by Anne Canadeo
Dana looked really surprised now. “Sounds like she’s really downsizing. That wasn’t just talk last night, was it?”
Suzanne shook her head and took a bite. She relished the taste of the cold lettuce and tomato against the warm toast and bacon, all mingling with the creamy mayo. Dear Goddess of Carbs, Fat Grams, and Empty Calories, please forgive me for my sins, she prayed silently.
After a big swallow, she said, “No, it wasn’t just talk. She called first thing in the morning to get together and put her house on the market. She signed the sales contract on the dotted line. Once she makes up her mind, that woman doesn’t waste time.”
“She always seems very decisive to me,” Dana agreed. “She’s very social and outgoing, but has a very analytical mind. Processes information quickly, I’ve noticed.”
“She’s a sharp cookie,” Suzanne translated from shrink-speak.
“Exactly.” Dana smiled at her. She put her salad aside to pick up her knitting again. She hadn’t started her quilt squares yet, Suzanne noticed, but the vest was coming along nicely.
Dana planned to give Jack the vest for Father’s Day, which was a little more than two weeks away. But she’d have it done in time, Suzanne was sure. She knit like a plow horse. Slow but steady.
Dana tied a marker at the end of a row. “Why is she selling all this property now? It isn’t very good timing.”
“She owns a lot more than those places, believe me. She says she just doesn’t have the time to spend managing the rental side, or to deal with the managing agents and the condo board. Now that she’s married again, she has to change her workaholic ways. She wants more time for Jamie.”
“Oh … I see.” Dana nodded, examining her stitches, which were enviably even and clung to the needle with just the right tension. Suzanne also noticed that Dana did not sound convinced by this explanation. A certain note in her “I see” reply gave her away.
“I hope you close all those deals, Suzanne. That would be a real estate agent’s equivalent to winning the lottery, wouldn’t it?”
“As close as I’ll ever get.” Suzanne finished the last bite of her sandwich, then licked a bacon crumb off her fingertip.
Several women strolled out of the shop at once, chatting as they walked down the porch steps. It seemed that Maggie’s class had ended. Suzanne thought to go inside and say hello, then noticed Maggie in the doorway, coming out to visit them.
“I thought I spotted you two. Did I miss the lunch break?”
“Just about.” Dana glanced at her watch. “I can hang out a little longer. Suzanne has big news. She’s celebrating with a BLT.”
“Didn’t you just start that Cranberry Flush Fast thing this morning? Not that I think you need a diet,” Maggie added.
“Of course I do. But some diets were made to be broken. What can I say. Besides, I had to celebrate.”
“Suzanne is Super Real Estate Saleswoman today. You just don’t recognize her without the cape,” Dana explained.
“Those positive-thinking CDs kicking in?”
“Must be.” Suzanne shrugged and grinned. “Gloria Sterling gave me an exclusive on her house and she wants me to find her a new one—”
“Oh right. You settled it already? Good work,” Maggie cut in.
“And she has two other properties in town she asked me to handle. One is that big commercial building on Main Street with two stores in the bottom and apartments above.”
“Wow, you did sweep the table this morning,” Maggie said. “That should keep you busy for the rest of the summer.”
“It will definitely keep me out of trouble. Especially with the twins’ orthodontist.”
“Which building on Main Street?” Maggie asked.
Suzanne gave the number address. “The one with the new dress shop on the street level.”
“I’m glad it’s not my building. I’d hate to have the rent on my office raised right now,” Dana said honestly.
“It would be tough,” Maggie agreed.
Suzanne’s BlackBerry buzzed and she quickly checked it. “Duty calls, gang.” She gathered up her trash and handbag. “I’ve got to get back to the office. I have a big afternoon of gloating ahead, and making my coworkers crazy jealous.”
“All in a day’s work for a superhero.” Dana rose, too, and packed up her knitting.
“What can I say? It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it.” Suzanne grinned at her friends as she gave them all a wave good-bye and practically floated off the porch.
