I Still Dream About You: A Novel

by Fannie Flagg

  Babs glared at Maggie. “Are you trying to tell me how to run my business?”

  “No, of course not, I was just thinking that—”

  “Look, I’m busy—if you don’t want to present the offer, fine. I’ll just go directly to the owner and tell them their listing agent is trying to block the sale.”

  “I’m not blocking the sale, Babs. It’s just that I don’t feel right about cutting her out all together.”

  “Why? It’s no skin off your nose. You still get your commission.”

  “I understand that, but it really puts me in a bad position. Dottie is a friend; we were in the Miss Alabama Pageant together and—”

  Babs exploded: “Oh, get over yourself. Dottie Figge is an idiot, and nobody cares about all that stupid beauty-pageant crap! Wake up and smell the roses, honey: the world has moved on. Are you going to present the offer or not?”

  Maggie was shocked by Babs’s sudden outburst; speechless, she just stared at her. After a moment, Babs rudely snapped her fingers at her and said, “Hello, Miss Alabama, anybody home? I’m busy. Yes or no?”

  Maggie felt something very hot slowly rising up inside her, and her cheeks began to burn bright red. Then she heard a strange voice she had never heard before in her life saying, “Now, wait a minute, you can say anything you want about me, but you say one more word about the pageant, and I’ll knock your block off … you … you … person!”

  At that moment, Maggie looked down and realized that she had actually made a fist and was at present shaking it across the desk at Babs. Good Lord, she thought. How had that happened? She had never made a fist in her life. Babs looked at her like she was something that had just dropped out of a tree and said, “You must be nuts,” picked up the offer, walked out, and slammed the door behind her.

  Maggie just sat there, with her cheeks still burning bright red, stunned that she had actually yelled at someone. Oh dear, had she really said “knock your block off”? How embarrassing. She had never said anything like that in her life. Where had that come from? Some bad movie she must have seen as a child, she guessed. Just then, Ethel stuck her head in. “What was that all about? Her Beastliness just flounced out of the door in a snit; what happened?”

  Maggie looked up and said, “I don’t know.”

  She really didn’t know what had set her off. Was it because Babs had called Dottie an idiot? Or the condescending way she had called her “honey”? Or had it been how Babs had said “Miss Alabama” in that sneering way? She wasn’t sure, but now she was worried. She had shaken her fist, and Babs might file a police report saying she had threatened her with bodily harm, which, of course, she had. Oh, Lord! That’s all she needed, to be arrested right now. She was going to have to call Babs and apologize and try to keep herself out of jail. Oh, why had she promised Brenda she would go to see the Whirling Dervishes? If she had jumped in the river when she had wanted to, this never would have happened. God, what next?

  A frantic hour later, Babs finally answered her cell phone.

  “Yes?”

  “Babs? Is that you?”

  “Who is this?” Babs snapped in her usual charm-free way.

  “It’s Maggie.”

  A long silence, then an even colder, if at all possible, “What?”

  “Babs, I am so sorry for speaking to you the way I did. Please accept my apology. All I can say is I guess I’ve been under too much stress lately with the market and—”

  “Spare me the details. Are you going to accept the offer or not?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  After Maggie hung up, she decided she would give Dottie the commission money out of her savings in advance and just say it was from Babs.

  THAT NIGHT, WHEN Maggie got into bed, she was relieved that she had been able to smooth it over with Babs, and thank heavens she hadn’t run her over that day when she had crossed the street in front of her. She closed her eyes. Then suddenly, another thought popped up. On the other hand, now that she was leaving for good, if she were to just happen to “accidentally” run over Babs Bingington … it really wouldn’t be murder. It would be one of those random acts of kindness everyone was always talking about. She would simply be doing the other real estate agents in town a little favor before she left, as a sort of goodbye gift. And like Brenda said, the police would probably never find out who had done it, and even if they did, she would be long gone by then. It was something to think about.

