by Laura Wolfe
“Anthony said they want to work with us to find a new space, and he hoped I could still bring my buyer in.” Jacqueline rolled her eyes.
“Can you?” I blurted out. “I mean, bring your buyer in?”
“I can, and I will.” Her nostrils flared. “I’m not going to waste my time carting them around the West Loop. I’ll leave that to you if you want to work with them.”
“Okay.” My heartbeat sped up at the chance to earn some money.
“Email them a Buyer’s Rep agreement. Right now.” She balled her manicured hand into a fist. “And don’t do one minute of work until they sign it.”
Jacqueline wouldn’t give me a cut of the commission if she brought in her own buyer, but maybe I could still find the Sabatinos a new restaurant space. Even so, it would be months before I got paid. Thousands of dollars in commissions, gone. Just like that. The deadweight in my stomach multiplied, keeping me slumped in my chair. My mortgage payment loomed over me like a trap that would spring no matter which way I stepped. And now, I had my condo board’s massive special assessment to pay on top of everything else.
Jacqueline returned from the wall of mailboxes flapping a shiny flier in front of me. “Looks like Kevin has all sorts of business.” A colorful advertisement for Kevin Lucas’ eight-unit development listing in University Village lay in front of me.
I cringed. “Who would list a development with a guy like Kevin?”
“It’s amazing what people will do to save money.” Jacqueline grabbed the flier back, wadded it into a ball, and tossed into the wastebasket under my desk. “An eight-unit development is a joke anyway. I like to aim higher.”
My back pressed against my chair, waiting for her to continue.
“With a seventy-five or one-hundred-unit condo development, I could close ten or twenty deals at a time. Pre-sales are the way to go.”
“Do you have any leads for something that big?”
“Working on it. But in the meantime, I picked up three new listings last week, all referrals from previous clients—a studio condo in Streeterville, a one-bedroom loft in Bucktown, and a three-bedroom townhome in River North.” Jacqueline pulled folders from her bag and set them on my desk. “Enter these into the MLS as soon as possible.”
“Okay. I’ll cut back on the bathroom photos.” I paused, hoping Jacqueline would find a little humor in my joke.
“Good.” Without a laugh or even a hint of a smile, she stepped away, hesitated, then pivoted back toward me, her lips hovering inches from my ear. “Don’t worry about Kevin, Mara. We’ll find a way to even things up.”
It took a couple of hours to enter the listings and return Jacqueline’s phone calls for her. She’d left to meet a contractor at her townhome, which was undergoing major renovations to restore it to its former Victorian glory. I pulled out my laptop and emailed the Sabatinos, asking them to sign the attached Greystone Buyer’s Representative agreement. Then, ignoring Jacqueline’s instructions to not do any work for them, I logged into the MLS and searched for potential restaurant spaces in the West Loop.
The next time I glanced at the clock, forty-five minutes had passed, and my search had turned up twenty-five properties, none of which seemed that great. Of course, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, or which sites were better for an Italian restaurant, or how much the Sabatinos were willing to pay. I leaned back in my chair and sighed louder than intended. Maybe Nate had been right about me after all.
My palms turned clammy as I thought of my financial situation. With Grace’s help, my bank account could supply my next mortgage payment. Maybe two, if I cut way back on everything else. After that, I’d be running on empty, especially with the special assessment to pay. I had less than sixty days to come up with a sizable commission.
“Hi, Mara.” Out of nowhere, Oscar’s tall, skeletal frame materialized in front of me. “How’s business?”
I sucked in my gut, stretching taller in my chair. A section of hair had escaped from my slicked-back ponytail, and I tucked it behind my ear. “Pretty good.”
“I’m going to a seminar at 1:00. It’s supposed to be a game-changer. ‘How to Triple your Real Estate Sales through Facebook.’ I would have asked you to come with me, but I bought my ticket a month ago.” The words rushed out of Oscar’s mouth like a spilled jar of change.
