by Laura Wolfe
“Sorry. This one isn’t for me.”
Jacqueline had glanced over her shoulder, then refocused. “I understand.” She leaned in close as if telling me a secret, her eyes shining. “I may have another listing that might be of interest. It’s not hitting the MLS until Monday. You’d be the first to see it. 1630 N. Milwaukee Avenue.”
My shoulders had straightened at the address. It was a prime location in the middle of Bucktown, one of the city’s hippest neighborhoods located just north and west of downtown. I’d only recently passed my real estate salesperson class and had only scheduled the showings to get a feel for the market, but I recognized a good deal when I heard one.
Fifteen minutes later, we’d met in front of the converted loft building where I now lived, the lobby smelling of freshly cut flowers. We rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, my fingers still numb from the cold. I followed Jacqueline down the hallway to the corner unit. The burst of light streaming through the wall-to-wall windows almost knocked me backward as I stepped through the door. The condo was so much bigger and brighter than the seven other properties I’d seen that day.
“The owner is moving out of state for a new job,” she’d told me. “He’ll take $360,000 today, as long as there is a quick closing. Otherwise, he’s going to list it at $389,000 next week. The price includes a garage parking space underneath the building.”
I’d touched the granite counters, speechless. I’d imagined living in the condo with Nate, flipping pancakes in the kitchen on lazy Sunday mornings. I’d envisioned my sister, Emma, healthy and cancer-free, visiting from college on weekends, sitting with me in the living room watching bad horror movies. I’d inherited $35,000 from my grandma two years earlier and wondered out loud if it was enough for the down payment. Jacqueline handed me the card of a lender, who, she assured me with a wink, could work with my financial situation, whatever it was. After that, she’d passed me off to her assistant, Peter, a soft-spoken man in his late fifties with graying hair and a downturned mouth. He’d been patient with me as I worked my way through my first deal as both an agent and a buyer.
A siren blared in the distance. I turned away from the window, picking up Grace’s discarded socks and tossing them toward her bedroom. Of course, things hadn’t worked out the way I’d envisioned. My plan had gone sideways. Nate was supposed to have moved in with me to pay half the mortgage. We’d talked about it. I’d imagined the second bedroom as a home office and an engagement ring on my finger. It never occurred to me he didn’t share the same vision.
I’d closed on the property three weeks after getting dumped by my boyfriend. Grace moved into the second bedroom, along with her semi-trained dog. I’d barely made my first mortgage payment when my boss, Leonard Hisson, called me into his office, his fingers resting on his desk in a temple formation. His weasel-like eyes peered at me as he cited my poor production numbers and previous warnings. He paused before clearing his throat for the knockout punch.
“I’m sorry, Mara, but Averly Consulting is letting you go.”
Astro kicked at his ear, jingling the metal tags on his collar and pulling me from my memories. My mouth had gone dry, but I swallowed and smiled to myself. Losing my job at Averly Consulting had been for the best. Now, I had a chance at a career in real estate.
I gulped down the last of my coffee and checked myself in the full-length mirror. The deep blue color of my blouse offset my sandy-brown hair. With the top button undone, my neckline gaped. Unsure whether a hint of cleavage was appropriate for a real estate office, I fastened the button. I sighed and unhooked it again, repeating the process several times and wishing Grace was home so she could give me fashion advice. I secured my bangs in my fanciest bobby pin—the one with the silver rhinestones—and smoothed down my hair until it fell neatly past my shoulders. Astro panted next to me. I tossed him a treat before heading out the door with my top button undone and Grace’s shoes slipping off my heels.
It was 9:45 a.m. when I parallel parked my Hyundai in an open spot a half-block from Greystone Realty. My new office sat in Chicago’s quaint Old Town neighborhood, an area just north of downtown that teemed with a mix of professionals, young families, old money socialites, and occasional thugs who’d wandered into the idyllic setting. Restaurants, bars, boutiques, and condos bordered the main drag, North Avenue. I exited my car, flattening the wrinkles out of my shirt and squinting against the late-March sun.
