‘Come on, Tom, I bet you never made so much money in your life. Twelve grand this week, forty grand in the past month, where would you get it, I’m just a fucking mug aren’t I?’
‘You made at least two hundred thou last month by my reckoning, even allowing for your bloody overheads, but I’m not bitter.’ Tom was happy, it was Saturday night and they never worked on Sundays. All the tourist groups changed over on Sundays, no point in wasting time going after them. Mid-week was best, the punters getting bored with the beach and starting to look around the neighbourhood, ripe pickings for Alan’s team of hustler girls who delivered clients to the salesmen at the Pueblo.
They ate in silence for a while, the starters were tasty and the portions generous.
‘Any plans for later on?’
‘Might meet up with the crowd from the water park; have a few beers, nothing else. How about yourself?
Alan shook his head. ‘Early night for me, not able for the booze any more, doctor says I need to watch it a bit.’
‘So, how are we doing on the overall total?’ Tom was losing count of how many apartment shares had been sold, it was hard to keep track. In any case, he didn’t concern himself too much about the backroom detail; his job was to sell, and he just kept a note of how many sales he made each week and the names of the clients. Alan never quibbled, just paid him in cash on Saturday evenings, and they usually retired to a good restaurant for a leisurely dinner before going their separate ways for the rest of the weekend. The bundle of notes rested comfortably in his jacket pocket right now; there was nothing like the feeling of being paid in cash at the end of the week and knowing that there was more to be made next week again.
‘We’re nearly through all of block four now, we’ll be moving back to block one in about three or four weeks. Start trickling it out, one or two apartments at a time, pretend that they’re cancellations.’
‘We’re going well so.’ Tom was surprised at the extent of the sales. It was easy to forget the big picture sometimes; you just focussed on selling one apartment at a time, just zeroed in on one client and made the sale, then moved on to the next, head down, keep slogging away.
‘Doing particularly well since you came on board. You’re selling three to every one of Timothy’s for instance, of course the rankings system is working in your favour as well.’
The rankings was a simple system, whoever was top of the list got first choice of clients as they came in the door. Alan wanted clients dealt with by someone who was likely to get a sale, so the other salesmen only got a look in if Tom was already busy. It created a bit of competition too; the others had to try to sell more to catch Tom, but they hadn’t succeeded, so far.
‘Time flies doesn’t it, seems like you have been with us for years. It’s been a good move for you hasn’t it, coming to Spain?’
Tom agreed, it was almost too good to be true. Nearly nine months with Alan’s company, well more than a quarter of a million in the bank; would never happen at home. Still, you would miss home sometimes; it would be great to be heading out on the town at home instead of down to the bloody port, week after week, with the same crowd of losers propping up the counter in the Saxophone bar.
Soon, he figured, he would quit this game and get an honest job, one where he would be happy to meet his customers on the street and look them in the eye. It was ok when he was busy and didn’t have to think too much about what he was doing, but sometimes he lay awake at night and thought about some of the people who came through the offices at Pueblo Alto Blanco. Some of them could afford to lose the money, but then again a lot of them weren’t very well off and it seemed as if they were spending most of their life savings on a useless timeshare on a dusty Spanish hillside. A part of him wanted to warn them, to tell them to go home and forget the whole deal, but the thought of the fat commission on each sale kept him from doing anything so stupid.
‘Penny for the thoughts, Tom.’ Alan broke into his reverie.
‘You don’t get my thoughts for that kind of money, I thought we agreed that.’
‘You have a price on everything, Tom, but who am I to talk?’
Alan called for the bill, and the waiter brought the Bentley round to the front door. ‘Drop you somewhere? I’m heading home, can’t keep up the pace any more.’ Alan sounded tired.
‘I’ll get out at the road down to the port; the stroll will do me good.’ Tom felt bloated after the heavy meal. ‘I’m not getting enough exercise lately, added a couple of inches to the waistline since I started to work for you.’
