Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out

by Catharine Bramkamp

  I smiled at the description. Martha Anderson certainly was a heavy weight, she was an enthusiastic donor in the community: sometimes she donated money, more often she donated her own good opinion. I avoided her when ever possible. She doesn’t like to be reminded of our last encounter. She also out-weighs me by a good forty pounds.

  Cassandra frowned at the girl, the she scowled at Peter. “I assume you can do accounting, paper work, all that?”

  “Anything Peter wants, I can do.” She gazed up at Peter, who, to his credit, reddened.

  “Fine,” Cassandra waved the girl away but the girl did not leave Peter’s side. “I’ll see you Monday morning.” Cassandra hesitated, but the girl did not move. So Cassandra was forced to stalk away.

  Ben had obviously waited for Cassandra to head to the tent. He appeared by my side and eyed Peter and the girl. “We haven’t sampled the chestnuts wrapped in bacon.”

  He nodded to Peter, and Peter nodded back. But they forgot to speak. Ben led me away to the pergola where there were, indeed, two plates of chestnuts wrapped in bacon.

  “Fabulous.” I was about to reach for another when Ben paused, his chestnut suspended in mid air. “Why would she come here?”

  “Who?” I was having pronoun difficulties, first Fred, now Ben. Ben didn’t elaborate either.

  “I have to go, sorry.” He kissed me, careful of my lipstick, and hustled off.

  I popped another oyster into my mouth and waved him on. As long as he wasn’t mistaken as Cassandra’s date, I was good. I entertained myself by counting the guests. About two hundred people were scattered around the facility, and their numbers did not come close to filling up the front patio or the large tent covering the parking area. I could see that five hundred guests would be easily accommodated for the wedding. This was my real reason for being here, to make sure this site would work for Carrie’s wedding. The oysters were just a bonus. I noticed that Patrick was here but, lucky me, his sisters were not. I entertained myself by snapping a couple of photos with my phone should I need to defend my position with the Furies.

  “This is pleasant.” Ben met me back at the oysters, apparently having dispatched the mysterious “her.” Before he could reach for one, Cassandra materialized from the shadows of the warehouse and grabbed Ben’s arm, cutting him off from the food. She leaned heavily against him as if she had no energy to stand up straight by herself.

  “This turned out very nicely.” I said as kindly as I could. I pocketed my phone and held out my hand for another serving of delectable oyster. You never know when you will next meet complimentary Hog Island oysters. I was stocking up. My new friend with the oyster knife handed me another.

  “You can have your wedding here too.” Cassandra rallied, turned her back to me and offered the place to Ben.

  “Thanks, but we aren’t sure what we’re going to do for such a scary event.” He eyed me and I answered by downing another oyster. He nodded, if the myths are true, it will be a good night for him.

  Why not marry in Claim Jump? Why not get married in our new house?

  I paused still holding the empty oyster shell. That would work, that would make sense, which would even be, dare I say it, fun. We could hold our reception in the Lucky Masters memorial building at the fairgrounds. No.

  Ben and Cassandra had fallen silent. Oh hell, so it was up to me. “We could get married in Claim Jump.” I offered as a way to keep the conversation from falling flat onto the flagstone patio. “My grandmother would love to help, and it would put your mother at a disadvantage.”

  I carefully set the shell back on the crushed ice and virtuously rejected another. “She knows I won’t marry in Marin again.”

  “No, that wouldn’t work for you at all.” Ben extracted his arm from Cassandra’s grip. “My mother would be happy to offer her house, or the courtyard of the De Young, or Grace Cathedral, whatever you want.”

  I frowned. That would be magnificent. But I think I’m too mature for over the top magnificent. “I’m not even sure I want to wear white.”

  He shrugged. “Wear purple, wear a toga, that would work just as well.”

  “Oh, now you’re just being silly.” Cassandra perked up a bit and gently slapped Ben’s arm.

