Top Producer

by Laura Wolfe

  “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”

  “My parents are struggling to pay for her medical bills. It was stupid of me, but I thought I’d be able to help out.”

  “No, that’s not stupid.” Jacqueline strummed her nails on the table. She turned toward her bag, rustling through it before pulling out a stack of checks. “I’m going to pay you a draw.” She ripped off the top check and held it out to me. “What do you need to take off some pressure? Three thousand? Five thousand?”

  I observed her from across the table, unable to blink.

  “Go ahead. Fill in the amount. Use it to pay your expenses until you get some deals coming in. You have six months to pay me back.”

  My eyes widened. She was serious. “Thanks. Five-thousand will be enough to get me through.” I could almost feel five thousand pounds of weight lift off me. Now I’d owe Jacqueline too, but at least I’d have some breathing room with my other bills.

  “Not many agents get draws. Don’t mention it to anyone, or everyone in the office is going to want a check.”

  “I won’t.” The check was from her Greystone account. I filled in my name, date, and the amount and slid the check back to her to sign. She scrawled her messy signature across the bottom and passed it back to me.

  “No one wants to work with a desperate realtor. People can smell desperation.”

  I nodded.

  “I have some potential leads I can give you, but you should be cultivating your own clients as well.”

  “Yeah, I’m trying,” I said. “The problem is my friends are my age. You know, twenty-four, twenty-five. They don’t have money to buy real estate.”

  “Lenders can be creative with financing options, as you know.” She winked at me. “They can make things work for almost anyone with a steady job, especially with the relaxed regulations.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a stack of cards. “Here are a few of Justin’s cards. He gets deals done.” She passed the cards over to me, the name on them already familiar because Jacqueline had given me the same card the day I’d first toured my condo. Justin Blakely, Gold Coast Lending. “Have some of your friends call him and see if they can get pre-approved. Once they know they qualify, they’ll want to buy. Trust me.” She tapped her temple with her index finger and smiled. “It’s all psychological.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I tucked the cards into my pocket. It was a place to start. “I feel like I’m in a race against the clock to make my mortgage payment.”

  “Well, now you have some money.” She nodded at the check. “And don’t you have a roommate?”

  “Yeah, but she only covers half.” I thought about Grace’s job. She was the executive assistant to the owner of one of the city’s largest design firms. “She could probably pay more if I asked her. She’s got a good job, but her dog’s completely out of control.” I glanced down at the new shoes I had to buy because of Astro. “If I’d known how destructive her dog was, I might not have let her move in.” Astro’s furry face leaped into my mind. In the previous weeks, Grace’s dog had gnawed holes in two of my chairs, chewed through the drywall in my living room, shredded my bedspread, peed on my houseplant, and torn apart three pairs of socks, not to mention the shoes.

  Jacqueline’s eyebrows furrowed. “What kind of dog?”

  “A crazy black lab.”

  “Maybe you can get the condo rules changed to prohibit dogs over a certain weight. Then she’ll have to move out. And guess who she’ll use as her realtor?” Jacqueline touched her blonde hair with her fingertips.

  I leaned back in my chair. “Wow. You’re good,” I said, although something about it seemed slightly evil. “But then I’d be out a roommate.”

  “You can always find a new roommate.”

  She was right. My condo was a better option than the rundown apartments in the city that cost the same or more. Still, Grace had always been there for me. My stomach turned at the thought of pulling the rug out from under her.

  “While you’re working on getting your condo rules changed, I have a list of buildings you can call on.” She slid a piece of paper across the table to me. “I have an investor who rehabs distressed buildings and then hires me to resell them after he makes repairs. You need to call the city building inspections department to report as many violations as you can. More than likely, the current owners won’t be able to make the repairs and will be forced to sell. We’ll watch the prices and tell my guy when to buy.”

  I stared at her gray eyes and her perfect mouth, talking in such a matter-of-fact tone. Her plan was brilliant. Slightly sketchy, but certainly nothing that broke the law. She was forcing people to follow the law if I really thought about it.

  “Yeah. I’ll do that. Thanks.” I breathed out, relieved to have another potential lead, but my toes tapped under the table. “What kind of violations am I reporting?”

  “Drive by the buildings. They all have major issues. Call up the inspector and pretend to be a tenant. They won’t answer, so you’ll have to leave a voice mail. You can complain about any exterior issues—the roof, the porches, the graffiti, the bricks falling off the side.” She tapped the side of her latte with her finger. “That way, the inspectors won’t need the owners’ permission to enter the building. They’re swamped. Your phone calls will push these buildings toward the top of the list.”

  I nodded as the information seeped into my brain. I’d learned more about the way real estate worked during one cup of coffee with Jacqueline than I had in my entire real estate course.

  “I know this all might seem a little manufactured, but sometimes you have to make your own business. Think outside the box, as they say.”

  My eyes darted away. She’d said the same thing about making your own business after the rats had scurried through Bistro Maria. I couldn’t help wondering if Jacqueline had been more than just a casual diner who happened to be eating at the restaurant at the exact time the rodents ran loose. She handed me a piece of paper, and I swallowed, reining in my imagination as I scanned the addresses.