“That’s okay. Hope it’s helpful.” Despite his nervous energy, Oscar was nice enough. Still, I wondered how many seminars he went to and whether he had any actual clients.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again. “Look, I need someone to take over my floor time from 12:00 to 2:00 p.m. Can you help me out?”
I glanced at the clock. It was 11:55. I remembered everyone complaining about floor time at the office meeting and thought about making up an excuse, but couldn’t think of one. Oscar must have noticed my hesitation.
“I got a $400,000 buyer from floor time last year. Lots of people get clients from floor time. All you have to do is answer the phone and give information about properties to people. If they don’t have an agent, they can become your client.”
I hadn’t made any referral fees from helping Jacqueline yet, and I wasn’t in a position to turn down potential leads. Anyway, it was only two hours of my time, and I could finish the busywork Jacqueline had given me between phone calls.
“Okay. I can do it.”
“Thanks! I owe you.” Oscar lumbered away. Before he reached the front door, he turned back to me. “I’ll take notes for you!”
I gave him a thumbs-up. Just what I needed. Notes on how to triple my real estate sales through Facebook. Last time I checked, three times zero was still zero. I gathered my things and walked over to the floor time desk at the front of the office, reminding myself to keep a positive attitude. Every other realtor had started in this exact position, and most didn’t have a mentor like Jacqueline. Anyone could call Greystone in the next two hours, even a million-dollar buyer without an agent. I had nothing to lose.
8
My legs lay strewn across the couch, Astro’s head resting on the cushion of my thigh. A documentary about a college student who’d been wrongly accused of murdering his girlfriend played on TV. Grace had rushed out an hour earlier to attend a speed dating event, wearing a little black dress and glittery eyeshadow. I’d skipped out, too exhausted from my day to go with her and conveniently comforted by Jacqueline’s approval of my single status.
The floor time I’d covered for Oscar this afternoon had paid off. A guy named Mike had called Greystone for more information on a two-bedroom condo at Belden and Cleveland. I pulled up the address, discovering the property was listed by one of the Real Housewives, Missy Lantosa.
“It’s priced at $429,000,” I told Mike.
“I’d like to see it,” he said.
“Do you have an agent?”
“No.”
My heart had thumped with the possibility of signing my first buyer as I made a mental note to pick up more floor time shifts. “Great. I can set that up for you. No problem.”
I immediately emailed Missy with a showing request for 6:00 tomorrow night, receiving an automatic confirmation. I also arranged showings of two other similar properties in the area. Closing my eyes, I calculated what my final payout would be if Mike ended up buying the condo.
Three sharp knocks at my door pulled my eyes away from the TV. Astro perked his ears toward the knocking, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Visitors could only get past the lobby if they buzzed up first, but sometimes people slipped through the entryway behind someone entering or leaving. I raised myself off the couch and slunk toward the door, the back of my neck prickling at the unexpected intrusion. Astro prowled a step ahead. I peered through the peephole. A lanky, unkempt man hovered in the hallway. His angular body twisted away. Slowly, he turned toward me, his features registering. My breath lodged in my throat.
It was Peter Zinsky. He’d been thin a couple of months ago, but his face was gaunter than I’d re
membered, his skin practically dripping from his bones. His graying hair, which had been neatly styled every time I’d encountered him, now strayed wildly in all directions. Squeezing my hands together, I stepped back, debating whether to open the door or pretend I wasn’t home. Two more knocks cracked against the door. Astro barked.
“Mara? Are you in there? It’s Peter Zinsky. I helped you with your closing.”
My heart pounded so loudly in my chest; I worried it would give me away. Astro barked a series of warnings. My fingers grabbed the dog’s collar as I pulled him back. I stepped lightly to prevent the floorboards from creaking.
“Mara. Please, open the door. Did you get my text? I need to tell you something.” Peter’s voice was strung tight, almost crazed.
