neither of them had mentioned it to me. I mean, Brenda being sort of my aunt, and my being Sunny's personal assistant, I should know these things. Right?
“What do you think?”
I hadn’t heard Kassandra sneaked up on me. “Think? About what?”
“This.” She pointed to her chest where a large wet area had replaced the much smaller coffee stain. “What’s with you? Day dreaming again?”
“It’s — wet.” I stifled a yawn
“Arghhh, stop that.” Kassandra swatted me with an empty paper towel roll. Then she yawned. “See? You made me do it. Do you have anything I can borrow? I need to do something to fix this before Sunny gets here.”
Borrow? I was a size four. She was a ten, if only for her breasts. “If we had a hair dryer you could get the thing dry in no time. Know anyone who keeps a hair dryer in a drawer?”
“Why are you asking me? I work the front desk. Do you know anyone who keeps a hair dryer in their desk?”
“No. How about the microwave? We put paper towels under and over the wet spot. We fold the blouse and put it in the microwave on medium. We try two minutes first. I mean, big deal. Two minutes won’t even melt dark chocolate.”
She looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. “It'll melt my blouse.”
“Do you have a better idea?” This was past annoying, it was weird. “Maybe you should have gone home last night.”
Pause. Long pause. Kassandra’s tired eyes sent lightning bolts my way. “I didn’t expect the séance to last that long. It was my first time.”
Her first time? She was at least thirty five years old, and it was her first time? “Oh, Kassandra, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Wait. Sorry? Why should you be sorry? It was one of the best experiences of my life. Do you even know what a séance is?”
“Something about sex, right?”
“No! Oh, God no! It’s a spiritual type of… how did we end up talking about this? Monica, I belong to a group that — damn. We all sat around a table with a guest medium and she contacted some of our dear departed. Okay? That’s the simple version. Now let’s try your idea on my blouse, and then if we have time I’ll tell you more about séances. But if you want to pass your real estate exam, maybe you should brush up on your English. How do you go from séance to sex? Not even close.”
“It sounded the same to me,” I complained. Kassandra could be harsh, but I was sure she meant well.
I led the way into the small employee lunchroom and stopped before the microwave. When I turned around she had her blouse off and her naked breasts were facing me at eye level. Mercy. She wasn't a shy girl, that’s for sure. I was sort of hypnotized by the size of them.
“Hurry up, Scott should be here any minute to get the list of installations.” Perhaps I was staring too pointedly, because she tried to cover her mounds with her hands.
“Hey, why do I have to do this?” I managed to keep from staring. “And what happened to your bra? One of the dear departed needed it?”
Kassandra wasn’t amused. She sat on a chair and held a kitchen towel in front of her. The microwave chimed at the same time as the front door bell that announced visitors. We looked at each other in panic.
“Scott,” we said in unison.
I took charge. “While you get dressed, I’ll stall him because I don’t know where you keep the list.” Footsteps came from the lobby, shoes on hard tile. Scott probably wanted a cup of coffee before heading out. I rushed to the doorway to intercept him but collided head on with — Tristan Dumont!
“Hi, Fiat, I’m here for a…”
His voice trailed off and his gaze rested over my shoulder. I followed his gaze. Oh, my! Kassandra's blouse seemed to have shrunk and she was struggling to get it on. I caught the tail end of the battle, which involved her yanking the fabric down to cover her tummy, her breasts flattened into thick pancakes with nipples. He looked from me to Kassandra and back to me again, c
learly trying to figure it all out.
I felt blood rush to my face. “It’s not what you think, Mr. Dumont. She spilled some coffee on her, and got wet.” That did not come out right at all. Damn.
He ignored Kassandra's nipples, that now stood at attention under the stretched fabric, cleared his throat, and said, “I have a ten-thirty appointment with Sunny.”
All business. I wanted to take that stupid grin off his face, but couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Kassandra, acting like everything was just our daily routine, smiled and offered, “Coffee, Mr. Dumont?”
“No, thank you. I just had some.” He kept grinning.
I waved for him to follow me, and led the way to my little corner by Sunny’s glass office. He pulled a chair up close to my desk while I tried hard to act busy. I hated the way he made me feel so — so flustered while nothing seemed to bother him.
