Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out

by Catharine Bramkamp

  I closed my eyes.

  The noise in the tasting room paused, then picked up again. The EMTs were unfortunately familiar with the layout of Prophesy Estates. They carefully loaded Cassandra into the back of the van without even removing the canvass or blanket.

  A cry of glee came up from the tasting room. Were they wine tasting or feeding each other beer bongs?

  My phone buzzed. It was Chris Conner. But she was the last person Cassandra needed right now. I let it go to voice mail and accepted another ride with Jose to the hospital.

  Three members of the hospital, dressed in pastel scrubs, took one look and without a word to us, quickly loaded Cassandra on a gurney and wheeled her into the emergency room.

  Peter Klaussen O’Reilly the Third, still dressed in his suit and tie from work, met me in the lobby.

  “I heard,” he said simply. “Ben called, I was closer and came.” Peter’s eyes followed the gurney. “I’ll stay with her. You go back to the shower.”

  I glanced at my watch, only about 45 minutes has passed. I had so wanted to figure out how to avoid the shower, and I had. But at what a cost. “She’ll be okay,” I lied.

  He nodded but did not meet my gaze. “Thanks, go.” He strode to the door marked Do Not Enter and pushed through the double doors leaving Jose and me standing in the empty hallway. I had no choice but to ask Jose to drive me back to the party. He had to get back to the winery to clean up before dark.

  “Let me know if you hear anything.” Jose let me out of the truck and spun away.

  I stood in the cool driveway and called Ben.

  “What happened? Jose just said Cassandra had an accident, Peter said he’d call once he got to the hospital.”

  I clutched the phone as Jose’s truck left. Guests called to each other. Doors slammed. Cars passed me. No one waved.

  I let myself into Emily’s house through Ben’s apartment and exited directly onto the patio. I hoped it would look like I had been supervising in the kitchen all this time. No such luck, the only guests left were the furious Furies and Carrie. I didn’t see Emily. If she was clever, and she was, she’d be hiding in the guest bathroom.

  “You’ll have to ask O’Reilly. I have a bridal party to face.” I said quickly to Ben as I slowed my pace.

  “You make it sound like a firing squad.” At least he was sympathetic.

  “Not too far off the mark. Call O’Reilly. Bye.” I pocketed the phone and planted a smile on my face and strode to the precarious pyramid of pink paper and shiny gifts. The sun had dropped, casting most of the patio in the shade; it was much chillier than it was two hours ago.

  Kathleen glared at me. “Do you always disappear when the gifts and the cake and toast is ready?”

  “It’s a shower, not the wedding,” I pointed out easily. That terrible line from Fargo, was that your partner in the chipper, just popped into my head. I did not say it out loud. A stemmer/ crusher wasn’t as deadly as a chipper was it? I grinned at Carrie because I was so relieved it wasn’t she who was in danger.

  “So did you get excellent stuff?” I asked cheerfully.

  She smiled wanly. I knew I should have been at her side, gathering up ribbons, counting how many were broken so we knew for sure how many children she and Patrick would produce. I should have stayed by her side so I could record the gifts and the giver for the thank you notes to be written no less than a month later, sooner if you were really up on your etiquette and response time.

  Claire joined her sister and just glared at me. Why didn’t they marry and have children? That would have diffused some of this free-floating anxiety and anger I was feeling from them. I spied Emily at a far table that was cleared except for sorted piles of silver cutlery and cut glass. I waved to her; she waved back but cleverly made no move to join us.

  “How’s the kitchen?” I called.

  “All clean, thank you,” she responded. Good, then I only had to finish up here.

  I heard the last of the cars cheerfully honk and crunch down the driveway.

  “We were just about to pack all this into our cars,” Claire enunciated her words slowly, making it clear that she was holding herself in check because otherwise she’d fly at me in pure rage.

  I looked at Claire and Kathleen. I could say something; after all, I did not have to share interminable holidays with these two harridans. Maybe Carrie could make up the third witch when they got together for Christmas. Honestly. Yet, it was up to me to protect my friend.

