by Kaira Rouda
I was excited to deliver it, so Oreo and I hopped into Doug and drove over. I was pleased to see that all of the plastic toys and even the swimming pool had disappeared. A sprinkler was working in the front yard, and either Marjorie or Sam had been to the nursery. Flats of pink impatiens waited to be planted in the beds leading up to the front door. I suggested adding a hanging plant in the plan I’d drawn up, and I was sure they’d follow it to the letter after seeing how much progress they’d made already.
Marjorie answered the door, a toddler on her hip, and gave me a big hug. She told me they’d make me proud. I waved off her offer to come in, pointing at Oreo doing his frantic panting number in the window of the car. Every time I left him in there he thought I’d forget him. I had, but only once, and it was in our garage. I’d rescued him after two minutes. He was such a drama king.
Back at home, Doug, Oreo, and I arrived the same time as Beth and Sarah did. Kathryn and Melanie pulled in just behind Beth. The gang was all here. Woman (and baby) power working together. I loved that.
Beth and Mel had settled in the living room while Kathryn and I pulled up chairs at my kitchen table command post. She was wearing a light green sweat suit with a peace sign embroidered on one sleeve. “A party for six hundred doesn’t happen every day. What a great business launch. Can I see the To Do list? Sounds like we need to check off a few more items. Oh, and I like all of your Post-it notes. They didn’t tell me about T2C lists in Montana.”
I wondered what they’d taught her at the ranch in Montana. Kathryn was acting far too calm, far too happy and normal. What had happened to the uptight, driven, working woman who was the “Majors” force in the retail world? What happened to the scorned woman who was left by her husband for a tart—well, not a tart—a friend’s friend? What happened to the tears over the anorexic teenager? Was Kathryn taking the same tranquilizer that Charlotte was?
“Well, T2Cs are my special creation, but they have really helped me stick to my goals and accomplish some changes in my life. Somehow, though, I’m still not as calm as your ranch visit seems to have made you,” I said. “I’m hoping that will rub off on me. And are you sure you have time to help me today? I mean, you’ve been out of town and all, and with Bruce and the divorce? Not to bring up a sore subject, but I just don’t want to impose.”
“Impose? Really? You’re the one who has been imposed on! I’m doing great and having a blast. Bruce and I are meeting with our attorneys sometime in the next few days. We’ve let this drag on for years, but it’s time to move on. We’re hoping to bring about an amicable settlement. Melanie has been through enough pain because of us. We need to have a united front, for her. You know, life’s just too short to go through it being miserable. Mind you, I’m not going to get screwed, but if he plays fair with Mel and with our assets, I will too.”
I handed over the party checklist with a smile, seeing she’d already crossed off at least half of the items, and Kathryn got busy making phone calls. I’d forgotten how many contacts she had, and I loved watching how quickly a woman who was accustomed to running a multimillion-dollar company could get things done. The best part was hearing her say she was calling on behalf of Kelly Johnson Home Staging.
Today was the last official camp call before we went to Maine this weekend to pick up the boys. I had put Post-it notes—purple ones—on my kitchen door, the back door, and my purse reminding me of the times: 2:10 and 2:20. Patrick’s assistant would conference-call us in. I couldn’t believe I would be able to squeeze my own little guys in person in a few days. And I couldn’t believe they’d be hugging their mompreneur back.
I took the next half an hour to make return calls and booked one more appointment for later in the day. And then, after changing into what could only be called a fashionable white pants suit, because it was, I dashed out the door to meet Ginger Smith of Wellesley Drive. I pulled up to a wonderful Tudor, with a For Sale sign from Real Living in the front yard. I didn’t recognize the name of the sales agent on the sign rider.
Ginger Smith was a beautiful woman—about my age—whose home had been on the market, she said, “forever,” which translated in actuality to six months, according to Melanie’s meticulous pre-meeting notes. But that could seem like forever, I agreed. We talked, and I sat down and walked her through my process and the fees. Her family was moving into their new home a block away in two weeks, and she was frantic. I understood that not many people could afford two homes, I told her.
