Bolo

by Mariska Hutchence

  The morning started out with the normal cordial greetings, but since I was the only girl in the office, that gaze had come my way. Something stings about being the eye-candy of last resort. When it’s just me in the office, Ned seems to spend far more time talking to me, pushing the edge of my personal space bubble and his jokes veer more to the inappropriate. When the entire crew of his more recent hires come in, I feel like an also-ran. What sucks the most is somehow he makes me feel bad that his inappropriate stares and comments are directed at the other girls; like it’s some sort of competition with sexual harassment as the grand prize. Anyway, I’ve been fortunate to have a few new listings come in over the weekend, and I set myself to the task of getting them entered into the MLS. If I can sell just one of them, the commission check will be a huge score, though it irks me as well that it’ll be a huge score for Ned. The dream of either going independent or starting my own office has popped up a few times, but the courage that it would take has so far eluded me. A little extra money will go a long way towards my new resolution of getting my own place at least; I just have to remind myself to tighten up on the spending a little.

  Bouncer-guy is sitting in the reception area, and I blush, knowing full well that he’s not really there, he’s just been on the top of my mind since Saturday night. It’s ridiculous, given the fact that we exchanged practically nothing but niceties, but that didn’t stop him from playing the starring role in my fantasies two nights in a row. The second time around had been a little more detailed than the first, seeing as characters in our fantasies have a much easier learning curve for triggering the right buttons. Go figure. This one even involved a marriage proposal, which I admit is a twisted sort of foreplay. It’s how I work, unfortunately.

  “I think 1.7 is closer to the comps for that neighborhood.”

  I jump a little and realize I’ve been woolgathering long enough for Ned to finish his debauchery with Sue-Ellen and turn his attention to actual work.

  “The seller really wants to get this one closed quickly.” I say, turning to look at him over my shoulder. “So they want to go really aggressive on the price.”

  Ned shakes his head, flashing his bald spot back and forth in the fluorescents like a signal mirror. “Around there, it will sell quick anyway. Aggressive will just short change the client, not to mention us.”

  “This is what the client wanted to list it at, Ned.” I say, knowing that I’m giving a futile argument. “But I can change it.”

  “Perfect. You can direct them my way if they have any questions.” Ned says. I had diffused the situation in the quickest way possible. Who was I to turn down an extra chunk of commission, anyway?

  “You look nice today Miss Claremont.”

  I hope that my attempt to hide the look of disgust that wants to show on my face is successful. “Well, thank you, Mr. Weiland. That’s always nice to hear.” I want to add ‘bless your soul’, but more and more people are starting to know what that means, even if they don’t come from the South.

  Ned’s already flitted off, so I submit the listing with the selling price he suggested, moving on to the next. I have a couple of showings today, and one closing, so I’m trying to focus on getting it all done.

  The first showing is up in the Hill area, and I check myself as I get out of the car. Not a bad look, if I do say so myself. The new dress is flattering though the neckline is a little lower than I like. The length is right, though, and the shoes are on point. There always has to be some sort of compromise when it comes to clothes. I walk up to the sprawling home and retrieve the key from the box on the front door. I’ve got a little time left before the buyer is due to show, so I tour around myself, making sure I’ll be able to point out all the key amenities, especially the ones that trigger people’s interest. It doesn’t take long before I slip into another fantasy about the bouncer-guy. This time we’re living in this place and I note the various rooms as I walk around, daydreaming. There’s a center room with no windows, just an element of the architecture, but I see it as a playroom, isolated from the rest of the house. When the doorbell rings, I realize I probably shouldn’t have gotten myself so flustered.

  “Wow, this is really nice.”

  Dave Jenkins. Nice guy, around forty-five and divorced. This is the sixth house I’ve shown him so far this month and I’m starting to believe that he’ll never make his mind up on anything. At some point, I’ve got to cut him loose, but maybe today is the day.

  “It’s got hardwood throughout and hits most of the things on your wish list.” I point out. We walk around a little bit, but I notice his eyes are more on me than on the home. I should be pissed, but I’m a little flattered, which sours my mood a little.

  Just as we’re wrapping up and I’m locking the key back in the box, Dave finally makes his move.

  “You wouldn’t want to go for coffee or anything, would you?”

  It catches me off guard, but a million thoughts run through my head in the few moments I have before the delay becomes clumsy. From my experience so far, Dave actually seems like a pretty nice guy. A bit lonely, but who can blame him? I haven’t pried into the circumstances surrounding his divorce, but from comments here and there I got the impression that it wasn’t really his choice. Handsome? Yeah, in a way. He’s got everything you could hope for from an older guy, including interest in me for starters, but there’s not much more than that. I mean, I just can’t make myself look at him that way. I make up my mind, putting on a smile as I turn around.

  “That would be great, Dave, but I can’t this morning. I’ve got another showing to do and have a lot to prep beforehand. Maybe another time?”

  Dave masks the disappointment well. I can tell it took him a lot to muster up the courage for that and I feel like a heel for turning him down, but I’m not prepared for another dead-end date just to be nice to someone. I didn’t close the door altogether though, either in my words or my thoughts. Always best to not burn bridges, especially with potential buyers. The thought makes me wonder if that makes me any different than Anjelica. Leading a guy on for money. Difference is, I do kind of like him, so I have to keep that in mind.

  “That’s alright. I’m sure I’ll get the time to see another couple of houses next week, if you can manage?”

  My sigh is completely internal and I connect the dots to the conclusion that Dave isn’t really looking for a house, or at least that’s not his primary goal.