I lowered myself, squatting on the rug and remembering the words of Peter’s text. Don’t take the job. I hugged my knees into my chest while Astro sniffed my face. Jacqueline had mentioned how Peter hadn’t been able to keep up, but I didn’t realize losing his job would take such a toll. He must have been devastated to lose his position with Jacqueline. I was ashamed I hadn’t given him much thought.
“Mara. Can you hear me? Stay away from Jacqueline,” Peter shouted from the hallway. “She’s bad news. She ruined my life. She’ll ruin yours, too.” His voice stretched with emotion, desperate.
Kevin had given me a similar warning. Watch your step with Jacqueline, he’d said. But Kevin was crooked and jealous. Maybe Peter was no different. He was probably angry at me for taking his spot, like one of those psycho ex-employees who felt he’d been slighted and returned to exact revenge. And based on his startling appearance, he was likely dealing with a drug problem. Kevin’s comments about the drugs and stolen money and Peter’s downward spiral looped through my mind. What if Peter had a gun hidden beneath his shirt? I shuddered, hoping Grace wouldn’t arrive home until after the crazed man had left the building.
Two more thuds caused my muscles to tense. I pulled out my phone, ready to call 911 if Peter tried to bust through my door.
“Please. I’m begging you. Open the door.”
Holding my breath, I stayed motionless on the floor, resting my hand on Astro’s head as the dog’s eyes ricocheted between me and the door, confused. Maybe Peter only wanted to talk, but it wasn’t worth the risk. I was a single woman alone in my apartment, and I didn’t trust Astro to protect me with anything other than a few ferocious licks. Besides, nothing good could come from listening to Peter badmouth Jacqueline. She’d given me the benefit of the doubt when she hired me. She’d looked past my spotty resume and lack of real estate experience. I’d lost her the listing for Bistro Maria with my naiveté and my big mouth. More than anything, though, I needed this job. I wouldn’t leave Jacqueline based on the mutterings of her disgruntled former assistant.
The seconds dripped past as I waited, perched motionless on my rug until all signs of Peter disappeared. Hearing no noises from the hallway for almost five minutes, I tiptoed toward my peephole and peered through, relieved to find him gone.
9
My sweaty hands stuck to the steering wheel as I circled my battered Hyundai around the block near 2300 N. Cleveland searching for a parking space. My first potential buyer, Mike, was meeting me at a condo in Lincoln Park. I pulled up to a stop sign and let some pedestrians cross. I had the Buyer’s Rep agreement tucked inside my folder, along with my business cards and the listing sheets. Nervous excitement hummed through me. I couldn’t believe selling real estate could be this easy. Answer a phone call, meet a buyer, write a contract, collect thousands of dollars sixty days later. Now all I needed was a parking space.
Jacqueline always made this part look so easy, but as I crept around the block, time after time, I couldn’t locate a spot, not even an illegal one. The minutes ticked by as I turned right and braked for a group of boys crossing Larrabee Street. The third time I drove past the property, my clock read 6:05. Missy hovered on the front step talking to a tall, dark-haired man. My buyer. A cold sweat coated my skin. Once again, there was no place to park on the narrow street. I turned the corner, searching for any sign of a car pulling out. Minutes passed as I circled again, hands clenching the wheel, and swearing at every person and car that got in my way. I was about to pass the address a fourth time when I saw Missy studying her diamond-studded watch. She turned and grasped the handle of the front door. My chest tightened. She was going to show my buyer the property without me!
I accelerated into an opening at the corner of the street, disregarding that the space was only big enough to fit half my car and located in front of a fire hydrant. It was my only option. I threw on the flashers and bounded toward the entrance of the property.
“Mara, there you are,” Missy said. “We were about to get started without you.”
I stuck out my hand to the man. “Sorry I’m late. Mara Butler.”
“Mike,” he said, giving my hand a quick shake and turning back toward Missy.
Mike followed the other realtor into the lobby of the three-story building and up a flight of stairs. I trailed behind them. She led us into the second-floor, two-bedroom unit, pointing out the details in the woodwork and the many upgrades installed by the owners: stainless steel appliances, one-and-a-quarter-inch granite countertops, refinished hardwood floors, professionally painted trim, and on and on. She explained how the owners had loved the place but were moving because of a job transfer.