  I smiled fiercely. “Well, I hope you had a nice time at the party with all your friends even though I wasn’t able to wait on everyone for,” I glanced at my Rolex, “an hour. Emily and I will be happy to pack you up and see you on your way. And if you don’t mind, I haven’t eaten yet.”

  Carrie dropped her head in her hand and peered through her fingers at me. I stood my ground. I paid for one hundred people, their chef, their food, food I hadn’t even tasted. I followed the rules on napkin colors, the requirements for the wine and silver. Emily gave over her house. And not a word, not a thank you, or even kindness. And I didn’t even get to enjoy the most important part of the party: the food.

  Neither woman looked concerned, or even chagrined.

  It was either the truth or my opinion. I opted for truth. “There was another accident at the winery, I had to go help because Ben is in the City. Cassandra.” I stopped. Carrie’s face was white. I could keep it light or be honest. It wasn’t too late.

  It was too late. “She fell into the stemmer/crusher, I don’t know how bad it is, she’s at the hospital now.”

  “Oh my God.” Carrie was clearly stricken, because she is a good person.

  “But of course keeping track of these elaborate and,” I glanced at the detritus, and then at the Furies, “pointless gifts is far more important. I totally understand that you’d feel slighted by my absence and you are most welcome to enjoy your self-righteous anger.”

  I turned to the silver: half of it belonged to Emily, the other half belonged to the Sullivan family. I snatched an empty gift bag from the pile of wrappings and dumped the flannel wrapped silver into the bag.

  “I need to clean up now. Here.” I thrust the heavy bag of silver at Claire, turned on my heel and marched to the kitchen. I was heading towards the broom closet because I really did need to sweep and it would give me something to do with my hands. I itched to throttle the spoiled Sullivan brats.

  “Wait, Allison.”

  I paused but didn’t turn around. Carrie remained on the patio, her head still in her hands.

  “Can you at least look at us?” Claire demanded.

  “I’ll pack up the left over wine for you to take, was there any food left? You’ll need to take that as well.” I looked over at Emily who had followed me to the kitchen and was now hovering over piles of aluminum foil wrapped plates of left over food.

  “Certainly, you’ll want the left overs.” Emily picked up a plate in each hand and thrust them at Kathleen.

  Carrie moaned. I would have thought the Sullivan sisters would have possessed some common decency to ask about Cassandra, but apparently not. Like me, Cassandra was just one of the little people, a servant to make everything smooth and easy for the Sullivan girls.

  “No, that’s not what we were going to say.” Kathleen set the plate back with the others.

  I waited, hands on my hips. Sure, I had a wedding to suffer through, but I would have Ben by my side for that event. And they would be busy with, yes, their friends and with hovering over poor Patrick, why hadn’t that boy run away from home years ago and join the circus? I would have.

  “Thank you.” Claire said.

  I raised an eyebrow. Too little, too late.

  “You’re welcome.” I turned back to the broom closet.

  “No, really, Allison.” Claire took a step forward, her hands supplicating. “Thank you. Our friends loved this event, they loved the chef, the food, everything and we’re sorry about Cassandra, really, it’s just we’ve been distracted an
d, well, here,” she thrust out an envelope.

  “Thank you for thinking of me.” I stepped in her direction, but paused before I reached the offered envelope.

  “We know you don’t like us.” Kathleen joined her sister. “We, well, we can be difficult, Patrick says so all the time.”

  “But if you knew,” Kathleen started, but Claire elbowed her.

  “Why did you rescue us earlier?” Claire asked over her sister’s protests.

  Oh sure, throw my innate decency back into my face. I considered lying, but I was on such an honesty roll, I kept going. “No one should have to answer personal questions like that at a shower, it’s part of the Pirate Code.”

  They nodded as if they understood the Pirate Code, which surprised me, I didn’t take them as women up on their Pirates of the Caribbean lore.

  “Thank you again,” they chorused. Claire extended the envelope one more time and this time I took it. I did not want to be unkind. Well, I did want to be unkind, but I also had to remember, this was about Carrie, not me.