It had been a good day. A very good day. With any luck, the first of many that were on the way.
Lucy worked steadily through the afternoon, getting up from her computer only once or twice for a cup of tea, more headache pills, and to let Tink out for a backyard break. She did need to check her e-mails from time to time, just to keep her sanity. She quickly opened one from Suzanne that arrived around 4:00. Suzanne ecstatically reported she had snagged Gloria as a client and was going to do about ten deals for her at once.
Lucy was happy for her. Suzanne was working hard but the real estate market in town had been a dead zone lately. Suzanne could definitely use this windfall of commissions.
Lucy wrote a quick note back, cheering her on, and then checked a few more messages from her clients. The editor of her current project was checking in before the weekend and Lucy was happy to report that the project was coming along on schedule. For once.
Lucy knew she wasn’t the greatest with keeping to a deadline. Life was always getting in the way, it seemed, and everything took longer than she expected. But somehow, she got the jobs done within reason.
She had almost finished inputting final changes on a children’s book project, a nonfiction title in a series about nature topics.
It was nearly 5:00 before she noticed. Time to shut down the computer and get ready to meet her boyfriend, Matt, in town for dinner. When Lucy finally got up from her desk chair, her back and neck felt stiff and she did a little yoga stretch, looking forward to a long hot shower to get the rest of the kinks out.
Lucy wasn’t a real clock-watcher and worked as many hours in the day as she needed to in order to deliver projects on time. Or, almost on time. Sometimes she worked late into the night if she had a particularly tight deadline. Being single, she could do that without worrying about getting up early the next day to make breakfasts or bagged lunches, take children to school, or any other family responsibilities.
She did want to marry again and have children, but it was too soon after her divorce to worry about that, wasn’t it? She needed to go slowly this time. She couldn’t let herself feel pressured by some sort of self-imposed timetable.
Her sister was no great help on the subject. Ellen, who had popped out babies in her twenties—as if the schedule was noted in her Day Timer—often hinted that Lucy’s eggs were getting stale, approaching the expiration date stamped … somewhere. And she had to start thinking about these things.
“Can we have a conversation that doesn’t include my ovaries?” Lucy had once asked her. That shut Ellen up on the topic … for a while.
Since Lucy had started seeing Matt, back in March, Ellen had finally stopped engineering fix-ups with her husband’s single coworkers and golf buddies, possibly the dullest group of men on the eastern seaboard.
Matt was different. Lucy had known that from just about the first time they’d met, when she’d brought Tink in with a mysterious stomach ailment. One thing had led to another. The hideous specimen Matt removed from Tink’s stomach had turned out to be a major clue in the murder of Amanda Goran. Matt had turned out to be just as kind, intelligent, and funny as she’d imagined from that first meeting. He laughed at her jokes, even when she wasn’t trying to be funny. What else could you ask for?
You could ask for a guy who was actually, completely, legally free from his first marriage? a little niggling voice reminded her.
Well … let’s not get picky, Lucy thought as she quickly dressed.
The delay was
all on his wife’s side, to hear him tell it. She just wouldn’t make it easy for him. Especially now, that he’d started seeing Lucy.
She’d heard stories, of course, of women who got involved with almost divorced men who eventually returned to their wives. Or women who did the same thing, for that matter. She didn’t want to think she was wasting her time in this relationship … or falling for someone who wouldn’t stick around.
The hot humid weather had made her long dirty blonde hair a wild mass of waves. She scooped it up and pinned it into a loose twist, then put on a pair of silver hoop earrings and matching bracelets.
So she tried not to think of it at all. It was too early to confront him about it, she thought. He was trying his best … wasn’t he?
Lucy was meeting Matt in town at their favorite restaurant, the Main Street Café. She drove into town so she wouldn’t be late and luckily found a parking spot right in front.
A popular spot on the weekend, especially in the summer when boaters tied up at the dock adjacent to the green and came into the village for dinner.