  Jacqueline cleared her throat. “But before you do that, follow up with the inquiries on my website. I don’t want to lose any potential clients, and I’m way behind. I forwarded all the emails to you this morning.”

  “Okay.”

  Jacqueline took a long swig of her latte before she continued talking.

  “When I was growing up, there was a guy in our neighborhood with a window repair business.” She leaned in as if she was telling me a secret. “At one point, his business was so slow he almost had to close for good, but then he got an idea. He befriended the kids in the neighborhood. He gave us a bat and some baseballs and told us to play on the city sidewalks. ‘Don’t go into the street,’ he’d always say. He didn’t want anyone getting hurt. Without fail, one of us would hit the ball into a storefront window. Sometimes we hit car windows or townhome windows. It didn’t matter. His shop was right there, and he always got the business. Everyone blamed the kids. Technically, he didn’t do anything wrong.” Jacqueline narrowed her eyes at me. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I think so.” I was still trying to figure out if the story she told was real or if it was some kind of metaphor for what she wanted me to do.

  “Always be one step ahead of your client, Mara. Be creative.”

  “Okay.”

  It now seemed like maybe being “creative” included releasing rats in restaurants, but it was way too risky to ask her about that. Especially after everything she was doing to help me get started. Learning from her was the only way I’d succeed in this business. I shook off the ripple of unease her story had sent through me. Like she said, we weren’t hurting anyone.

  11

  A spring breeze blew through the open window of my car, sending an icy rush across my skin and lifting my hair by the roots. This was the freedom I craved, being on my own in the middle of the day while thousands of mindless workers rotted away in their windowless cubicles downtown. They might have security and steady payc
hecks and retirement funds and romantic partners, but I could do whatever I wanted today. I was in charge of myself. Something about Jacqueline’s confidence, her refusal to accept defeat, had empowered me.

  Minutes later, I unlocked the door to my condo, humming to myself as I entered my quiet sanctuary, preparing to get tons accomplished. Rays of light shone through my floor-to-ceiling windows and highlighted every dust particle and piece of dog hair floating in the air. Astro barked a short, happy bark and bounded toward me. I stepped forward just as I noticed the sour smell in the air. My heel slipped out from under me. My hands hit the slick floor before my body. Then a warm and awful sensation seeped through my pants. The intense, sour stench of urine burned through my nose. A yellow stain spread across the front of my favorite blouse. I lay in a heap in a puddle of dog pee, the acrid liquid clinging to my skin and eating away the lacquer of my sustainable bamboo floor.

  “Astro!”

  Astro bounced, he was so excited to see me. From my altered perspective on the floor, I could make out the damage he’d done to the legs of my coffee table. He’d gnawed every wooden spindle to the quick, like corn on the cob. My blood surged through my veins, but the dog’s saucer eyes begged for forgiveness. Even sitting in a pool of pee, it was impossible to stay mad at him.

  This was all Grace’s fault. She must have skipped Astro’s walk this morning. Did she think her dog would last all day without going out? Or maybe she assumed I would take care of him. Either way, she was wrong. This condo was my first real estate investment and, despite Grace’s loyal emotional support, I wasn’t going to let her dog destroy its value anymore.

  Pushing with my palms, I boosted myself back onto my feet and removed my shoes. After mopping up the puddle with some paper towels, I peeled off my wet clothes and rushed into the shower. The streams of hot water blasted against my skin, washing away the sticky layer of dog pee as I weighed Jacqueline’s scheme in my mind. Grace would always be my friend—even one of my best friends—but her dog was destroying my condo. It was time for them to leave. She’d told me about the money in her savings account, and her career was going well. She could afford her own place. Maybe one near a dog park. I’d suggest a dog-walker, too. And then there was the other thing. I needed a commission. Then I could find a new roommate, one without a dog. Everyone would be better off, even Astro.

  Think creatively. Jacqueline’s words stuck in my brain. She knew better than anyone how to be successful in real estate. I stepped out of the shower and toweled off, placing my soiled clothes into a paper bag to take to the dry cleaners. I’d take Astro for a walk around the block, and then I’d draw up the paperwork. I already had the letterhead from my condo board, thanks to the special assessment notice. I’d scan it into my computer to create a template. Then I’d write an official-looking fake letter stating that the building no longer allowed dogs over thirty pounds. There wasn’t enough time to get actual approval from the board. That could take months. I had to be creative. Grace would be disappointed about the rule change, but with the letter from the condo board, she wouldn’t question it.

  The minutes dragged on forever as I waited for Grace to return from work, images of the forged condo board letter sending waves of nausea through me whenever I thought too long about my betrayal. I distracted myself by following up on the leads from Jacqueline’s website. I left upbeat voicemail messages for people who didn’t answer their phones. One call resulted in me scheduling a showing for an interested buyer at one of Jacqueline’s many listings, but ninety-nine percent of real estate leads didn’t go anywhere. Jacqueline was smart to push things along, make things happen. I swallowed, glancing at the gnawed-up legs of my coffee table. That was what I needed to do, too.