Across the street, a dogwalker led five dogs from a tree to a fire hydrant, somehow keeping the leashes from tangling. A woman with spandex pants and a neon pink shirt pushed a double-jogging stroller past me while her twins belted out the alphabet song. I smiled in her direction, my eyes pausing on the spire-tipped high rises poking into the sky in the distance. I stepped over a metal grate, holding my breath at the raw stench of sewage seeping from somewhere beneath the sidewalk. A homeless man bundled in rags eyed me as I hurried past him, my shoes wobbling with every other step. I averted my eyes, aware of the thumping in my chest.
“Hey, miss. You lost something. Lost something,” the disheveled guy said, following me as I rounded the corner toward the office.
“Really?” I stopped and patted the bulk of my purse. It was snapped closed.
“The shine right off your shoes!” The man grinned at me through a gnarly beard and half-rotten teeth. He whipped out a shoe-shine rag and knelt in front of me, wiping specks of dirt off Grace’s leather pumps.
I stepped back. “That’s okay. Don’t bother.” My fingers scrambled across the bottom of my purse for coins but found none. The only money in my wallet was a twenty-dollar bill. I slid out the bill and handed it to him. If karma was real, now wasn’t the time to mess with it.
“Hey, lady! Thanks, lady! Thanks!” He gave a wave. “My name’s Tony.”
“No problem, Tony,” I said. Although, giving away twenty dollars when I had no income could definitely be a problem. Tony turned and limped away, mumbling and laughing.
My heart pounded faster as I reached for the metal bar on the glass door of Greystone Realty. My phone buzzed with an incoming text. Relieved to have an excuse to take a breath and calm myself down before entering the office, I stepped back onto the sidewalk and pulled my phone from my purse. I blinked against the reflection on my screen, surprised by the sender’s name, Peter Zinsky. I hadn’t heard from Jacqueline’s former assistant since a routine follow-up a few days after my closing.
My eyes traveled over the words, sending a chill across my skin. I held the phone closer and reread the message.
Don’t take the job!
3
I shoved my phone into my purse and peered over my shoulder, wondering if Peter was spying on me. My eyes drifted along the bustling street. There was no sign of him or the blue Prius I remembered him driving. He was probably angry about being replaced, especially by someone he knew. A tinge of guilt pulled at my insides as I remembered how helpful he’d been, but I wouldn’t let Jacqueline’s disgruntled former employee ruin my first day on the job.
Shaking away the unnerving feeling, I stepped inside Greystone Realty, wishing I hadn’t opened the text. I tucked my hair behind my ear and refocused on my new career. A flood of natural light warmed my face as sweat prickled in my armpits. I scanned the double-story room, searching for Jacqueline amid the rows of sparkling, white desks.
The office had the bright and airy feel of an urban greenhouse. Towering windows overlooked vibrant North Avenue, not at all like the cramped cubicles at Averly Consulting where I’d languished under the florescent lights, my eyes drifting toward a blank space on the wall where a window should have been.
“Can I help you?” A middle-aged woman smiled from behind the front desk, her white blouse and turquoise jewelry popping against her dark skin and braided hair. The nameplate next to her said, “Valerie Johns.”
“Yes. I’m Mara Butler. I’m looking for Jacqueline Hendersen.”
“Just a minute.” She picked up a phone and dialed some numbers.
“Mara Butler is here to see you.” The woman hung up the phone, her eyes twinkling at me. “She said for you to meet her in Maeve’s office. Down the far aisle, third door on the left.”
“Thanks.” Realizing I’d stopped breathing, I pulled in another breath and headed down the hall, dragging Grace’s gaping shoes along with my toes.
The door hung open, and Jacqueline stood up when she noticed me.
“Mara, nice to see you again.” She pressed her crimson lips into a thin line. “This is the office manager, Maeve Wilkerson.”