  As she lay there, she started to think of all the things you could do if you didn’t have to worry about the consequences. It was so freeing, really; knowing you didn’t have to worry about the future anymore. It opened up endless possibilities. She suddenly felt sort of reckless, or devil-may-care. She hadn’t planned on this. Who knew that jumping in the river could be so liberating.

  Ethel Is Aggravated

  UNLIKE MAGGIE, WHO ALWAYS HAD TROUBLE SLEEPING, ETHEL could sleep; she just chose not to. She was too aggravated to sleep. Tonight she sat up, flipping from channel to channel, sipping on her bourbon. The very gall of that woman to come into the office and upset Maggie. Maggie was too much of a lady to have to put up with that nonsense from anybody, especially from some snake in the grass like Babs Bingington.

  But that was the way of the world now. Manners didn’t count for a thing anymore. Nobody had any respect for anybody, thanks to all those smarty-assed comedians making fun of everything and everybody. Nothing was sacred.

  And there was nothing decent to watch on television anymore. Just a bunch of bad reality shows sandwiched in between erectile dysfunction and bladder-control ads. Body functions used to be private, but not now. Nobody seemed to be embarrassed about anything. There was no shame; so many politicians got caught up in sex scandals and the next day, they were out riding in parades, smiling and waving at everyone, like nothing had ever happened. She paused a moment on a rerun of Sex and the City and was appalled and clicked back to Fox News.

  What ever happened to the Pillsbury Bake-Off show and Petticoat Junction or Carol Burnett? That gal was funny. Now it was just one trying to be more filthy-mouthed than the other. Nobody had any class anymore. They wouldn’t let you. Now they wanted to drag everybody down in the gutter. Nobody was safe. Even poor Queen Elizabeth was written up in tabloids. Sure, she’d had some trouble with her kids, but who hadn’t? Ethel’s own granddaughter had come home with a tattoo on her behind.

  Maggie was the only person she knew with genuine class. “Damn it to hell!” she yelled to the cats. “What ever happened to people behaving like ladies and gentlemen?” The cats had no clue, and got up and left the room.

  As she sat there sipping her drink, Ethel’s mind wandered to other irritations. Why didn’t they make a car with a place for a woman to put her purse? And why did there have to be so much loud noise everywhere? Cars, buses, motorcycles, planes, leaf blowers, and whose bright idea had it been to have those horrible loud beepers go off every time a truck anywhere in America backed up, night or day, especially garbage trucks? She used to love to shop, but lately, shopping had become sheer torture; every store had loud music blasting out at you at full volume. She remembered when music used to be soothing, a pleasure to listen to. What ever happened to pretty music? Now it was just people screeching offkey at the top of their lungs or rap music booming in your ears, with not a tune to be found nor a lyric to be understood, at least not by her. Now all the kids were riding around town with that stuff blasting away so it almost knocked her off the sidewalk. Brenda had promised Ethel that when she got to be mayor, she was going to make it against the law to play your radio at full volume with your windows down. Brenda had Ethel’s vote, on that issue alone.

  Still, she hoped Brenda wouldn’t leave real estate before Maggie could retire and get all her benefits. She worried about Maggie; she was clearly no match for Babs Bingington, and in this dog-eat-dog world, good guys usually finished last. Look what “the Beast” had done to Hazel.

  What Babs Had Done

  ABOUT SIX
MONTHS AFTER BABS BINGINGTON HAD OPENED HER office, she’d found out that Red Mountain Realty was getting the huge contract from the new insurance company moving to town. Babs knew getting that contract could make or break any office. Relocating a big company’s corporate office from Philadelphia meant finding houses for hundreds of people, and Babs wasn’t about to let some half-pint, hire-the-handicapped office knock her out of that business. She flew to Philadelphia and called the president of the insurance company and asked for a meeting. She informed his secretary that she was in town representing the Birmingham Board of Realtors and she told him that it was of vital importance to his company that she speak with him in person as soon as possible. When the secretary handed him the message, the president figured it was yet another public relations meeting. By this time, he had almost been glad-handed to death by the entire city of Birmingham, but he wanted to keep everything on a positive note and so he agreed to meet with her.

