Alligators in the Trees

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “Oh, shoot!”

  “What is it, dear?” Harold asked in alarm.

  “Nothing. I had a bottle of wine for you, but I left it in the taxi.”

  “Oh, gracious! Perhaps you can ring the taxi company and have them drop it by,” Daphne tentatively suggested. Roxanne pursed her lips.

  “Umm, it probably got snatched by the next fare,” she said gravely. “It was a really good bottle of wine,” she added wistfully.

  “Well, it won’t hurt to give the taxi company a call,” Daphne said, once more levitating out of her chair.

  “I’ll call, Mom,” Roxanne said, grabbing her bag as she headed for the kitchen. Once she passed through the swinging slatted doors separating the dining area from the kitchen, she went through the charade of looking up the number in the phone book, making sure she accentuated every little noise of the process.

  While one hand was thus engaged, the other sought out cigarettes and matches from the bottom of her purse. She allowed herself three quick drags before faking a call to Speedy Cab. She puffed generously between inquiries, then ran what was left of the cigarette under the faucet to extinguish it before tossing it in the trash. Strictly speaking, this whole act was unnecessary, for smoking was not a taboo vice in the Burrows household. But Roxanne’s confidence was flagging, and she needed this ruse to give herself a chance to regroup.

  “Stay focused, stay focused, stay focused,” she repeated as she popped a breath mint into her mouth. Don’t let them throw you off balance, she cautioned herself, trying to play down the presence of her siblings. They’re so self-involved, they won’t pay any attention to what you’re saying anyway.

  “Well? Any luck?” Harold asked expectantly as Roxanne returned to the living room. She frowned her disappointment.

  “No. I’m sorry,” she said, retaking her seat near her father.

  “Oh, that’s a shame, darling. But I guess honesty and integrity are just too much to hope for, in this day and age,” her mother said, picking up her needlework as an antidote to the downfall of humanity.

  “It is a pity,” Harold agreed with a sad shake of his head. “But don’t let it trouble you, dear. It’s the thought that counts.”

  “Thanks, Daddy,” Roxanne said sweetly, wondering how many bad karma points she was racking up with this shameless deception. “I’ll bring a replacement next time.”

  “Don’t give it another thought,” Harold said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “So…what was it you wanted to talk to us about?” he asked, giving his youngest the benefit of his undivided attention.

  “Well…” Roxanne began, her eyes wandering to the distracted faces of Felicity, Bronte and Lloyd. Satisfied she could make her appeal without any kibitzing from them, she gave it her best shot. “…as you know, I’ve been pretty unhappy working at ValuWise…for quite a long time now.” This statement elicited raised eyebrows from both parents, as neither of them could understand how she let a “temporary” position as a checker become her life’s work.

  “My new boss, Stan Kemplehoff, is driving me batty…but I won’t bore you with the details.” Judging from their expressions, her parents were relieved by their daughter’s discretion. “So…I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. And after giving it a lot of thought, I think I’ve found something that really interests me,” she said, looking back and forth from her mother and father expectantly.

  But as she did, she discovered that this dramatic buildup had caught the attention of the others as well. Now all five heads were turned her direction, all ten eyes zeroing in on her, waiting for the big announcement.

  “That’s fabulous news, dear! We’re all very excited for you. So, tell us—what have you decided to do ‘with the rest of your life?’” Harold inquired grandly. Roxanne took a deep breath, a forced smile stuck to her lips, as she surveyed the room. Suddenly, the plausibility of what she was trying to accomplish seemed extremely dubious. She had serious doubts that she was actress enough to finesse her decidedly hair-brained strategy.

  “Tell us, Roxanne—we’re all ears,” Felicity said, as she laid the magazine across her lap and folded her arms in a challenging fashion. Her brothers also looked especially keen to hear this revelation.

  “I’ve decided to become a real estate agent,” Roxanne said, with as much dignity as she could hold together. Barks of delighted derision assailed her as soon as the words left her tongue.

