by Laura Wolfe
I stumbled back toward the entrance to Germania Place, clutching the cardholder in my sweaty palm. What an idiot I’d been. So naive. Jacqueline had been right when she’d told me I still had so much to learn. Yet, I didn’t know the whole story. I didn’t have the facts. This was probably one of Jacqueline’s “thinking outside the box” strategies. So maybe she took it a little too far. Things were going my way, and I wasn’t going to mess it up over some stupid paint on the side of a few buildings. Dad had warned me not to quit another job. He’d instructed me to power through the roadblocks, even when things weren’t going my way. I needed to stick with it. Otherwise, I’d lose my condo.
Without making eye contact, I handed the keys back to the valet. Then I made a beeline to the ladies’ room, where I inhaled several times through my nose, blotted a damp towel on my forehead, reapplied my lipstick, and yanked up my strapless bra. Waiters and waitresses balancing plates of steak and roasted vegetables on enormous trays surrounded me as I left the safety of the bathroom and maneuvered back toward the table.
Jacqueline was deep in conversation with Lydia, but she glanced at me as I neared.
“Here you go.” I set the cardholder above her silverware, suddenly thankful for the pressure of my Spanx against my seizing gut. We all had secrets. Jacqueline’s was safe with me.
16
My eyelids weighed against my swollen eyes, my body suffering from a lack of sleep and coffee as I arrived at the office at 8:30. Jacqueline paced back and forth behind her desk listening to a stream of voice mails
“Ready to go?” she asked as soon as she saw me.
Her nervous energy pierced through my fog of exhaustion. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder, thankful I hadn’t had anything more to drink at the charity dinner last night.
“Sure.” My arms dropped to my sides. I wanted to sit for a minute, to drink a second cup of coffee, and get some showings scheduled for Grace, but I’d have to get to that later.
Jacqueline drove, as usual. She darted her Mercedes in and out of traffic, zooming through yellow lights, and narrowly avoiding pedestrians, while I tried not to envision the cans of spray paint rolling around in her trunk. Hopefully, she’d gotten rid of them.
We wound our way south, past downtown and under the massive billboard sponsored by the Chicago Board of Realtors. It loomed over I-94 at the entrance to the business loop. Natalia’s gigantic airbrushed face smiled down on us from the sign, the writing below proclaiming, “Congratulations, Natalia Romonav, Chicago’s Top Producer!” CBR swapped out the picture on the billboard every year, depending on who won the Top Producer Award. Natalia’s face had been plastered on the sign for the last three years. It was the best advertising a realtor could have.
I studied Natalia’s image as we drove past, calculating the number of people who saw that billboard every day. “Can you imagine how much business you’d get if your face was up there?”
Jacqueline glared at me, her grey eyes flecked with yellow. “My face will be up there.”
My shoulders slunk back against the leather seat.
Jacqueline accelerated down the highway, while I kept my eyes trained out the window. She exited at the south end of the Loop and wound her way several blocks farther south. At last, she parked outside a brick three-flat. Converted loft buildings on either side dwarfed the three-story structure. Just beyond the loft buildings, traffic from I-94 whirred past.
“This is it.” Her voice had returned to a conversational tone. “Here’s the deal. I sold the first-floor unit to my client, Julia, about two years ago. Her boyfriend used to live here with her, but they broke up so now she’s alone. It’s a two-bedroom with a parking space out in back. Julia thinks there’s a lot of crime in this neighborhood. She doesn’t feel safe and is considering moving north, or to a bigger building with a doorman.”
“Are we meeting her now?” My stomach squeezed into a knot. I was completely unprepared.
“No. She’s not home, but she said we could look around to preview the place before we list it.” Jacqueline fumbled through her purse. “Here are the keys. You can head inside. I need to return a phone call.”
“Okay.” I took the keys and opened the car door.
“Wait. One more thing,” Jacqueline said. “There’s a white metal box in the top drawer of her dresser. Bring that out to me when you come back. That’s where she keeps her condo documents and extra keys. She told me to take it.”