‘It does you no harm; a big tall guy like you can carry a few extra pounds.’
‘Yes, but as long as it isn’t all at the front.’
‘See you Monday, Tom.’
He set off to walk to the saxophone bar with the intention of meeting up with the gang from the water park, but when he got to the fountain at the entrance to the port he paused. Tom wasn’t in the humour for a noisy night of drinking and having to shout to be heard above the crowd. He was getting tired of the constant partying in this sunny holiday resort; he remembered the nights at home, having a pint with Walter and Kevin in the Willows, and going on to a club and meeting the friends he knew from childhood. Tom was homesick; he turned and walked back towards the underpass and his apartment. An early night mightn’t be a bad idea.
He was awake early on Sunday morning and walked around to the twenty-four-hour supermarket to buy a couple of Irish newspapers. The news from home was the same as usual, not much happening, but it was nice to catch up. The property sections seemed to have got thicker, their pages full of adverts for new housing and apartment developments. The economy seemed to be doing all right, some of the gloom and doom was missing from the news stories and he detected a slightly positive slant to a lot of the articles. Maybe it was a case of far away hills, an emigrant’s view of home through rose tinted glasses; he dropped the papers on the table and headed out to get some breakfast.
It was a perfect morning for a walk, not too warm but with a clear blue sky overhead and not a speck of cloud to be seen. He loved to see the masses of purple flowers on the bougainvillea that spilled over the walls of the garden; the best thing about living is Spain was the year-round display of flowering plants that lifted the spirits on an early morning walk. He strolled through the car park of the Casino and crossed the small hill to where a small group of shops curved around the corner by the roundabout. La Paloma was open; a scattering of expat regulars already laying claim to the best tables on the terrace.
Henry Williams had already cornered a table, and he motioned to Tom to join him. The elderly English estate agent was a regular at the popular café, and Tom had breakfasted with him there many times since meeting with him on his first night in Spain when he was trying to decipher the menu in Picasso’s.
‘Tom, sit down, pull up a chair. I’d like you to meet another Irishman; this is Harry Corbett, plays golf with me in Valderama now and again.’
They exchanged handshakes. Tom hadn’t seen the Irishman before, looked a bit pale to be a resident in the area, probably had a holiday home here he reckoned.
‘So, do you live in Ireland or here in Spain?’
‘In Ireland unfortunately, although that sounds as if I dislike the place, but when I see weather like this, I envy you guys that have this all the time.’
‘So, how do you know this reprobate?’ Tom enjoyed a friendly banter with Henry, he had found him to be a helpful contact since their first meeting, and the two were now good friends.
‘He sold me my apartment a couple of years ago, and then he wound up having to show me where all the golf courses were. So now I come out for long weekends and keep him away from his work, drag him around the golf course and try to win back the commission he made off me.’
‘So, you offloaded an expensive piece of real estate on a poor Paddy, have the English not stopped exploiting us yet?’
The Irishman laughed. ‘It might have been expensive at the time, but it looks
cheap now. I’m very happy to be exploited if I can make gains like that, believe me.’
Henry stirred his coffee. ‘At least he didn’t end up in Pueblo Alto Blanco.’
‘True.’ Tom was able to laugh at himself. ‘That would have been a bad outcome all right.’
‘So, what’s Pueblo Blanco or whatever?’ The Irishman was curious.
‘It’s a timeshare caper in the hills; our Tom here has sold his soul to the devil and is making a fortune flogging it to innocent tourists.’ Henry was joking, but there was a little tinge of disapproval in his voice; he didn’t like the way Alan Merchant did business and he never made any secret of it.
‘It’s a holiday club.’ Tom shifted uncomfortably in the chair. The banter was light-hearted, but Henry’s comments had stung a little.
‘Club, timeshare, fractional ownership, it doesn’t matter what you call it, end result is still the same, people end up disappointed. Anyway, we have agreed to disagree on it, Tom; what do you want for breakfast, wave-ohs?’