The cafe had a large, old-fashioned-looking bar in front, with a pressed tin ceiling and wainscoted walls, covered with black-and-white photos. The gallery was vast and wide ranging, showing the town and famous locals, dating back to the 1800s. There were celebrities and national figures, too. Many sports heroes and newspaper headlines.
There was a lot to look at while you waited for a table, not to mention people watching. Lucy stood at the bar, shoulder to shoulder with other patrons, and looked around for Matt.
“You can’t get a caipirinha in here, sorry. But they do make a mean martini,” a familiar voice informed her.
Lucy turned to find Gloria, looking particularly vivacious and summery tonight in a yellow off-the-shoulder top and slim white capris.
“Hi, Gloria. It’s so crowded in here, I didn’t even see you.”
“I don’t think you were looking for me, either,” Gloria teased her. “Meeting your boyfriend?”
“Yes, I am. Are you here alone?” Lucy asked, wondering if Matt would mind if she invited Gloria to eat with them.
They didn’t have much time together, so he might not like the idea. But once he laid eyes on Gloria, he’d probably decide it wouldn’t be complete torture, Lucy thought.
“I’m waiting for some friends,” Gloria replied. “Are you surprised that I’m not home alone, pining for Jamie?”
“No, of course not,” Lucy said quickly. Did she looked surprised? She actually was, but had tried not to show it.
“How did his meeting go today? Any word?”
“Everything is going perfectly. That’s why I didn’t run into Boston to join him for that party. He asked me to come. A few times. But I want this to be his own thing. He needs some space, even though he doesn’t always think so. Know what I mean?”
Lucy nodded. It was wise of Gloria to see that, Lucy thought. There was probably a danger in their relationship of Jamie feeling overwhelmed. Her strong personality coupled with the difference in their finances was a solid combination punch.
Lucy was impressed that Gloria seemed aware of that. She was no dumb blonde, that was for sure. Not when it came to handling men.
Gloria’s words were slightly slurred, sounding as if she’d already had a martini … or two. Or maybe she was just feeling emotional talking about Jamie, the way she’d been last night. She was very dramatic sometimes, all her emotions bubbling to the surface. That was part of what made her so interesting to be around.
The crowd at the bar shifted and Lucy spotted Matt in the doorway. When their eyes met and he smiled, she felt that funny little ping in her chest.
Yes, she’d wait for him to get a divorce and she wouldn’t nag. She’d wait three months … six … a year …
“Is that Matt? He’s a babe. I had no idea.”
Lucy smiled, she couldn’t help it. “Thanks … I think so.”
“Well, here’s to love.” Gloria tipped her glass. “It’s worth everything. Believe me.”
Gloria took a long sip of her cocktail and peered at Lucy over the rim. Her green eyes glinted knowingly.
Matt made his way through the crowd and Lucy introduced him to Gloria. But before they could engage in any small talk, the hostess announced that their table was ready.
They said good night to Gloria and headed off for dinner.
“Perfect timing.” Matt rested his hand on her shoulder as they walked to the back of the cafe.
“You came in just on cue,” Lucy told him.
Marcia and Ken Bueller were ripe to make an offer. Suzanne could smell it on them.
Or maybe that was just the pile of shin guards and abandoned lunch boxes—God only knew what was left in them—that she’d hastily tossed in the cargo area of her Mom mobile before chauffeuring her clients around to view various properties on Saturday morning.
Gloria’s house was the grand finale. Saving the best for last was an old sales trick … but it worked. Suzanne had a feeling it would work on the Buellers. The thirty-something DINKS—double income, no kids—had just lost out on a very similar house in the area.
The Buellers longed to live in The Landing and were primed to jump all over Gloria’s stunning contemporary. Suzanne was nearly tempted to hand around a box of hand wipes; the couple was practically drooling as she turned down Sugar Maple Way. It was moments like this that made her job fun and Gloria’s glorious property was going to be love at first sight. Suzanne just had a feeling. She was relieved Gloria wouldn’t be at home for the showing. Suzanne operated much better without the buyer anxiously hovering.