“Her top dresser drawer?” I asked, dread trickling through me at the thought of rummaging through the drawer of a stranger.
“Yep.” Jacqueline pressed a button on her phone and looked away, already on to the next event.
“Okay.” I angled my reluctant face away from her. After following the walkway past a wrought-iron fence toward the front door, I jiggled the bigger key around in the door until it opened. A musty smell filled my mouth inside the cramped foyer. Another door marked “Unit 1” stood to my left. The smaller key fit the lock, and I turned the handle. The door creaked open.
“Hello?” I yelled, just in case the owner had decided to stay home. My skin tingled with nervous electricity. There was no answer.
I inched through the doorway where the living room opened up, surprisingly bright compared to the gloomy foyer. But a second later, the sour stench of old garbage smacked me in the face. My throat gagged as I shielded my nose with my hand and surveyed the condo. A pile of laundry lay heaped in the middle of the hardwood floor. Beyond the living room, a tall counter and three pendant lights separated the kitchen. I flipped on the lights above the countertop.
Despite the filth, the condo had the potential to show well with stainless steel appliances and granite counters. A stack of dirty dishes filled the sink. Trash spilled out of a plastic bag that sagged on the floor next to a garbage can. My own condo wasn’t spotless by any stretch of the imagination, but Julia could have cleaned up a little before inviting us over.
Breathing in shallow breaths, I wandered down a narrow hallway, the heels of my shoes clacking against the wood floor. I poked my head into a home office. The over-sized desk, chair, and shelving unit filled every inch of the small space. Halfway down the hall, a slatted closet door sat open, revealing a stackable washer and dryer. The door next to the closet led to the master bedroom. The room was trashed. Covers were twisted in a heap on the bed. Clothes were pulled inside-out and strewn across the floor. I wove around the debris to check out the bathroom. Through the layer of towels and beauty products, I could barely make out a white counter featuring double-bowl sinks. Drops of water clung to the glass shower door.
It was a little too personal, and I turned on my heel to get out of there but paused, remembering the box. I stumbled back across the bedroom and around the bed to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer and trying to touch as little as possible. A pile of satin and lace panties stared up at me from inside the drawer. Even with permission, this was creepy—serial killer creepy. It was weird to sift through someone else’s lingerie. My chest clenched, my annoyance with Jacqueline growing. She should have been the one doing this, not me. My hands rummaged through until they hit something hard and cold. My fingers latched around it, and I pulled it to the surface. It was a white metal box with a lock. I plunged my hand into the drawer again, sifting through underwear and bras for a key, but came up empty. If Jacqueline wanted the key, she’d have to come back for it herself. I pushed the drawer closed and bolted out of there, turning off the lights behind me.
Jacqueline watched from the car as I carried the box outside. I pulled open the car door and slid back into the safety of my passenger-side seat. I handed it over to her.
“You didn’t tell me it was in her underwear drawer.”
She shrugged.
“The box is locked,” I said.
“That’s okay. Julia gave me the key last time I met with her.” Jacqueline dropped the box into her bag. “I’m going to run in and take a quick look. Stay here. I’ll be right back.�
��
I bit my lip and stared out the car window, irritated that she couldn’t have come inside with me five minutes earlier. “The place is a mess, just to warn you.”
Jacqueline laughed. “Not surprising, knowing Julia.”
She drifted toward the front door and disappeared inside. A spindly tree sprouted up through a grate in the sidewalk next to me, drooping and out of place. Something about the sapling growing in the middle of a concrete jungle made my heart sink. The task of sucking in all the city air pollution would be too much for the plant’s capabilities. I wondered if the tree would die, or if it would beat the odds and flourish. Maybe one day, years from now, I’d walk down this sidewalk and see the tree transformed into a massive oak, shading the sidewalk, shaking its leaves at all the doubters. I closed my eyes, craving sleep.
The door swung open, jarring me from my thoughts.