They laughed at the memory of Tom’s early attempts at the language; he was a lot better now although his attempts to pronounce the ‘s’ at the end of words as a ‘th’ were still a source of amusement to his Spanish friends.
‘Tom is the best salesman ever to come out of Ireland, he has a natural talent for selling, but he doesn’t discriminate between good and bad, sells everything that comes along. I have to work my ass off to sell a few good properties; he seems to be able to sell absolutely anything, never lets one slip. Wish he’d come and work with us, but he never takes me up on my offer.’
‘You can’t afford me.’ Tom was smiling again, the ribbing about timeshares forgotten.
They breakfasted in the warm sun until Harry pushed back his chair. ‘I have to be heading off, have to drop off the car and catch my flight, back to the rain and wind.’ He reached for his wallet but Tom waved him away. ‘Breakfast is on me, you can get me back in Dublin sometime.’
They shook hands. ‘You can take me up on that, any time.’
Tom looked at the departing rental car as it headed down the slip road. ‘Nice guy, what does he do in Ireland?’
‘Not exactly sure, he has a small estate agency business but I think he makes most of his money from financial services, you know, mortgages and insurance and that kind of thing. Doesn’t talk too much about it, when he’s having a few days off he’s having a few days off, if you know what I mean. Good golfer though, I enjoy a game with him.’
Tom called the waitress and ordered two more coffees. ‘So, you think I shouldn’t be working for Alan?’
The older man shook his head. ‘It’s not for me to tell you what you should or shouldn’t be doing; I just think that fellows like Alan Merchant are bad news. He’ll walk away if the shit hits the fan and your reputation will be on the floor. Has the building started on t he other three blocks up at Pueblo Alto?’
Tom nodded. ‘Yes, a contractor started at the beginning of last month, big crew on site now, looks like they mean business. It makes it a lot easier for us too; it wasn’t easy explaining away an empty site and big piles of rubble.’
‘So everyone will get their apartments, or at least their share of an apartment?’
‘No doubt about that now, but it looked dodgy for a while all right.’
‘And you still kept selling? Even when you thought that they might get nothing? Sometimes I worry about you Tom, do you not see the problem with operating like that?’
‘Henry, they’re all big people in a big world. It’s my job to sell; their job to buy. I can’t sit on both sides of the scales.’
‘Tom, between me and you, do you never think about the effect your actions might be having on the people you are selling to? A lot of those buyers can’t afford to lose that money.’
‘I used to worry about it Henry, but nowadays I try not to. If I started taking everyone else’s problems on board I wouldn’t sleep at night. The way I see it, I look after myself and they look after themselves. That’s the only way I can deal with it.’
‘It’s not as simple as that Tom, but there’s no point in us arguing about it, we’ll never agree on it anyway. Be careful whatever you do, don’t end up in jail for any bastard, look after your own hide.’
The aircraft descended through the thick cloud and rain, and suddenly the sea was visible, not far below. Tom peered through the murk and could just make out a line of yellow street lights that marked the coast. It was a miserable evening and he wasn’t sure of he had brought the right clothes with him; it looked cold and wet out there.
It seemed to take the pilot ages to put the plane down; it was buffeted by strong cross winds but the landing was reasonably smooth, and they taxied a long way to the end of the runway.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Dublin. Please remain seated until the aircraft has come to a complete stop and no smoking until you have passed through the terminal building.’ The announcer droned on through her little speech; Tom waited until the crowd had rushed for the exit before grabbing his bag from the overhead bin.
As soon as he had passed through the passport control area he turned on his mobile and checked his messages. Walter was still at work, but he would be home in an hour. Tom joined the long taxi queue and shivered in the cold wind; hard to believe it was summertime, he had forgotten how cold it could get when a bout of stormy weather came through.