  Ben rolled his eyes and obediently ushered Cassandra to another knotted group. He owed me. I was acting the part of the perfect, understanding fiancée. If I pushed, I probably could negotiate for any kind of wedding I wanted. I watched the two make their way awkwardly back to the tent. After a few words and another pointed extraction from her grip, Ben moved away from Cassandra and with visible relief, greeted Carrie and Patrick who were heading to the wine tasting room.

  Carrie had bundled her dark brown hair up in a twist and wore brilliant dangly earrings that looked like long strands of genuine rubies. She wore a brilliant fuchsia strapless dress that complimented her skin and wide happy eyes. It was also the official wedding color: fuchsia and hot pink, no it was pink and tangerine, orange. I couldn’t remember. Patrick was as dapper as usual; his perfectly cut suit spoke of tailoring rather than off the rack. I watched as Ben, towering over both of them, hugged Carrie, then surreptitiously ran his finger under his collar. He caught my eye and I nodded. He stripped off his own silk tie with a Chippendale’s flourish.

  Cassandra had gracefully abandoned Ben and now hung onto a tall handsome guest in a ten-gallon hat as if reaching for a life preserver. She paused, eyeing Ben, then steered her new guests to the tents anchored over the parking lot. She seemed to be lurching from one man to the next, like a ship with no mooring. I on the other hand, was well ballasted by oysters.

  I reluctantly bid goodbye to my oyster shucker and grabbed a glass of something red as I launched into the sunlight. It was a good event. Ben’s mother cancelled at the last minute so I didn’t need to face her and make small talk. My mother was not here. I was feeling good.

  It didn’t last.

  The crowd milling around the entrance of the tent abruptly parted, and there he was. I blinked, the first thought that chased though my addled brain was, that can’t be right.

  Chapter 6

  My stomach clenched at the sight of him, I stepped back into the shadow of the building as he worked his way through the party guests, glad-handing everyone, to the front patio area. Had he seen me? I fervently hoped not. Then again, when had he ever really seen me? I glanced around, but I was too far from the tasting room entrance for a quick exit inside. Besides, a sudden movement would telegraph my presence for certain.

  I eyed him while arranging strands of my hair around my face as a pathetic disguise. I felt like my nieces and nephews who used to hide behind a door and close their eyes because if they couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see them. I always saw them, so I knew my ploy did not have longevity on its side.

  He had lost some hair. He had gained some weight. We all look a little older in our late thirties, but he had aged more. Much more. And his face looked like his features had been moved around like Mr. Potato Head played with too vigorously then returned to the box all the features intact, but rumpled, never the same as when the toy was new. Maybe Mark had spent too much time baking in the sun, not because he toured the world on his yacht or because he volunteered to rebuild communities in Haiti, but because he didn’t pay attention pool side and always managed to get sun burned.

  Mark was accompanied by a young lady, no surprise. I blinked, why was she familiar?

  Because she had arrived with Peter O’Reilly, hit on Ben and now was latched onto Mark more tightly than a panicked abalone. As Mark worked the crowd, he failed to introduce her, funny; I hadn’t caught her name when she was attached to Peter either.

  Mark introduced himself to one couple, then the next, then the next. I could hear him in my head even before he was close enough for me to hear him in real time.

  “I’m Mark Cincet, damn glad to meet you.” He held the girl and his wine glass in his left hand and shook with his right hand. The girl obediently followed him and seem
ed unconcerned that he wasn’t bothering to introduce her. She had been completely devoted to Peter a half hour ago, and yet here she was glued to Mark’s side as if they were joined at the hip. She only offered a closed lipped smile if anyone thought to address her. I admired her discipline and focus if nothing else. I rarely stay by Ben’s side for very long. I am constantly disengaging from Ben every time I see something shiny.

  Peter’s feelings were the least of my concerns. I took a deep breath, Rosemary insisted that I needed to do more Zen deep breathing. For once I wished I had listened to her. A text or a phone call would be a welcome distraction right now, or I could fake it, I could pretend I needed to answer my phone. I eyed him as he approached. Now I could hear him. From his practiced patter, he was just working on the hi, how the hell are you, bullshit and not delivering any real, useful information.