A round woman rose from her chair on the other side of the desk. She was short; her standing height not much different than when she’d been sitting. She looked me up and down, her coarse silver hair cut so short I could almost see her scalp.
“Nice to meet you,” Maeve said, holding out her hand. Her voice carried the rough bellow of a smoker, and her jowls sagged as she smiled. Despite Maeve’s limited stature, she didn’t look like the type of person who would tolerate any nonsense. Her fingers felt cold against mine, and I wondered if she had any relation to my high school P.E. teacher. “I usually bring in the new agents, but no one argues with Jacqueline.” Maeve winked at Jacqueline before sitting down and adjusting some reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. The office manager cleared her gravelly throat. “We need you to sign your independent contractor agreement with Greystone, and then you’ll officially be a part of our team. Your Greystone training is scheduled for today at 2 p.m.”
“She doesn’t need that.” Jacqueline crossed her arms and positioned herself toward Maeve. Their eyes locked in an unspoken challenge. “I’ll train her myself.”
Maeve glanced away and shrugged. I reached for the pen, anxious to make it official.
Maeve rubbed her hands together and offered me a half-smile. “This is the standard agreement for all our salespeople. You start at a fifty percent split with Greystone and move up, depending on your sales.”
“I’m at ninety percent,” Jacqueline said. “You’ll be there soon, too.”
After signing the paperwork and thanking my new office manager, I shuffled behind Jacqueline toward her desk, doing my best to ignore the curious glances of nearby realtors.
“Your spot will be here. Next to me.” She pointed to an empty desk located in the front corner of the office with a window view. “I ordered business cards for you. They should be here by the end of the week. Always carry them with you.”
“Thanks.” I looked around at the diverse assortment of people perched behind desks or gathered in small groups, talking and laughing. Before I could sit down, three women sporting brightly-colored power suits marched toward us.
“Hi, Jacqueline. Is this your new assistant?” the one with unnaturally red hair asked, flashing her ultra-white teeth.
“Yes. This is Mara. She’s new to the business.”
I raised my hand in a wave. “Hi.”
“Welcome, Mara. I’m Lana.” Lana motioned her diamond ring-encrusted fingers toward the two heavily made-up ladies standing next to her. “This is Rita and Missy. You’re in for a wild ride.” Lana winked.
“Okay, thanks.” I slumped, suddenly feeling frumpy with my fake-rhinestone bobby pin and ill-fitting shoes.
“Good luck, sweetie,” Lana said, raising her eyebrows at the other two.
The women giggled, then turned and sauntered away.
Jacqueline smirked. “Now, you’ve met the Real Housewives of Greystone.”
“You’re not joking. They seem nice, though.”
Jacqueline fluttered her eyelids. “They’re not. Don’t trust anyone.”
Unsure how to respond, I dug my teeth into my lower lip and glanced across the busy room.
The women outnumbered the men by two to one. People flipped through paperwork and checked voice mails. Some of the agents were much older, some were African American, Indian, Asian, and a few appeared to be fresh out of college like me. A cross-section of society. Smart. Jacqueline sat at her desk, ignoring passers-by as she scrolled through her emails.
“Okay, people, let’s get started.” Maeve’s gruff voice boomed through the air from the front of the office. The laughter, chattering, and whispers faded.
“Let’s start with announcements. First, we have a new member of our team who I’d like to introduce.” She motioned for me to stand up. “Mara Butler.”
My stomach lurched into my throat as I raised myself from my chair. Dozens of pairs of eyes stared back at me. I gave a quick wave to my new officemates and returned to my seat as fast as I could.
“Mara comes to us from a consulting background. She’ll be working closely with Jacqueline.”
An eerie stillness settled over the office, interrupted only by the metallic rattle of the homeless guy’s jar of change outside. Two people whispered behind me. A man mumbled the name “Peter Zinsky.” Someone else gasped. Peter’s text flashed in my mind. Don’t take the job. I pushed it away.
“So, welcome, Mara!”