Gloria, of course, would have played it cool. But wouldn’t it be a thrill to tell Gloria that she had a buyer, a mere twenty-four hours after their meeting yesterday? And before the house had even officially gone on the market?
Suzanne had been so excited on her way to the office this morning, she had to play her sales CD, the one about fear of success. She silently reviewed the affirmations, just for good measure.
I am fearless. I am a winner. I am surrounded by a white protective light. Nothing stands in my path. I am going all the way today …
“Oh, I love the windows in front … and look at that beautiful tree, Ken. What kind of tree is that?” Marcia Bueller’s high-pitched voice cut into Suzanne’s mental pep talk.
“It’s a Japanese maple. Very rare,” Suzanne noted. “All the landscape design was done by Quinn and Rottman, a very exclusive firm. Wait until you see the back.”
“Very nice,” Brad Bueller said in a bland tone from the backseat. “Must need a lot of special maintenance though.”
Brad played his cards close to his chest, Suzanne knew. But she could tell he liked it, too. Besides, it seemed that Marcia was the real decision maker here. Brad was just the front man.
Suzanne pulled her SUV around the U-shaped driveway and parked at the front door, so her clients got that “Honey, I’m home!” feeling.
She led them to the cupola entrance and searched around for the keys, then quickly unlatched the door. All the while she heard the Buellers behind her, murmuring in approval about the impressive architectural lines.
Suzanne had the code to shut the alarm system, but when she checked the box near the front door it seemed Gloria had forgotten to turn it on. So much the better, Suzanne thought. She hated fooling around with those things and was always afraid to set off some sales-curdling siren.
She turned to the Buellers, who stood in the middle of the foyer, gazing around with gratifying awe. It was impressive: a round, light-filled space with a two-story high ceiling and a long, curving stairway that led to the upper floors. The shiny black granite floor and entry table, topped by an arrangement of fresh flowers, made the passageway seem like the entrance to a luxury hotel.
“Very elegant,” Marcia cooed. “A much more open feeling than that house on Tyler Street.”
“Yes, much more open,” her husband echoed.
Suzanne abstained from
comment. She knew they would hate the house on Tyler Street. That one had been a setup.
She led them into the stadium-size living room next, decorated in a stark, minimalist style and practically nonexistent colors—off white, putty, and gray.
The Buellers were suitably impressed, necks craned back as they gawked at the ceiling height and stone fireplace. But Suzanne was surprised that Gloria had not made much effort to clean up. The room looked far from magazine-spread perfect. A bad sign at a first showing. It usually took a few weeks before the sellers fell into a “love it or leave it” attitude.
A pile of magazines was spread out on the floor next to a pair of leopard-print slides. The headline on the cover of Cosmo shouted in hot pink type, “Our Best Ever ‘BIG O’ Issue!”
Suzanne discreetly kicked it under the couch. Was Gloria still reading that stuff? To look at her, you’d think she knew it all by now.
Suzanne leaned over and discreetly fluffed some smashed pillows, then spotted two empty wineglasses, stained with dull red rings, sitting in clear sight on the slate end table. They gave off a vinegary smell, too. The exact opposite scent of the apple pie theory, which some of her colleagues swore by—have the seller stick something coated with cinnamon and sugar in the oven a few minutes before the potential buyers arrive. The comforting, homey scent sends subliminal messages to the buyer’s brain.
What message did dirty wineglasses send? More like the party’s over, Suzanne thought.
“I’ll just take these into the kitchen,” Suzanne murmured, “be right back.”
Suzanne scooped up the glasses, quickly carried them into the kitchen, and rinsed them with some hot water and stuck them in the dishwasher. Then she made a note on her BlackBerry to bring Gloria some cinnamon-scented candles or sachets.
On her way back to the living room, Suzanne glanced through the glass doors that framed the patio and pool. Another mess outside, darn it. Sitting on a little table in clear view, another dirty wineglass and Gloria’s knitting bag, tipped over on the floor.