  What a surprise.

  I took a deep breath, not exactly the prescribed Zen deep breath, but it helped my fluttering heart. At least I was dressed for battle. I had found a draped, low cut cocktail dress (blue, not fuchsia) on sale at Chico’s. My hair was currently bouncy and shiny since I had just escaped Robert’s ministrations. Plus, I was wearing my new, light catching engagement ring. All I needed was my new eye catching fiancé, but Ben was nowhere to be found, he was off saving another damsel. Damn it.

  As Mark approached I glanced around, tamping down a rising bile in my throat that had nothing to do with the mollusk family. Where were my people? They were clearly in the parking lot tents or out back. I was surrounded by faces I did not recognize. Was Mark one of the workers? Did he work for Patrick? That would be rich.

  He stepped closer. I had half a mind to make a dash for it and hide in the wine tasting room, or behind Carrie in the pergola. I knocked back the rest of the wine and wiped my lips. My fucking worst nightmare was right here in sunny daylight.

  He greeted another cluster of guests and had just tossed his head back in a laugh when he caught sight of me. Well, that was it. He lowered his head and frowned as the wheels turned round and round (fairly laboriously in Mark’s case) as he struggled to place me. Come on, how many girls did he leave at the altar? Should I even ask?

  “Allison? Allison!” He exclaimed loud enough for about a hundred of the guests to hear. “Allison Little.”

  It was, I hoped, loud enough to be heard at the pergola, but I wasn’t holding out any hope. I glanced nervously behind me.

  I saw Carrie’s head jerk up like a deer sensing the hunter. She took one look at me, patted Patrick’s arm and determinedly made her way to my side. God bless the woman.

  “What are you doing here?” Mark reached me first, but help was on the way. I kept my expression pleasant, professional. I regretted that I held no sharp objects in my hand, but the oyster knife wasn’t far. I’m sure the nice young man would loan it to me for just a few minutes. Picturing Mark with his heart cut from his chest and still beating as I held it up to the Aztec gods calmed me better than the damn breathing.

  “Wow, Allison, it’s been a long time.” He stopped three feet from me, the girl still clinging to his left side. He took the wine glass from her hand and sipped, then absently handed it back to her.

  “Yes, it has.” On closer inspection, he looked ravaged. He really had not aged well. I was uncertain if this was his signature look: early debauchery. No question he had definitely spent the last few years doing too much of something. Maybe I dodged a bullet after all; it was a pathetically cheerful thought.

  “You look the same,” he offered lamely.

  I stretched an insincere smile across my face. “You look pretty changed, what have you been up to?”

  “Yeah, I’ve lived pretty hard.” He gave the girl a squeeze but she wasn’t paying attention to either him or me, her attention had wandered. “But I’m not sorry. I had a lot of deals both good and bad, my one weakness is I take it so personally when a promising company doesn’t reach its full potential. I think this one will do great, don’t you agree? You know, I swim with the sharks, that’s where the good eating is.”

  Great, his thirty second elevator speech. He stood me up at the altar at the Marin Country Club in front of 250 guests and what do I get: his thirty-second elevator speech.

  I continued to grin like a gargoyle; my face was beginning to hurt. I heard Carrie breathing behind me.

  “Of course, many people do take their investments personally.” For instance, I bought stock in Ben & Jerry’s, did well on the buy out. And continue to patronize the product.

  “I heard you’re engaged.” He said, finally acknowledging me as an individual separate from himself. Was that always a problem? I couldn’t remember. To be honest, I didn’t really want to.

  I merely nodded, my ghoulish grimace frozen in place. But before I could launch into my how great is my fiancé speech, Carrie interrupted me.

  “I don’t think we’ve met.” Her tone was as icy and imperious as the most onerous matrons in town. When she wanted, Carrie could mimic both Martha Anderson and Suzanne Chatterhill, rolled into one. I wasn’t sure how I felt about her newfound skill but I was happy it was turned against my most hated enemy.