The strained faces of Greystone’s realtors smiled at me from around the silent room. They weren’t exactly welcoming me with open arms. They probably viewed me as competition—one more realtor in a city full of real estate agents. Of course, they’d be jealous that Jacqueline had taken me under her wing. Who wouldn’t want to work with the number one agent at Greystone? Or maybe they assumed I wouldn’t last, that it wouldn’t be worth the effort to get to know me before Jacqueline replaced me with someone else more qualified. I lifted my chin, determined to prove them wrong.
Maeve continued spouting off information about the week’s new listings and the punishments for skipping floor time. I didn’t know what “floor time” was, but I assumed it had something to do with answering phone calls and, also, that no one in the office wanted to do it. After another twenty minutes rolled by, my heart rate finally slowed.
“I’m texting out the list of properties on caravan today,” Maeve said. “We have lots of new listings this week, so make sure you see all of them.”
Groans echoed from around the room, but my pulse accelerated at the thought of viewing all the properties. This was the real-life experience I’d been craving. Everyone stood and discussed who would be riding in whose car. Jacqueline rolled her chair over to me and leaned in.
“We’re not going on caravan. Leave that to people who have nothing better to do.”
“Oh.” My shoulders sunk.
“Caravans don’t sell real estate.” Her grey eyes latched onto mine, and the corners of her mouth turned up. “We have a listing appointment tomorrow at 1:00. At Bistro Maria. We need to prepare.”
It took a second for me to process the information. Bistro Maria. The rats.
“Really?” My toes tapped under my new desk. I was preparing for a listing appointment on my first day? This was proof that good things happened when I followed my dreams.
“Jacqueline! I have someone who might be interested in your listing on Magnolia.” A woman with fake eyelashes and over-inflated lips waved Jacqueline over to her desk on the far side of the office. Another Real Housewife.
Before I could pretend to be busy, a guy about my age, but a foot taller and half my weight, lurched over to me.
“Hi, I’m Oscar.” He stuck out his bony hand, and I grasped it, feeling like I was shaking hands with a scarecrow. “I’ve been here a couple of years. Greystone is great. Let me know if you ever want to go to any seminars with me. There are some great ones downtown, but you have to know when they are. Last week, I went to the Seven S’s of Sales. Have you heard of it? I learned so much.”
“Okay, thanks.” I had never heard anyone talk so fast. Oscar scurried away before I could ask what the seven S’s of sales were.
“See ya,” he yelled over his shoulder, a blur of knees and elbows disappearing into the next room.
Another man sidled up next to me, a cloud of flowery cologne and stale cigarette smoke announcing his arrival.
“Hi, Mara. I’m Kevin Lucas. Welcome aboard!” H
e shook my hand with calloused fingers and a firm grip, his eyes lingering a moment too long on my chest.
“Thank you.” I cleared my throat, regretting my buttoning decision, and attempting to draw his gaze back to my face. Pressing my lips together, I tried not to inhale the overwhelming stench. He had the look of a used-car salesman with his thinning, slicked-back hair and rumpled suit. “Have you worked here long?” I asked.
“Only twelve years.” He winked. “Always good to see fresh faces, though.”
“It seems like a great office.”
“Yeah, it is.” He glanced at his phone, his lips drawing into a pucker. “So, how did you get in with Jacqueline?”
“She worked with a friend of my dad’s a few years ago, and she sold me my condo.”
Kevin stared at me like he was waiting for more information. “Well, good.” He ran his hand over his shiny hair and lowered his voice. “Just watch your step with her.”
My spine straightened. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say, no one gets to be Greystone’s Top Producer without screwing someone else over. Catch my drift?”
I held back my eye roll. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Kevin nudged me with his elbow. “You need a ride for caravan?”
“No. Thanks. I’m preparing for my first listing appointment with Jacqueline.”
“Wow! Big first day. Where’s the property?”
My gut twisted. I searched the room for Jacqueline but couldn’t find her. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to share the information, but it had already slipped out. Anyway, we all worked for Greystone.