  They quietly consulted with Carrie and helped her ferry all her booty to the car. I swept up after them, as was the job of Cinderella after the Stepsisters. I gathered the remains; the gardener would move the tables tomorrow. I joined Emily in the kitchen. She clicked off her phone.

  “That was Ben. He said Peter said that Cassandra is in critical condition. She lost a lot of blood.”

  “Someone must have rattled the scaffolding, you don’t just fall into something like that, not even someone as spacy as Cassandra.”

  Emily nodded. We heard the cars start up and drive away. “Those two are quite the pair. You’d think they’d revel in all this attention and pomp but they seemed ill at ease.”

  “They often are.” Carrie walked in through the back door.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I get to choose who I associate with.” She smiled. “They aren’t used to being lectured like that.”

  “They should get used to it,” I muttered.

  Emily pulled out a bottle of Cline Sauvignon Blanc and poured a glass for each of us. She pushed a covered plate to me.

  “What did they give you?” Carried asked.

  I slit open the envelope with my nail and pulled out a single piece of paper.

  “It’s a check.” I studied the numbers, not really believing. “For the whole party amount.”

  Chapter 13

  I held my own open house on Sunday and reported every visitor to Marcia’s voice mail, both real and faux. “Just want to cover my client’s options,” I explained during the 2:00 PM phone message. “How are the loan docs coming? Do you need anything more from me?” I knew the calls would drive Marcia crazy, that’s why I made them. Since escrow opened on my house, no one had heard a peep from the Sign Nazis, revealing that their leader was not only Marcia, but she was currently too distracted to worry about other Realtor’s business.

  It’s a service I was happy to offer to my fellow agents.

  I stopped by the office Monday with the sole intention of begging off the morning meeting because I needed to travel back up to Claim Jump. That I was meeting Ben up there was immaterial.

  Every time I stopped by the New Century office, I was treated to another installment of Rosemary and Katherine’s adopt a family project. So I was ready, for both the update and with the excuse that I couldn’t stay.

  Patricia slunk down and diligently searched through something on the web. She nodded to me as I passed by.

  “And I love the little outfits you bought for them.” Katherine’s voice flowed from Rosemary’s office.

  “And you, I love their new couch, where did you find that?” Rosemary complimented Katherine.

  It was like the scene in the Adams Family where Wednesday finally smiles and looks much creepier than she did when she frowned. Katherine and Rosemary were not built to be kind and cuddly. I poked my head into the office just to be sure it was really them.

  “Oh hi, we were just discussing our family.” Rosemary greeted me with a wave. Robert is applying for a job. We’re working to get him into Cooper milk.”

  “They give drug tests,” I pointed out.

  “He’s not on drugs, he’s just poor. Their previous landlord evicted them.”

  “Why?” I asked suspiciously.

  Rosemary shrugged elaborately, her eyes twinkled, “Something about the dog. And they only had a month to month.”

  “They have a dog?”

  “A small one, no one will notice.”

  “The Christophers have a whole family squatting in their REO, with a dog and no one has noticed yet?”

  Katherine glanced at Patricia and raised her eyebrows.

  “I don’t want to know.” I raised my hands in defeat; I really did not want to know. I’d cope with them after the wedding.

  “Know what?” Inez stalked from her office and bore down on us. “How are your sales in Claim Jump going?” She asked me point blank.

  “I have one challenging listing, one in escrow and one escrow that just opened.” I suppressed the urge to salute.

  “There was a murder there wasn’t there?” Rosemary asked archly. There, she was much more predictable when she was being mean instead of delightful.

  “Not a murder, an accidental death, it was ruled accidental.” Thank you Tom Marten, who was the first officer on that scene and who was inclined to accept my side of the story as the final word without too many questions.

  “Shouldn’t you get up there? That’s where you’re going right? How is your house coming?” My house represented a much smaller commission, so she wasn’t as focused on the sale of that house.

  “It’s in escrow.” I glanced at Patricia, she nodded in the affirmative. With all Marcia, Marcia, Marcia’s complaints, I wasn’t sure at this point if she wanted the property for her clients or not.