  The next morning, Babs was escorted into the president’s office. In her best fake southern accent, she started by saying, “Oh, Mr. Jackson, thank you for seeing me. You just don’t know how hard this is for me; I’m a nervous wreck, but we … all of us … are so thrilled and proud that your company is moving to Birmingham, and it would just kill us if something were to go wrong.”

  Mr. Jackson was suddenly interested. “Oh?”

  “I’m afraid the real estate firm you hired is … May I speak confidentially?”

  “Of course.”

  “We feel you need to know that Red Mountain Realty is not a company you should be associated with at this time.”

  He looked at her. “Really? And why is that?”

  Babs affected a pained expression. “Well, you see, Mr. Jackson … I have been chosen as a member of the real estate board to warn you that we have privileged information that Hazel Whisenknott is about to be brought up on embezzlement and fraud charges by a federal grand jury, and when it happens … well, we feel that you might want to consider the ramifications for your company. I know your reputation means a lot.”

  Babs reached into her purse and pulled out a lace handkerchief, blinked a few times, and managed to look teary. “Oh, I do wish I hadn’t been the one chosen to tell you, but all of us in Birmingham care so very much that you be well represented. We would just die if anything went wrong. In fact, I’d consider it a privilege to handle your account personally and charge only a five percent fee, as a courtesy. That’s how highly we think of your company, Mr. Jackson,” she said as she slipped her card across his desk. “Of course, it’s entirely up to you. You do what you want to do, but at least now you have the information.”

  After Babs left his office, Mr. Jackson thought about what she had said. He had liked the other little real estate lady, but she was right. Even if the charges were dropped, she was sure to be tied up in civil court. He didn’t want to try to do business in the middle of that mess, and he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot in a new city. So why take the chance? He would have someone call and say they had changed their minds.

  He picked up Babs’s card and looked at it. It must have taken a lot of guts for her to fly all the way here and warn him, and he also liked the 1 percent cut in commission she had offered.

  Babs was a master at faking sincerity, and since she was usually dealing with men who could easily be fooled by a woman who could cry on cue, she was successful more often than not.

  Hazel, who usually thought the best of everyone, couldn’t understand why her office suddenly began losing so many big contracts to Babs’s company. But all Hazel ever said was “Well, my hat’s off to her; she’s a darn good saleslady.”

  T.G.I.F

  Friday, October 31, 2008

  THE FIRST THING FRIDAY MORNING, MAGGIE HAD TO RUN DOWNTOWN to the main branch of Alabama Bank & Loan to close out her account and withdraw what little money she had left. She hoped closing her account so abruptly wouldn’t arouse suspicion, but it couldn’t be helped. When she drove past the empty lot where the old Melba Theatre used to be, she noticed the big white sign: RAZED IN THE NAME OF PROGRESS.

  Driving around the block looking for a parking space she could manage, she had to see it over and over again. She hated that sign. It had stood on so many lots where buildings she had loved had once stood. Of course, the new revitalized downtown, with its tall, sleek, modern buildings was beautiful, but still, Maggie couldn’t help but miss the old downtown of her youth. In the late sixties, people had begun leaving the downtown area and moving out to the suburbs. Slowly, one by one, the great department stores had started to close. Gone forever were the gleaming silver escalators leading up to eight and nine floors full of beautiful clothes and the second-floor mezzanine tearooms, where delicate little finger sandwiches of chicken salad, cucumber, and cream cheese were served on soft white bread baked that morning. Gone was the glamour of downtown; no more nighttime window-shopping, no more grand window displays at Christmas. By the seventies, even Santa had moved out to the mall.