After we’d walked through her entire home and I’d given her a lot of free tips—use brighter light bulbs, add some plants, hide the photos of the family, and neutralize the smells (cats)—we had arrived back at her front foyer. I presented her with my proposal, an estimate of twenty hours of work, and asked when the listing expired.
“I don’t mean to offend you, Kelly, but do you have any credentials? I mean, how do I know that hiring you will make any difference at all? My real estate agent said she’s never heard of you or home staging,” Ginger said with a sweet smile on her face. “And my neighbor didn’t speak too highly of your abilities.”
Okay, stay calm and collected, I said to myself. This is just your first business challenge. You know what you’re doing. You’re halfway through your online certification program, remember.
“Who is your neighbor, and why would she have any idea about my abilities?” I asked, miffed but not crying.
“Rachel White? I know you two know each other. She says she’s worked with you on events for years and you didn’t seem—well, I think she said she was shocked you’d opened a business.”
The high road beckoned, but so did the low road. My yoga practice kicked in and I took a cleansing breath.
“Ginger, I hope you’ll consider my proposal, and I would be happy to refer you to a real estate agent perfect for you and your property,” I said calmly. “I require half up front. So, if and when you decide to work with me, sign the contract and mail or drop off a check. Thank you for your time.”
High road taken, I smiled and showed myself out the door. I would deal with Rachel soon, but not now. First I had another appointment.
The next appointment was worse. Not only did I not get the job, I think I had been invited there only to hear them complain. Mr. and Mrs. Raunce sat down across from me and told me how much they didn’t like real estate agents or anyone else in the real estate business; how their home was a treasure and how it was supposed to be their retirement nest egg. They didn’t understand why their agent even deserved a commission after doing nothing.
I didn’t understand why they’d called, and said so.
“We just wanted to satisfy ourselves that you’re like the rest of them, all full of promises,” Mr. Raunce said accusingly from across the early 1970s brass and glass coffee table. I wasn’t going to point out for them, at that moment, that the photos crowding the fireplace mantel and the light blue wall-to-wall carpet could be hindering the sales process.
“You’re right, I am,” I said, and walked myself out the door. I should’ve yelled, or at least been indignant, but I wasn’t that strong yet. I was impressed that I’d handled my first face-to-face outright rejection by making it all the way back to Doug before the tears welled up.
“Oh Kelly, honestly,” I said, shaking my head and checking my makeup in my rearview mirror. No streaks in the Orgasm. “You didn’t want to work with those grumps.” Still, I called Kathryn for moral support.
“I couldn’t even believe you hadn’t had a ‘no’ yet. This is good! Congratulations! Rejection is part of sales, and you need to toughen up,” she said. “You didn’t cry, did you?”
“No. Well, at least not in front of them. I gotta go. I’m still two, one, and one.”
“Go get ’em tiger,” she said, laughing.
The next two appointments went great: no more friends of Rachel White and no more wrathful Raunce-like folks blaming the housing crisis on me. I didn’t know if I’d get either job; neither had signed a contract, but both wer
e respectful meetings.
As Doug and I turned up the street, I saw Bob Thompson walking up the sidewalk. I hadn’t seen him since the night I’d let myself into his home and he’d accosted me. He looked thin, but he gave me a big wave as I pulled into my driveway. It was a bright, sky-blue day, and perfect for a walk. But it was also the middle of the day and most men, at least around these parts, were at work. He seemed to be stalking his former life. And, really, I couldn’t believe he waved at me.
Too quickly, he was next to my car. I stayed inside Doug, but put the window down a little.
“Hi former neighbor,” Bob said, through the crack. “I was just taking a walk down memory lane. Nothing like having your marriage blow up for all the world to see.”