  “Good, its about time, you need the numbers.” With that encouraging pep talk, Inez dismissed me and focused on Rosemary and Katherine, their congratulatory expressions deflated by the sharp puncture of Inez’s stare.

  “I don’t see much activity from your end, what are you two doing?”

  “I have to go,” I said.

  “Bye,” Patricia said absently not looking up from her screen. It was almost October, a month Patricia normally devoted to all things Halloween and black. But her desk was eerily bare. Not a single spider or pumpkin in sight. I shrugged and escaped before Inez could collar me for a second opinion. Katherine and Rosemary were on their own.

  It was a long drive up and later back down highway 80, but it was worth it if only to snatch twenty-four hours in Claim Jump with Ben. We arrived in separate cars.

  “Are you saying you are close to selling the house?” He jumped out of his truck. It wasn’t exactly the romantic opening line I had in mind. But at least he didn’t start our romantic twenty-four hours with an update on poor Cassandra.

  “I have no idea, I’m just waiting on the loan docs, you know how long those take. I called Marcia every hour to check on the progress, I think that helps enormously don’t you?”

  “Isn’t she that agent from Prudential who’s the bull dog?”

  “God, you’ve heard of her?” I lugged my two overnight bags up to the bedroom, only briefly admiring the re-stained floor sections at the bottom of the stairs.

  “You all talk.” He followed me with a case of books. “I hear her name a lot when I’m out on jobs, what do you guys call her?”

  “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.” I admitted.

  He followed me into the bedroom roaring with “That’s her! Imagine my surprise when Marcia Brady’s doppelganger turned out to be a short Jewish woman from New York with a heavy accent. Not a blonde from Riverside”

  “Well, it’s the attitude.” I defended my mean girls.

  “Come on, we talk best in restaurants.” Ben took my hand.

  “What should we talk about?”

  “Do I take your name? Do we try for children agai
n? Do we vacation in Tuscany or would we be bored? Do you like sushi and can we make a living up here full time?”

  He picked up a couple more shingles and eyed the roof. “I thought they were finished.”

  He set them with the growing pile on the porch. “Okay, don’t take my name, that’s silly. I don’t think right now is a good time to discuss children, we can always get a dog if we find our lives aren’t complicated enough, Tuscany is beautiful but I’m afraid, boring. I love sushi and you are already doing well up here in real estate, I think you should stay with it.”

  I agreed, but was distracted by a car slowly making its way up the street. There is something about Claim Jump that makes you want to return. Even Raul and Brick, former illegal tenants of my Grandmother’s, return occasionally just to say hello to Grandma and absorb some of the heat radiating off the Yuba River rocks. And here they were. Brick pulled their cute Mini-Cooper festooned with red and white stripes, to the curb. The back of the tiny car was loaded with two grocery bags filled with beer, beach towels and monster sandwiches. I’d have to ask where they found those.

  “Allison!” Raul, my little miniature French friend with a Russian-like accent, is sometimes a villain, always a nuisance and conveniently an all-around computer and video genius. “You do not believe how cold is the City! All summer the fog! The wind!”

  “We’re up here to dry out.” Brick, a former PE teacher, and still able to climb ropes suspended from the gym ceiling and execute those one-armed push-ups (an important skill on other planets) agreed. “We’re here to relax.”

  “Staying in Grandma’s house, again?”

  “The main house,” Raul explained. “It is so odd not to be in our little cabin. But that nice girl will care for it. Have you seen her?”

  Raul is a master at revisionist history. He and his unsung partner Brick had been permanent guests in my grandmother’s little guesthouse for years, much longer than was prudent. Debbie Smith, Girl Attorney at Large, for instance, was beginning to nose around making noises that sounded alarmingly like zoning and ordinances. The boys abandoned their semi-permanent home just in time. As a lovely parting gift, Raul left all the video camera installed throughout the main house, barn and as a precaution (or so he claimed), the guesthouse. I did not categorize his installation as “help.” I leaned on the window of the car. Raul focused on my breasts, one of his may hobbies.