  For Maggie, it had been like watching a good friend die. Each time she had come home, she could see more places she had known as a child shut down; all the elegant deco buildings with the elaborate facades, deserted and standing empty. Nothing left but empty shells and boarded-up windows; the sparkle in the cement now covered over with dirt and grime. “Urban blight” they called it. “It’s happening everywhere,” they said. Still, it was hard to see all the places you loved crumble before your very eyes. But when they demolished the beautiful old downtown train station terminal and knocked down the big electrical WELCOME TO BIRMINGHAM sign, it broke her heart. She had loved that train station, with the big glass dome and all the excitement and hustle and bustle of people coming and going. It was there, on Platform 19, where she’d left for New York on her way to try to become famous. And that was the last time she ever saw Charles.

  FINALLY, AFTER MAGGIE’S sixth time around the block, two spaces opened up, and she was able to park and go into the bank. Twenty minutes later, after she was almost finished withdrawing all her money and was ready to leave, the teller must have pushed a button, because the manager came out looking very concerned.

  “Miss Fortenberry, is there something about our service you’re not happy with? We hate to lose your business. Is there anything we can do?”

  “Oh no, I’ve been extremely happy with everything. It’s just that I’m moving …”

  “I see. Well, we would still be more than happy to handle your account online.”

  Oh, dear. She had to think fast.

  “Oh thank you, but I really don’t know how to do that, but I can assure you, it’s nothing personal.”

  She almost ran out of the bank. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings. But she hadn’t lied. She was moving, and she really didn’t have a clue how to bank online.

  Maggie had cleared her morning and didn’t have to be at the office until eleven, so she could try to finish up as much as possible before the weekend. When she got home, she sat down and made out a new, shorter list.

  Things to Do

  Pay gas, electric, water, MasterCard

  Drop hint to Brenda

  Call Salvation Army for pickup on the second

  Call Boots to arrange for pickup on the morning of the third

  Call and cancel all future doctors’ appointments (hooray!)

  Her doctor had just informed her that he was insisting that all his patients over fifty-five have a colonoscopy. Something else she was more than happy to miss.

  After Maggie had made her calls, she was cleaning out the medicine cabinet and thought about Crestview again. Coming home from the bank, she had (of course) gone out of her way and driven by it, just to torture herself one more time, she supposed. She knew it was silly. As she was putting fresh towels in the guest bathroom, she was sure she was worrying about nothing. Fairly Jenkins had to have heard wrong. Mrs. Dalton would never sell Crestview in a million years. She walked down the hall to the linen closet to pack up wha
t was left. She really had nothing to be concerned about. But still … just the thought of Babs Bingington even having the slightest chance of getting her hands on Crestview was appalling. She didn’t trust Babs as far as she could throw her. In the past, the woman had somehow been able to have zoning classifications changed. Now, in what used to be pretty residential areas, there was a Popeyes Chicken or a Jack in the Box right next door to a lovely home. Who knew what might happen next? Babs could turn Crestview into a suite of dentists’ offices. My God, it could wind up just like Dr. Zhivago’s home, with strangers running in and out of every room. They would probably tear up the gardens and put in a parking lot. The more she thought about it, the madder she became. GOD-DAMMIT TO HELL! She should have run Babs over when she had the chance. Oh God, now she was cursing. Something she had vowed she would never do.

  MAGGIE FINISHED PACKING up the extra blankets and sheets and towels and threw all the bath mats in the washing machine, but as hard as she tried, she just could not get Crestview off her mind. She hated to leave not knowing if its sale was just a rumor. She should at least try to find out if it was true, shouldn’t she?

  As she was putting out the ant traps under the sinks, she began to toy with an idea. Hazel had said to use every advantage you had, and in this case, she did have a slight advantage: she knew the lawyer in New York who handled all the Dalton family business. She could go ahead and just call him. Just to ask. She could then find out once and for all, and she could jump into the river in peace. Of course, it felt unethical; not to mention rude and pushy. It was something she normally would never even think of doing. But if by any chance it happened to be true, she could at least try to get the listing for Brenda. Lord knows the office needed the business, and under the circumstances, she owed them that much, didn’t she? Maggie looked at her watch. She still had time to make one more phone call.