  A reality show about naked people going on blind dates played on my TV screen as Grace burst through the door, shrugging off her baby-blue spring coat.

  “Hey, girl.” She nodded at me and headed toward the kitchen.

  An ominous force tugged at my gut, warning me against what I was about to do. Astro bounded after his negligent owner.

  “Hi, buddy! How’s my good boy?” Grace patted the dog’s head. The refrigerator door opened, followed by a rustling of packages. She appeared in the doorway, holding a bottle of coconut water. Drops of condensation streamed down the side of the bottle, where they clung before dripping to the floor.

  “What a day.” She shook her head, the strands of her metallic necklace clinking and her shiny black hair gliding into place. Then she flopped down on the couch next to me. “My boss is ridiculous! Talk about shit shows.”

  I didn’t ask about her day, but only perched on the edge of the couch. Grace sipped her drink, laughing at the TV show.

  My throat was thick and dry. Suddenly, I wanted to guzzle a bottle of coconut water myself. Or, better yet, a beer. Instead, I swallowed the one drop of saliva left in my mouth.

  “Listen, Grace. I’m so sorry about this, but I have some bad news.” I shuffled through the mail and held up the letter from the condo board. Only it wasn’t really from the condo board.

  “What?” Grace snatched the piece of paper from my hand and read it. “Are you serious? I just moved in!”

  “I know. It sucks.” My eyes refused to land on hers. Instead, I focused on the scratches on my floor from Astro’s untrimmed nails. “Someone must have complained. They’re going to start fining me if you and Astro don’t leave.”

  Grace placed her water on the table and fell back against the cushions.

  I turned toward her, shaking my head. “It’s gotta be the old people upstairs. They have nothing better to do than sit around all day and make sure everyone is obeying the rules.”

  “What the hell? Where am I going to find a decent apartment that accepts big dogs?”

  “You could buy a place.” I shrugged as if I had just thought of the idea at that moment. “Most smaller condo buildings are dog-friendly.”

  “I don’t think I can afford that.” Grace dragged her pearly fingernails through Astro’s fur and stared into space.

  “I have the name of a lender who does creative financing. Sometimes you only need to put three percent down. That’s what I did.” And look how well that turned out, I thought to myself as I cleared my throat. “Depending on the price of the condo, a mortgage could be less than what you’d pay in rent.” I handed her one of Justin Blakely's cards.

  She took it and turned it over in her hand, inspecting it. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to find out what I can afford.” She turned to me. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  “Hey. Could you pull up some properties for me, probably under $250,000? Just so I can see what’s out there?”

  I almost fell off the couch.

  “Sure thing. I’ll email them to you.”

  Maybe this was going to work.

  12

  My heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk, and I pulled it out, inspecting it for damage and brushing off the dirt. Thankfully, the scrape was easy to smooth out. Jacqueline strode several feet ahead.

  We’d completed the final showing of several Lincoln Park condos with a couple of newlyweds who couldn’t make up their minds about their preferred neighborhood. Jacqueline had instructed me to familiarize myself with their tastes so I could take over their future showings without her. They’d seemed interested in the last condo, especially after Jacqueline had pointed out that the extra bedroom was the perfect size for a nursery. The woman’s eyes had gleamed as she surveyed the tiny bedroom, visualizing where she’d put the crib and the changing table.

  “That went well,” I said, jogging to catch up.

  “They’re going to make an offer on that last one.” Jacqueline smirked. “People are so predictable.”

  “I think you’re right,” I said, although I had literally no previous experience. “Didn’t we park that way.” I pointed in the opposite direction of where we headed.

  Jacqueline ignored me, her body gravitating toward some unknow
n destination, a glazed look in her eyes. I strode along beside her. A half-block later, she stopped on the Fullerton Avenue sidewalk, arms crossed in front of her chest as cars lurched and accelerated down the street. An enormous limestone single-family house loomed in front of us. The mansion was neatly tucked into a double city lot behind a manicured lawn and wrought-iron gate and surrounded by other similarly intimidating homes. Beyond the gate, massive flowerpots flanked the front door. Jacqueline gazed up at the blackened windows, pacing back and forth in front of the house.

  I shifted my weight from foot to foot, gaping at the oversized house, its shadow dwarfing me. A woman brushed past and huffed about us taking up too much of the sidewalk. Jacqueline grasped one of the metal poles of the gate with her hand and peered through toward the back yard.

  “Is this one of your listings?” I asked, still confused about what we were doing.

  “No. I used to live here.”

  “Here?”

  A car honked in the distance, and the weight of my bag pulled against my shoulder. She didn’t respond. I looked from the ground to Jacqueline and back to the house. Had a light turned off upstairs? A blip of movement caught my eye in one of the second-story windows, and I froze. A chill ran through my limbs, the overwhelming sensation of being watched. I fixed my eyes on the opening, making out a shadowy figure behind the glass.

  Jacqueline smoothed down her pants. “Just give me a second, please.”

  She punched in a code and pushed through the front gate, leaving me standing on the sidewalk. Marching up the steps she reached for the doorbell. No one answered. She pounded on the door with her fist.

  “I know you’re in there, Mother!”