The taxi driver was talkative; he seemed to have an opinion on everything. Tom kept his answers to monosyllables; the driver seemed content to listen to the sound of his own voice as he ranted on about traffic and the price of petrol and how expensive everything was getting. Tom hadn’t been paying too much attention to where they were going; the driver was making turns all over the place to avoid the rush hour traffic jams. Suddenly he realised that he was on familiar ground, they were on the street coming up to City Auto. He looked ahead to see what was happening with the yard, was Willie still in business or was it closed?
The streetscape had changed. The car park beside the pub was surrounded by a hoarding and a building was emerging from the ground, with a tower crane moving overhead and a lot of activity going on. City Auto was a bit of a shock; the portocabin was gone and the big shed demolished, and a hoarding surrounded the site as well; looked like the yard was going to be a building site soon.
‘That place there, used to be a car sales place wasn’t it?’
The taxi man nodded. ‘All gone, the fellow that owned the place sold it to a developer six months ago. Got three million for it I heard.’
‘Three million! That’s a lot of money for a bit of ground around here.’ Tom was surprised at the turn of events. Willie had done well.
‘Same all over, any bit of land in the city is making big money. Apartments and shops, that’s what they put on them. I don’t know who’ll live in all these places, but they keep building them anyway.’
‘So, no more car sales around here?’ Tom probed to find out more.
‘No, and it’s a pity, that crowd weren’t the worst. You could get a cheap enough car from them, they weren’t bad at all. It was a Scottish fellow that owned it I heard, done a flit over tax or something, well gone. He was only renting it from a local fellow, best thing he ever did was to go maybe, the Irish fellow maybe didn’t know what he was sitting on all the time.’
Tom sat back in the seat. Who would have thought it, Willie a bloody multi millionaire? Funny how the world turns. He smiled to himself.
The taxi pulled up at Walter’s house; the meter read fifty euros.
‘Twenty five to you, skipper,’ the driver was apologetic. ‘I thought you were a foreigner when you got in, the colour of you and the foreign accent had me fooled. It’s only twenty five, don’t want you giving me a dig, you know yourself.’
Tom laughed and handed over thirty. ‘Keep the change, and watch that dodgy meter.’
Walter arrived as he walked up the drive. The new house was great, with a wide driveway and a new four
by four parked in front of the garage.
‘Doing well in real estate by the look of things?’
‘Can’t complain.’
Walter was in his usual cheery mood. ‘Life is good, selling like crazy and no sign of an end to it. Are you thinking of coming back?’
‘I hadn’t thought of it, although I suppose I will some time. It’s always in your mind when you’re out there, but then you come back and it’s pissing down it all looks different.’
‘The weather is part of it I suppose, but life can be good here too.’
‘It’s good for you by the look of things, I like the new place.’
Walter looked around at his new home. ‘We love it, just about settled in now, got it at the right price, one of the perks of working in the game, you get to spot ones that come up that have been priced too low. Sometimes the owners put the price on them, they know better and all that, but they might be better leaving it to us to value them.’
‘You have it made, it’s a great spot.’ Tom envied Walter in a way, nice family, lovely home and doing well. Decent fellow though, and a good mate, deserved anything he had. He often thought that it would be good to settle down with a girl like Pamela and have a life that was a bit more stable than his own bachelor existence.
Dinner was a lively affair, Pamela had made a stew and they opened a couple of bottles of the wine that Tom had brought from Puerto Banus. The talk was of Miltons and of City Auto and of old times when they worked together to drive difficult sales through.
‘Willie did well.’ Tom wanted to know more about the sale of the yard.
‘You heard? You’re well up on all the news so. He got a great price for it, it was our lot that sold it, I meant to tell you at the time but it slipped my mind.
‘Did he get out of the trouble all right so?’
‘Ah yes, that blew over after a while, the fellow down at the test centre was in court only last week, just got a fine and the probation act. Lost his job though but he got off light. Willie just sang dumb through the whole thing, opened a main dealership out on the ring road, he’s in the big time now. We bought Pamela’s four by four off him, gave it to us wholesale. Same old Willie.’
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