“What are the assessments?” Mike asked her.
“$265 a month. That includes common area maintenance and trash removal.”
My potential client took his time inspecting every room, asking about parking, storage, and laundry. Missy opened a slatted closet door in the hallway, revealing a stackable washer and dryer.
“There’s a storage locker in the basement that comes with the unit. Would you like to see it?”
“Sure,” he said, still only talking to Missy.
I’d ruined my chance at a positive first impression. Now, my limbs felt thick, my face warm, as I followed them. I didn’t know what observations to make. I didn’t know the answers to any of his questions. I racked my brain, trying to think of something of value to add to the conversation, but all I could envision was my car blocking the fire hydrant and sticking halfway into the street. The urge to run off and move it was overwhelming, but I continued a step behind them down the steps to the basement. I hugged my folder to my chest as Missy pointed out the storage locker, and Mike asked her about the dimensions.
“Do you think I could fit two bags of golf clubs in there along with a set of luggage and a fake Christmas tree?”
“You’d be surprised. It’s bigger than it looks.” She smiled at Mike. “Do you golf often?”
“Every chance I get. Just got back from Palm Desert. Beautiful courses out there.”
“Yes! I was there last year. Where did you stay?”
Their conversation continued as if I wasn’t in the room. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, thinking of a way to make myself relevant. I didn’t golf. I’d never been to Palm Desert. I knew close to nothing about real estate. I needed the showing to be over so I could move my car.
“I hate to interrupt.” I held up the folder. “But, Mike, I have two more showings scheduled for you. The next one is in two minutes.”
Missy cocked her head, pressing her lips together.
Mike’s hands dropped to his sides. “Okay, yeah.”
As we left, Missy made a point of telling Mike her number was on the listing sheet if he had any questions. I shot her a look. “Or you can have your agent call me,” she added.
I turned toward Mike as he trotted down the steps next to me. “The next property is at 2100 Lincoln Park West. Do you know where that is?” I asked.
“I know that building. I’ll meet you there.”
That first showing hadn’t gone well, but it was because the parking situation had made me anxious. I’d get it together for the next one. I drew in a long breath and power-walked toward the
corner. Coldness spread through my body. My feet stuck to the sidewalk. I blinked, hoping my eyes were playing tricks on me as they searched up and down the street. But they weren’t. My car was gone.
I couldn’t move. I shoved my hand into the side pocket of my purse and felt the sharp metal of my car keys. I exhaled. At least I had the keys. I didn’t know how long I’d been standing there when Missy wandered out the front door and spotted me.
“Mara, what are you still doing here?” Her highlighted bangs skimmed the tops of her thick eyelashes.
I pointed to the empty space in front of the fire hydrant. “My car’s gone.”
“Oh, boy. Looks like the tow truck got you.” She shook her head and clucked. “Do you need a ride back to the office?”
“No. Thanks.”
My body weighed at least a thousand pounds as I crumpled into a pile on the cement steps. I texted Mike and told him to view the next property without me, knowing I’d never hear from him again. Nobody would choose to work with a realtor who showed up late and got her car towed. Part of me wanted to call Jacqueline and ask her what to do, but that would be a bad move. I couldn’t let her find out how incompetent I was. I could handle all the busywork she threw at me, but trying to find my own clients was another story. At least this guy hadn’t been her buyer. The word at the office was that she’d fired her other assistants for much less.
I told you so. Nate’s pompous voice echoed in my head.
I called Grace. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up next to me and lowered her window.
“Hey! Get in.”
I fell into her passenger seat and closed my eyes, recounting the series of unfortunate events.
“That sucks.” She looked over at me with wide eyes, her work clothes neatly pressed.
“Do you know where you’re taking me?” I asked.
“Yeah. I drove a guy from work there once. It’s underneath the city. Totally crazy, like driving into a Batman movie.”