  “I’m Mark Cincet, I’m one of the new investors in the winery, as of yesterday, lovely isn’t it?” Mark disengaged from the girl as if she may hurt his chances in charming Carrie. He vigorously pumped her hand. “Damn, nice to meet you. You must be the blushing bride, Cassandra told me about you.”

  “Are you enjoying the winery?” Carrie pulled her hand away as quickly as she could.

  “It certainly is elaborate.” The girl muttered. What was her name? Had O’Reilly introduced her in any other capacity than her work aspirations?

  “I’m sure the columns aren’t real antiques,” I assured her.

  “So,” Mark shoved his right hand into his jacket pocket, he gestured in a general way, and this girl obediently sided up against him once more like a tiny Remora attached to a moving shark. (Enough oysters for me.)

  “How’ve you been?” What he really meant to say was, you’re probably wondering why I left the club five minutes into the wedding march. His eyes were cold; he wasn’t interested in me any more. He had moved on to someone younger and tastier.

  The appropriate thing to happen next was for the DJ to play “I Will Survive,” but it only played in my head.

  I did wonder, but I was not going to admit it out loud. I was not going to admit that I spent a minute pining for him. As far as he knew, I spent exactly forty seconds ditching the dress and the tiara and another twenty seconds selling the engagement ring on EBay. I was not a victim, pining away for someone who was clearly an ass hole. I was the Real Estate Diva. I was the queen of my own life.

  My gargoyle grimace solidified like carved stone. “I am fabulous, business is excellent, we’re all terribly excited about being part in the wedding of the decade and I’m moving to Claim Jump with my successful, wealthy fiancée. How has your life been?”

  His expression darkened, as I knew it would. He was selfish and self-centered when I met him; he was selfish and self-centered as we planned the wedding. He was in charge of writing the vows; the rest of the work was up to me. It was a hollow offer, since clearly he never intended on speaking them. He probably didn’t even write them at all. Why did I think he would be any better in another context? I immediately excused my idiocy as youth. At the time, I thought I had enough love for the both of us.

  “Have you married?” I pointedly glanced at his naked left hand, I already knew the answer but I wanted to get my digs in while I had the chance. “Children?”

  “Children can be such a comfort in your old age.” Carrie supplied. She was about to turn and quiz the girlfriend when Ben finally materialized.

  “There you are.” He glanced at Mark, the girl, then at Carrie. Carrie’s eyes glittered like a cat waiting to pounce. Ben didn’t need any more information than that. He was about to say something appropriate, when Cassandra interrupted us.

  Cass
andra bounced up to Mark and clutched his arm effectively jostling the other woman away, who took the displacement with surprising grace. I was confused, but it didn’t matter, Cassandra’s interruption was a god-send.

  “Mark,” Cassandra cooed, in much the same tone she had recently employed that morning with Ben. Ah, so many men, so little time.

  “Come and meet some people.” She grinned in triumph at Carrie and me, tossed her head in Ben’s direction and hustled Mark off.

  The four of us stood in a tiny eye of a hurricane.

  “Fuck me dead.” Carrie muttered.

  Ben measured the trajectory of Mark and Cassandra. “Excuse us.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and not too gently pulled me in the opposite direction.

  I grabbed a glass of white wine off another table, it was too warm, but I didn’t care. I gulped it down as Ben propelled me past knots of people to the relative safety of the crush pad.

  “How do you know him?” He demanded softly.

  “My ex-fiancé.” I looked around for a place to put the empty glass.

  He sucked his breath, and then engulfed me in a big, breath taking bear hug. I dropped the glass and it shattered on the cement.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into my hair. “That must have been a blow.”

  The stainless steel equipment around us pinged and sighed as it cooled in the early evening. The roar of the crowd was deadened here. It was more comfortable and private. I shifted and my foot hit the glass, cracking it again.

  “I haven’t seen him since before the wedding.” I said truthfully.

  I felt Ben nod.

  I wiggled happily in his embrace and kicked the shattered glass. “I don’t know if we should leave him alone with Carrie on the loose.”

  “You’re right, she looked pretty dangerous.”