Today he was dressed like a businessman, with no bandanna or crocodile boots, no plaster on ripped jeans, no construction hat. His shiny, dark hair barely brushing his shoulders. And he smelled good. Maybe not sexy good, more like soap or aftershave. I was going with aftershave, and I needed to stop staring.
“Did you tie your horse up outside?” What was I saying?
I watched him blink once, twice, then his face lit up. He roared with laughter and stretched out his hand to pat my arm. I hoped he didn’t notice my involuntary twitch at his touch.
“Good one, Fiat, real good. How come I didn’t see you here before?” He wiped his face with the back of his hand. Tears of laughter?
I shrugged. “I only started working for Sunny a few months ago, when I decided to get my real estate license.”
“I see, and did you?”
“Did I what?’
“Get your license.’
“I’m taking the exam tomorrow afternoon.”
“You nervous?”
“Monica, line three, for you,” Kassandra called from the lobby.
What a relief, no need to keep up the small talk.
“Monica Baker speaking.” No! “Max. I'm working.”
I'd fired off a text just that morning begging off the date, claiming my ankle was a mess. I felt my cheeks on fire. Tristan Dumont rose from his chair and walked toward the lobby, no doubt to give me privacy.
“I can’t go to the dinner with you. As I explained in my message, I injured my foot. And I’m also taking my real estate exam. Too much pressure. Please ask someone else. Got to go, sorry.”
I hung up before he had a chance to talk, then looked around hoping Dumont wasn’t paying attention to my lies. He'd seen me walking just fine, so he'd know my foot story was just a story. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I walked over to Kassandra.
“Where did he go? And why didn’t you tell me who was on the phone?”
“And miss all the fun? You obviously have the hots for this Dumont dude and I thought ––”
“Shut up, he’s a married man.”
The front door opened. Tristan Dumont was back, with Sunny.
“Oh, hello,” I said to my boss and her client.
“Morning, Monica, morning, Kassandra. I’ll be in my office with Mr. Dumont.” She turned to me. “Hold my calls, will you please?”
The two of them walked away. That was when I noticed Kassandra slouched low in her chair so that her breast line was hidden by the tall desk. I shook my head then scurried over to my desk and sat down to wonder how in a span of a few minutes I had probably lead Tristan Dumont to assume I was a sexually adventurous bi-sexual liar with a half-decent sense of humor. Ah, life.
Sunny’s calendar for the day was totally empty. Was that because she was to spend it all with Tristan Dumont? He was a very important client, of course. He'd just bought a million plus property, paid cash, and Sunny got double commission being the listing and selling agent. Heck, I would send the man flowers, candies… my daughter? Did Sunny encourage Celine to schmooze? No way. Now I was just being downright mean.
I pulled out my exam review book and re-read the list of possible questions for my exam. Scott came by, said hello, glanced inside the boss’s office and then left. By eleven forty-five my stomach was growling. I walked over to Kassandra who was busy getting information from the computer for some prospect on the phone, so I went to the ladies room.
What could Sunny and Dumont be talking about for nearly an hour? At some point I had seen her share something she had on her laptop. He'd looked and nodded, but I couldn’t see what the two of them were checking out. Who cared? If it was business, I would know soon enough as I did most of Sunny’s paper work. I dried my hands and decided to go to lunch.
Kassandra was flirting with the mailman, a gray-haired prankster half her size and nearly twice her age. We always teased him about his jet black mustache. Before I could open my mouth to greet him, I noticed that Sunny and Dumont were done talking. They lingered by my desk. My boss waved me over.
But Celine beat me to it.
Celine blew in like a rush of wind and headed directly where I was going, while letting out short, sharp sounds known around the office as Celine’s walking orgasms. When she reached my desk she gushed, “Tristan, oh, Tristan, how lucky to find you here.”
Liar. I bet her mother had told her about the appointment. She'd bypassed Kassandra’s desk, ignored Scott’s hello, and walked, no — sashayed in front of me. Her eyes fixed on him.