  “You? A real-a-tard?” Bronte cried out gleefully.

  “You’ve never sold anything but Girl Scout Cookies in your life,” Felicity happily reminded her.

  “That’s our Roxanne—leaping into an industry during its worst crisis in history,” Lloyd obligingly pointed out.

  Roxanne was stunned into silence. She knew their attendance hadn’t boded well for her, yet she was shocked by the enthusiasm with which her brothers and sister ripped her decision to shreds.

  “Now, everyone—let’s give Roxanne the benefit of the doubt,” Harold said, holding up his hands to quell the abuse. “If she’s made the decision to become an estates agent, I’m sure she has her reasons.”

  “Dad, what makes her think she has what it takes to be a real-a-tard?” Bronte asked peevishly.

  “Stop calling it that,” Roxanne snapped.

  “Bronte!” Harold scolded his son.

  “That’s one of her words,” Bronte replied defensively, leveling a mocking smirk at his sister.

  “Daddy, can we discuss this in private?” Roxanne asked, standing abruptly.

  “That’s not necessary, Roxanne,” Daphne said. “You are free to say anything you wish without censure in this household, and I want your brothers and sister to remember that. So, sit down, darling, and explain this decision of yours to us so that we might understand it.” Daphne let her gaze hover over her offspring while she let her message sink in.

  “Go on, dear,” Harold said encouragingly.

  “Well, that’s it, really. I’ve done my research and found a course that seems practical and offers a money-back guarantee—”

  “That’s handy,” Felicity said under her breath.

  “…and I can complete the course and take my exam in five or six weeks.”

  “What’s the guarantee cover, passing the exam or earning a living?” Bronte asked.

  “Let’s say you do pass the course, then what?” Lloyd asked, his normally placid face positively glowing with malice.

  “Then I become a licensed real estate agent and start looking for a company to work for. What?”

  “I know you’re not one for keeping up with current affairs, but haven’t you heard anything about what’s happening in the real estate arena these days?”

  “For your information, Lloyd, I do read the papers and I do know what’s going on in the ‘real estate arena.’ But this is California—it’s one of the most desirable places in the country to live. And there are many reasons for that—the climate, the access to beaches, deserts, mountains, the lifestyle. California’s the Golden State. Everyone who doesn’t live here fantasizes about it at some time or other. We may be experiencing a down market, but it’s only a matter of time before the situation will stabilize,” Roxanne concluded, hoping the others found her assertions more convincing than she did.

  “Looks like you’ve got the spiel down, but as Felicity pointed out, you have virtually no sales experience,” Lloyd rebuked her.

  “Forget experience—what about aptitude. I’d say she’s the least likely candidate for real estate sales I’ve ever come across,” Bronte fired off.

  “Why do you say that?” Roxanne demanded. Bronte waved the question away, as if it were too obvious to require an explanation. “Is it because you think the only worthwhile pursuits involve selfless devotion and the willingness to work for a salary only modestly above the poverty level?”

  This barb drew astonished gasps from her parents, jeers from Lloyd and Felicity, and a stoic leer from Brother Bronte. Working as a cris
is counselor at youth shelter afforded Bronte not only a pitifully small pay check, but a gold star, halo and all the rest. In other words, Saintly Bronte was beyond reproach. Never mind that he held two master’s degrees—one in psychology, the other in English—each costing in the neighborhood of a hundred grand a piece. Why should anyone expect him to make a decent living?

  “There are more noble endeavors in life than just going for the almighty buck,” Bronte replied with pious condescension.

  “Funny how what you do for a living is noble, yet the fact that I work hard to support myself and my son is somehow less than noble. How does that add up?”

  “Really, Roxanne—are you saying that Derek doesn’t provide child support?” Felicity asked caustically.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that I have to work to pay the bills. And you’re wrong if you think his support covers all of Conner’s expenses. Sure, we may be getting by—barely—but is it really wrong to want more than that for myself and my son?” Roxanne challenged.