“Yeah, it must’ve been really tough. Must be tough. Heck, marriage is tough. So sorry for your troubles, Bob.” But I wasn’t. I was being insincere. The jerk had lunged at me, and now I had way too much to do. I made a note for my life-change list. Number Twenty-one: Avoid insincerity—especially when busy.
“Thanks,” he said. “Well, I’m sorry if I upset you before. I wasn’t myself.”
Drats. Apologies melted me. I rolled down my window all the way and asked Bob if he’d like to come in and have a cup of coffee. Of course Bob agreed and followed Doug and me as we pulled into the garage. As we walked in through the back door, Oreo was immediately suspicious and growling. “It’s okay, buddy, it’s our neighbor,” I said to Oreo, searching frantically for his Lucky Carp to throw him off. “Come on in, Bob. Have you met Kathryn Majors before?” I asked as we rounded the corner into the kitchen.
“No. Hello Kathryn. I’m Bob, a former neighbor of Kelly’s. Used to live down the street on the opposite side of the road.”
“Oh, yours is the home that my soon-to-be ex-husband is sharing with your sales agent and his soul mate,” Kathryn said, shaking his hand.
“Jeez, I’m sorry,” Bob said, looking as if he’d jump out a window if there was one available.
“Not your fault, and actually, it’s working out for the best. Our marriage was over a long time ago, we were stuck, and now he’s made the move,” Kathryn said.
I thought that was an interesting way to put it, and that yes, it is easy to get stuck in a long-term relationship, whether you stay in it or decide to leave it.
“Why did you sell?” Kathryn asked.
“My wife moved out one day, took all the furniture, and left me with the kids. Said she’d had it with me. She was right. I worked too much, and I missed the kids’ growing up years. But it’s too late. She’s finished,” he said. “I couldn’t live there, not without her.”
I handed him a cup of coffee, and he took a seat next to Kathryn at the kitchen table. Clearly, not a lot of work would be getting done with the two of them reminiscing about their failed relationships. I wondered if now would be a good time to bring up the bad influence that Bob’s son Tom had on Melanie. Probably not.
I headed upstairs to change out of my fabulous white linen and into something more home-office looking—AKA, jeans and a comfy tee shirt. Oreo trotted behind me until he spotted Melanie in the living room and abruptly bolted in her direction, tail wagging. Maybe a small Paris Hilton-type purse pooch would be good as his replacement, I thought, giving him the stink eye.
Wearing new jeans—after all, I had company, I rationalized, and I was starting a company—and an oldish tee shirt, I barged back into the kitchen and seemed to have surprised Bob and Kathryn, who were deep in discussion. They both looked at me as if I was in their kitchen. “Hey, hate to interrupt you guys,” I said jumping in, taking charge, “but Kathryn, could you update me on where we are for Thursday night?”
“Oh, I should get out of your hair,” Bob said, starting to stand up.
“No, it’s fine, Bob. Everything that can be handled before the event is taken care of,” she said matter-of-factly. “The remaining items are things we have to do or pick up the afternoon of the event. I was just working on your Quick Books for the home staging business.”
What? I thought. She’s amazing. And she obviously figured out that I’d been avoiding the world of spreadsheets and accounting.
“You need to get your books in order. I installed Quicken. That way, when you come back with another signed contract, you can enter it into the system immediately, track payments, track expenses. You’re launching a big business here, Kelly, if you keep landing three to four jobs a day,” Kathryn said. She gave Bob a smile, as if to say, silly creative girl.
“Okay, I know I’m the creative person, and I know I need this, but how am I going to keep this going? I mean, how am I going to do it without you?” I asked.
“I think you’re going to need me, and I would love to help. Just give me the rest of the day to get you organized and then we’ll go over everything. You handle the sales and create the plans for the clients. Deal?” she asked.
“Deal I guess—okay.” I felt like I was adding a business partner before I’d even thought about it. But I did need the help. And neither Mel nor I could do what Kathryn could in business.