“Oh, Tristan.” She pouted her lips. “I’m famished. Take me to lunch. You don't want little Celine to be hungry.” She slipped both her arms under his and literally rested her head on his shoulder.
I wanted to throw up, while her mother was beaming. He is a married man! I felt like screaming it. Maybe he also could read thoughts, like Kassandra, because he gently disentangled his arms from Celine’s.
“I’d be happy to buy you lunch, Celine, but it will have to be some other time.”
Tristan Dumont obviously didn’t know Celine the way we at Desert Homes Real Estate Company knew Celine. He was the only one who looked surprised by Celine's response.
“It’s okay. I'll leave with you. We can grab something, anything.” She stamped her foot for emphasis.
Tristan didn’t lose his cool. He kept his frozen smile and said, “Some other time Celine. I have a business meeting. You can’t go with me.”
His tone hadn't left any room for negotiation, and his eyes didn’t show any smidgen of regret. He nodded slightly to all of us witnesses (proud witnesses, if truth be told), turned on his heels and left the building.
NINE
DONE. I WALKED from the exam building to the parking lot floating on air. The setting November sun felt warm on my face and the beauty of it filled my soul. It was over. I'd passed the exam. For all practical purposes I was officially a realtor in the state of Arizona. Sure, I had more paperwork to file, and a contract writing class to take, but in a way I was light years ahead of most of my fellow exam takers. I already had a desk waiting for me at a realtor's office and a great mentor.
I started up the engine of my Fiat 500, my hands shaking from excitement.
The sense of euphoria that was gushing through my body since the moment I'd been told I'd passed the exam began to wear off as I hit the first traffic signal. It felt like when you threw a big dinner party, I mused. You'd spent weeks agonizing about the menu, and days scouting grocery stores for the best quality possible, and then a day slaving over hot stove and table settings. If you were lucky, all that hard work would then be devoured in less than an hour, leaving you wondering why you'd done all that work. At least that’s how Brenda described it. I’d never cooked anything that took over fifteen minutes preparation with more than four ingredients.
My real-estate license was my passport to complete financial freedom for the rest of my life, or until I won the lottery, and right now I wanted to let the whole world know I had aced the test. I couldn’t dial and drive, and the traffic on Indian School Road was a mess so it was too late to go to the office.
But I was in the mood to celebrate.
That reminded me that I’d hadn’t seen Brenda for twenty-four hours. Last night she’d called out of the blue saying she would need to stay over at The Silver Sage, something about an early official breakfast for the management. Would I take care of Dior? Of course, and yet I had the nagging sensation that Brenda was avoiding me. My cellphone ringing interrupted my gloomy thoughts.
“Did you do it?” Kassandra demanded to know.
“Yes!” Bless her. “Yes, I passed the exam. I’m done. I am officially a realtor.”
“All right. We must celebrate. Wanna do dinner?”
“I would love to, but I need to let Dior out and feed him. Brenda may be late. How about you come over and I cook something?”
“You? Cooking? Do you still store your sweaters in the oven? I know you have a thing about putting clothes in ovens, microwaves and stuff like that.”
How did she know about the sweaters? “Who told you that? It was only once when I was reorganizing my winter clothes. I can cook. I have frozen pizza from Trader’s Joe that I can stick in the oven. I put my sweaters on a shelf ages ago.”
“What kind of pizza?”
“Thin crust, three cheeses, with cherry tomatoes.”
“Okay, I’ll bring the wine. Thirty minutes?”
“Deal. By the way, you know my place is in the back, so drive all the way to my garage or you’ll block Brenda’s driveway. See you.”
Apparently helping her dry her top had made for a new friendship. In all honesty, I wanted to find out what she knew about Celine’s moves on married Tristan Dumont. Kassandra had been working for Sunny a lot longer than I had, so she was bound to be more informed.
Brenda probably knew what was going on too. I couldn’t wait to tell her about my test. I owed her so much, she should have been the first person I told. She'd encouraged me all along. If not for Brenda, after my divorce finalized, I would have caught the first flight back to Italy and slipped into the submissive, backward role my family had planned for me.
Cooks, Crooks and a Corpse (Baker Girls Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 5