  As passionate as her argument was, she knew she was making it before the Communist Republic of Burrowstan, where youth counselor and librarian were positions held in the highest esteem. And even though Lloyd was a web designer and IT coordinator for a small T-shirt manufacturer, he too made a ridiculously low wage. Roxanne was by far the biggest bread winner out of the siblings present, an achievement that earned her virtually no points, simply because she was a lowly checker, and—sin of all sins—she had no education beyond high school.

  “It takes months and months for new agents to close their first deal, and usually it’s what they refer to a ‘DNA’ deal, meaning it involves a family member or close friend. They figure each agent has two ‘DNA’ deals in them and that’s about it. And as you have so helpfully pointed out, your family is pretty much a dry well, unless of course you can talk Mom and Dad into selling this house and moving into a seniors’ condo,” Felicity said snidely. Roxanne glared at her silently; she knew better than to play into her sister’s hands. “Besides, most new licensees get out of the business within the first year,” Felicity concluded in her usual know-it-all fashion.

  If this had been a baseball game, Felicity’s enlightening statistics would have been the equivalent of a bases-loaded home run in the ninth inning. From the expressions on everyone’s faces, Roxanne knew she was not the odds-on favorite in this match up. She let her sister gloat for a moment before presenting her rejoinder.

  “If everyone in the world approached their aspirations by compiling all the reasons why they couldn’t succeed and letting that pile of negatives be the deciding factor, how far would we get in life? Debating is a great way to explore an idea, but for some people, that’s where the action ends. After all, it’s a lot easier to pooh-pooh a dream than it is to go out and actually make it happen.” Roxanne glanced at each of them, gauging how this had registered. Her siblings seemed to have lost a measure of their smug superiority, and her parents looked positively delighted.

  “Well said, Roxanne,” Harold congratulated her, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs in a tacit sign of approval. “So, tell us dear—and don’t let the peanut gallery dissuade you this time—what exactly is your plan?”

  “Study the course, take the test, pass—hopefully—apply for my license and set up interviews,” she said. The faint hint of excitement in her voice was irritating enough to send her siblings back to their previous pursuits, at least superficially.

  “And will you continue to work at ValuWise?” her mother asked.

  “Oh, sure…at least until I have a position lined up. I mean, I still have to bring home a pay check.”

  “So, does that mean you will keep working as a cashier until you close a sale?” Harold asked. Roxanne chewed the inside of her lip while she considered his question. She hadn’t worked that part of the scenario out yet. It didn’t help her thought processes any to discover Felicity was now staring at her with predatory zeal.

  “Well…” Roxanne faltered.

  “I do think your sister made a good point about the ‘down-time’ between starting out in real estate and receiving your first commission check,” Harold added.

  “Of course, agents don’t usually get paid the first month they start, but if I decided I wanted to be a nurse—or let’s make it easier—a teacher, I’d have to have at least four years of college, plus whatever the requirements are for teaching credentials, before I would receive any pay.”

  “That’s true,” Daphne said, looking up from her needlepoint.

  “Besides,” Roxanne continued, her confidence returning, “there’d be no way I could go to school fulltime, work fulltime and be a mother fulltime.”

  “Part-time,” Felicity corrected her from behind her magazine.

  “There are other vocations that don’t require several years of college,” Lloyd said sagely from his window seat. “Like Bronte said, selling real estate is the last thing I picture you doing.”

  “Really?” Roxanne countered. “And why is that?”

  “For one thing, I’ve never once heard you speak kindly of the profession, which is why I find this sudden craze so puzzling.”

  “That’s true, dear—you’ve never shown any interest in it before, not to my knowledge, anyway,” Harold pragmatically agreed, entreating his daughter to bear proof of her longing.

  Now all three siblings had their antennae up, ready to pounce on Roxanne’s slightest equivocation. This put her in an uncomfortable spot, as she herself had no clue why she was suddenly fixated on being a real estate agent.