“All set. Let’s go back to the office, and you can pull up some comps. I’ll have to talk to Julia about cleaning up the place.” Jacqueline shook her head in disgust.
“Do you think she’s a hoarder?” I asked, only half-joking.
“I’ve seen worse.” Jacqueline put her car in gear and peeled out into the street before stopping at a red light. She turned toward me. “You want to come over and hang out tonight? I was thinking of ordering pizza. We can drink some wine and talk shop.”
My jaw froze. I was supposed to go to a networking event with Grace. Her boss was making her attend, and she’d insisted it would be a perfect place for me to find new clients. I hadn’t committed yet, though. My fingers fidgeted against the seatbelt buckle.
“You can come over at seven. Just for an hour or so,” Jacqueline said.
The light turned green, and she accelerated into the intersection. My hands slid to my sides.
“Sure. That sounds great.”
“Good.” Jacqueline’s red lips curved upward. “1934 N. Lincoln. Don’t be late.”
17
I winced, my ankle twisting as I climbed up the cement steps to 1934 N. Lincoln Ave. I caught myself, nearly dropping the bottle of Chardonnay pinned under my arm. The eighteen-dollar price tag was more than I’d normally spend on a bottle, but Jacqueline had good taste, and the guy at Binny’s insisted it paired well with pizza, although by the flash of amusement in his eyes he might have been messing with me.
Jacqueline’s mammoth front door loomed above me. Rotating my foot, I worked out the strain in my ankle and pressed the doorbell. A half-second later, the door swung open, and Jacqueline appeared wearing jeans and a grey sweatshirt that said Northwestern Law in purple lettering across the front. I’d never seen her so casual before, and I forced my lips into a smile to hide my surprise. I hadn’t gotten the “jeans” memo and was still wearing my tight-waisted work pants and heeled sandals that caused my ankles to collapse without warning.
“Hi, Mara. Come on in.”
I held out the bottle. “This is for you.”
“Thank you.” She took the bottle, eyeing the label, and waving me forward. I stepped into the foyer where hardwood floors gleamed beneath an oriental rug. Pale walls stretched up above our heads, only stopping when they reached a skylight a story above.
Jacqueline’s socked feet shuffled in front of me, bypassing a narrow hallway to the right and wandering through a wide opening that led to a spacious and airy living room. The solid crown-molding, wrought iron light fixtures, and wide-planked floors accentuated the Victorian character of the home. An expensive-looking piece of modern artwork hung in a thick frame above her fireplace, the swirl of colors pulling together the grey and white colors of the room, along with pops of bright blue accents. It looked as if a home stager had positioned every piece of furniture and accessory.
Afraid to touch anything, I followed behind Jacqueline as she passed the living room and continued into an open-concept kitchen where the yeasty aroma of freshly-baked pizza surrounded us. She placed my wine on the counter next to the double-door refrigerator, its white-paneled front matching dozens of nearby cabinets. A massive kitchen island featured Carrara marble and a waterfall edge. An orange pizza box and a Greek salad lay on the island.
“Wow. Your house is beautiful.”
“Thanks. It’s a work-in-progress like I said.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Over two years. The previous owners destroyed its charm, so I’ve been restoring it. I couldn’t pass up the location. I’m close to the lake and only a few blocks from the office. My architect redesigned the kitchen and living room into an open concept, and upstairs we reconfigured the master suite to add a walk-in closet and gutted the master bathroom. My designer, Anastasia, helped me chose finishes.”
“Sounds like a project.”
Jacqueline rubbed her temples and sighed. “You have no idea. During the renovations, my contractor discovered outdated plumbing. They had to dig out the basement floor. After living through that mess, it would have been stupid not to finish the lower level. That’s how renovations always go, one project leading to another. I’ll give you a tour after we eat.”
“Great.”
She shifted toward the food on the counter. “I already ordered the pizza. It’s vegan cheese. I hope you don’t mind.”
I gritted my teeth and smiled. “Oh. Sure. It’s fine.”
“How about a glass of wine?” she asked. “Red or white?”