“So, Kathryn, tell me more about … ” I heard Bob say as I walked out of the room. That’s great: two damaged folks looking for rebound love in my kitchen/office. That’s all I needed. I hightailed it for the porch and took a minute to breathe. I looked at the beautiful blue hydrangeas. I checked my hummingbird feeders; water was full and clear. I just loved those little birds. I was taking a moment: relaxing, getting in touch with nature. If Kathryn and Bob found each other, so be it. If Kathryn added value to my business, that would be great. I hated working alone anyway. Just breathe, I told myself.
As I took another deep breath, my cell phone rang. It was Patrick’s assistant. “I’ll put you into the conference call now,” she said, and suddenly, I heard Sean’s little voice. “Mom?”
“Hi, baby,” I said. “I can’t wait to see you!”
“Do you think, um . . . I asked Dad and he said it was okay with him if it was with you. Do you think I could stay just one more week? Please?”
“Listen champ, I didn’t agree. I said your mother and I need to talk about it,” Patrick interjected.
Of course he had already told Sean it was okay with him, the traitor. Maybe I’d get a sheep dog puppy and a new husband. Everybody else was doing it.
“Please, Mom, everybody’s staying and I’m having a blast and if I come home I’ll just want to play computer games in my room and this way I’m out in nature and stuff,” Sean said.
I had to hand it to the kid; he could spout out a line of reasoning almost as well as I could. Learned from the best, I guess. I missed him so much it hurt, but I knew he was telling the truth. “Hey baby, if it’s that important to you, we can push it back another week. I just miss you so much,” I said.
“I miss you too, Mom! You’re the best! Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you! Oh, and David says thank you, too! He’s standing right here, but he wanted me to ask for both of us, and he says he has to go now, so he can’t do his call, but he’ll talk to you soon! Love you,” Sean said, and then he was gone.
“You okay, honey?” Patrick said. Suddenly he and I were the only ones left on the conference line. “You didn’t have to agree to it. We can call them back if you’ve changed your mind.”
“No, it’s okay. I know they love it. I just miss them so much.” At least my mom was visiting. That would help; she’s another distraction.
“You have a lot going on Kelly. Think of it this way,” Patrick began, trying to cheer me up. “Now you have more time to focus on your business, and you can have fun at the party and really take the time to work all of those contacts you’re going to make, since we don’t have to get ready to leave for Maine right away.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said, trying not to pout. I’d focus on my business. My kids were happy. I loved what I was doing. It would give me time to finish my online classes (T2C #7) and to take that self-defense class (T2C #11).
; When I went back inside from the porch, Mel had finished her session with Beth and was working the phones. She’d begun writing the messages into the three categories I’d suggested, using the new professional spreadsheet Kathryn had created, and she’d flagged hot calls or high potential calls with pink highlighter. A great system, I thought. Kathryn didn’t. She wanted to computerize the highlighting too, but Mel and I won.
“This all needs to be entered into an Excel spreadsheet, Mel,” Kathryn reiterated. “Let me show you how to do it. It will make things a lot easier.”
“Oh, Mom, really.”
Now I was certain Kathryn was showing off for Bob. She leaned over Mel and her computer and began typing standing up. Kathryn’s green sweatshirt top was fitted, I noticed now, and actually showed off her figure. How was that possible?
Mother and daughter were both beautiful, and Bob was noticing.
“Mel, for now, just give me the hot names to call. We don’t want to miss our chance. I don’t have anything booked for tomorrow or Thursday,” I said.
“We aren’t booking anything more for this week, but we can make the calls and set the appointments for next week. For Thursday’s big party, I need you fresh and rested and rejection free,” Kathryn said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and sort of huffed out of the room. I’d make my calls from my peaceful porch, away from spreadsheets and the sexual energy flowing between Kathryn and Bob.
I was one call down—a very good lead; a man, for once, who I was meeting in the morning at his home around the corner, ignoring Kathryn’s command—and had one call to go when Charlotte appeared in my backyard.