  “In my opinion, you could do a lot better,” Lloyd added, before sticking his nose back in his five-pound book. “After all, I can’t think of a less educated, overpaid group of people on the planet,” he said, turning the page and reading on without bothering to glance her way. As opposed to over-educated, underpaid people like you, Felicity and Bronte, Roxanne thought, though she judiciously kept such comparisons to herself.

  “You are certainly entitled to your opinions, Lloyd, but all your sarcastic remarks won’t deter me. I wish I could make you all understand why I want to try my hand at selling real estate, but I guess all I can say is that I find the idea stimulating—exciting, even. Unlike you, I do have the desire to make some decent money, to get ahead instead of just treading water, to stop punching a clock every day. I want to succeed. I want to shake hands with my clients and hand them the keys to their new home. I want to make people’s dreams come true!”

  Despite all the startled faces in the room, no one was more shocked by Roxanne’s affirmation than she was. Where had that come from? she wondered, as goose bumps rippled her flesh. Had working at ValuWise for thirteen years completely derailed her mind?

  She had never had the slightest desire to sell real estate or rub elbows with those who did. Now she was practically frothing at the mouth to convince her family it was her fondest ambition. Worse still, they were starting to believe her. Was she really that desperate to quit her job?

  Yes, she was that desperate. So desperate, in fact, she would prefer anything to her current circumstances. So, yes, she could throw pride and dignity aside, pull up her sleeves and fight for listings, point out the many benefits of homeownership, and drive clients around in the often endless pursuit of the perfect home. Oops…the driving part was still an issue.

  Judging from the look of stunned approval on her parents’ faces, now was the time to close on the question of financial assistance.

  “Our apologies for doubting your commitment, Roxanne,” Harold began. “We’ll support your decision any way we can.”

  “Does that mean I can count on your help with expenses?” Roxanne asked in her most polished, professional tone.

  “Expenses?” Harold replied.

  “The course is a bargain at $275. And that includes the cost of the exam. But it doesn’t include the $165 the Department of Real Estate charges for the actual license.” Harold nodded methodically. $440. That was certainly the cheapest educ
ational expense he’d seen in decades.

  “Sounds quite reasonable,” he mused.

  “There are other expenses to be considered…”

  “Such as…?”

  “I need a new car,” Roxanne stated bluntly.

  “A new car?” Felicity echoed incredulously. “Well, that goes for me, too.”

  “Me three,” Bronte said, as he banged away on his keyboard. Lloyd raised his hand, not wanting to be left out of the car giveaway.

  “Yours runs, mine doesn’t,” Roxanne informed her cheeky sister. “That’s why I had to take a cab over here.”

  The light dawned for Harold and Daphne in unison; after all the talk about the wine left in the taxi, the fact that she had not driven over in her own car had utterly escaped them.

  “The starter’s shot. It’ll cost me more to fix it than it’s worth,” Roxanne explained to her muddled parents.

  “But a new car…” Harold hesitated.

  “A used car. ‘Pre-owned,’ but new to me. I think I can find something good for eight or nine thousand,”

  “Nine thousand?” Felicity cried out.

  “Come on, Felicity—that’s less than the cost of one semester at UCLA. Or have you conveniently forgotten?”

  “I earned a degree with that money.”

  “Fat lot of good it’s done you,” Roxanne shot back.

  “That’s enough!” Harold bellowed, slamming his fist on the arm of his chair, startling his family. “We will have none of this petty bickering. Roxanne came to us, her parents, with an appeal for help. You will all kindly remember that we’ve always taken your desires to better yourselves seriously. And if any of you find it difficult to keep your comments constructive, you can leave the room.”

  The Burrows children all stared at their patriarch with awed alarm. They hadn’t seen an outburst like that in so many years, none of them could actually remember one. Felicity put down her magazine and grabbed her tattered canvas satchel.