“White, please.”
From a wine fridge built into the side of the island, she removed a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc with a French label glittering in gold words I couldn’t pronounce. Uncorking it, she poured a tiny bit into her glass, swirled it, angled the golden liquid under her high-end light fixtures, then lowered the glass beneath her nose and inhaled. Finally, she took a sip.
“Mmm. That’s good.” She pursed her lips and poured wine into two glasses and pushed one toward me, raising the other one in a toast. “To the good life.”
“To the good life,” I repeated, before taking a sip. The smooth wine glided down my throat as my stomach sunk with the suspicion that her bottle cost way more than eighteen-dollars.
“Let’s eat.” Jacqueline pulled two plates from one of her cabinets and set them on the island before opening the pizza box and placing a slice on each plate. We spooned out the salad, Jacqueline drizzling a tiny stream of vinaigrette across a couple of her leaves of lettuce.
She slid out a stool for me, and we sat at the island, nibbling our pizza and crunching the salad.
“I’ve never tried vegan cheese before. It’s pretty good,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s Jeffery’s fault.”
My muscles stiffened, remembering the photo on her desk.
“He was always trying to save the world.” She took another bite of lettuce and swallowed. “He still is, I guess.”
“He’s in the Peace Corps?”
“Yep. He wanted to spend his life helping a bunch of malnourished kids on another continent, instead of staying here with me.”
“I’m sure he’s helping a lot of people.”
“Yes. Sorry.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and set down her fork. “I get bitter sometimes. He’s been gone almost a year now. I threw a big going away party for him. Right here.” She motioned toward the living room. “It was an African safari theme. So much work.” Jacqueline shook her head. “I had to hire a whole cleaning crew to clean up the construction dust, not to mention a caterer and a bartender. A part of me thought once he saw how much trouble I went to, he’d change his mind and stay, but he was so driven to help others.”
“I’ve heard long-distance relationships are tough, but I’m sure he won’t stay there forever.”
Jacqueline flicked her hand in the air. “Who knows? Anyway, he’s the one who made me watch the documentary about dairy cows. I’ve never been the same.”
“Oh.” I bit into the slice of crust, not wanting to hear anymore.
“The screams of the mother cows as their babies a
re taken away from them...” Jacqueline closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips into her temples. “It’s just horrible. I’ll never be able to erase it from my mind.”
I stopped chewing and shifted in my seat. “I had no idea.”
“The funny thing is that my mother wouldn’t have cared if someone had stolen me from her, not the way those cows did. She probably would have been relieved to have been saved from hundreds of thousands of dollars on private schools and nannies, saved from a lifetime of disappointments.”
I lowered my fork, remembering how Jacqueline’s mom had refused to come to the door of their Lincoln Park mansion for her. Suddenly, Jacqueline’s soy lattes, vegan pizzas, whimsical keychains, and daily runs past Ellie made sense. She envied the love of the mother cows for their babies.
I sipped my wine, not sure what to say. “Moms can be difficult.”
Jacqueline grunted. “So fucked up.”
“Do you have any plans to see Jeffery soon?”
Her eyes flickered as if I’d knocked her from her daydream. “I’m thinking of flying to Africa after the new year to surprise him.”
“That’s a great idea.”
She tapped a fingernail against her wine glass. “Maybe. Maybe not. It might be for the best if we go our separate ways. For good. Our relationship interfered with my work. I need to stay focused, especially if I want to outsell Natalia this year.”
“Yeah. I just broke up with my boyfriend.” I sat back, the words escaping my mouth before I realized I’d spoken them.
Jacqueline raised an eyebrow at me.
“It happened right before I started working for you. It’s probably for the best, like you said.” My eyes focused on a Greek olive, hoping Jacqueline couldn’t detect my wavering emotions when it came to Nate. I hated that my heartbeat sped up whenever I thought of him, which was frequently.
A smile stretched across Jacqueline’s face. “Who needs them? To strong, successful women!” She raised her glass, and I clinked mine against it.