  “That’ll be great. Just call into the office next week and I’ll line some things up.” I say. I’m not ready to cut him loose just yet. Is this about the commission, or about his offer?

  I pull into the sweet parking space along the road right in front of the office window. There are only two, so it’s the luck of timing if you get it or are relegated to walking all the way around the building from the back lot. Downtown at its best. I check the mirror to make sure it’s safe to get out, then drop my new heels to the street and close the door, straightening my dress and flipping my purse over my shoulder. I’ve misjudged the traffic a little bit and feel more comfortable standing next to the car than going around, at least until the line of cars passes or stops. The light’s just turned red, so it won’t take long as I’m only a car length or two away from the intersection. I lean against the car as the first vehicle stops at the light, then hear the rumble of the next one, idling noisily as it coasts into position next to me.

  Flat black and a little worse for wear, it rumbles next to me and I’m looking straight into the rolled down windows. It’s the bouncer-guy. He’s looking straight ahead, and I’m mortified. I’m not sure why, but that’s the feeling. Flashes of my late-night fantasies betray me and I feel the flush creeping up. Probably just the unexpected nature of the encounter. The light turns green just as he looks my direction. Was that recognition? It was. The car behind him honks and he gives me what looks like a smile before he’s forced to drive off.

  I’m almost shaking as I get back to my desk. There’s a voicemail from Dave and
I don’t even listen to it. The only thing in my head is the bouncer-guy, and that image is swirling and fueling fantasies that would just have to wait for tonight after Anjelica goes out.

  Once I calm down a little I get my bearings. “Shay, is Ned around?” I ask. He’s been asking about Dave so I want to update him on the showing, though I really don’t have much to report.

  Shay is one of the younger girls; pretty, but also has a good head on her shoulders. We’ve become sort of co-conspirators, really, though not a friendship that has crossed out of the office as of yet.

  “He’s on a ‘showing’ with Sue-Ellen.” She says, rolling her eyes and doing air quotes. I laugh and give a knowing wink. It’s the perfect job for that sort of thing, really. Big empty houses, your choice of employees. Can I really blame the guy? It’s amazing how much supervision an alleged go-getter like Sue-Ellen needs to improve her showing skills.

  I sit at my desk, staring blankly at the monitor, thinking about the showing I’d like to give my new dream guy. He’s got me pressed up against the wall, my cheek cool against the paneling in an immaculate den and he’s bunching up my skirt from behind. I feel his rough skin touch mine, his huge fingers hooking in the elastic waistband of my panties. A slip of reality spoils the fantasy. What panties am I wearing? I catch my laugh before it gets out and look at the time. I have another showing, time to stop daydreaming.

  Chapter Eight: Avery

  I’m way early for the club, but seeing the Goddess has tripped up any plans I might have for the day. Seeing her there on the street was remarkably like seeing a celebrity in real life; out of place and a pleasant surprise. She looked even better today than she ever has at the club, maybe because she isn’t advertising, I think. The wind was hitting her dress perfectly, and my mind had photographed every spot that the fabric touched those incredible thighs, building a more complete image in my mind with each time I see her. Her naturalness was what attracted me to her, and seeing her in her element just made that even more resoundingly clear. I didn’t just record her beauty. I also recorded the surroundings in the hopes of learning more about her. I slip into Chase’ office to use the computer.

  Google Maps gives me the nearby businesses at that location, and I dismiss a few out of hand based on how she was dressed. You don’t go to work looking like that for a Barista job at Starbucks, do you? Within fifteen minutes, I had pulled up the webpage for J.D. Weiland real estate, and I had my girl. There’s a fine line between romantic and stalker, and at this point, I don’t think I’ve crossed it, but the line itself is blurry and open for interpretation.

  Suzanne Claremont, Agent. There is a picture of her, but my brain tells me it is at least three or four years out of date. It is her, though, most definitely, cute as a button with a smile that I’m not familiar with. I start to pull a Google search on her name when I hear voices outside of the office. Force of habit makes me turn out the desk light quietly.

  “The flow will probably go to the back.” Mack.

  I’m intrigued, and don’t really want to explain what I’m looking up in Chase’s office, so I close the browser and keep silent, preparing my response if they happen to come in.

  “That’s a given, but there’s two exits back there and that will cause trouble.” Cal.

  The voices go lower and I have to strain to hear, just picking up snippets of the conversation.

  Cal: “Probably.”

  Mack: “It’s about the same square footage.”

  Cal: “More than enough.”

  Mack: “One more.”

  The voices disappear entirely with the footsteps heading the opposite way down the hall. I open the browser again, filing the conversation away for later, just like I do any information I receive. My mind is more on the Goddess, though.

  I find both a LinkedIn and a Facebook page, but the Facebook page is restricted. Smart girl, I think, keep yourself safe. I do manage to glean some likes and dislikes from comments on her friends’ pages. That’s fair, isn’t it? I feel a little creepy but I admit to myself that I’m a little obsessed. I close the screen just as the door opens and Chase flips on the light. I click the ‘x’ on the browser window.

  “Holy shit, Bolo!” Chase says, starting as he sees me sitting at the desk.

  I laugh. “Sorry boss, just sucking up a little bit of your wifi.”

  Chase sinks into the chair opposite the desk, playing up clutching at his heart. “The other guys didn’t mention you were up here.”

  I put on a confused look. “Hell, I didn’t even know anyone was here this early.” That may or may not be enough to convince Mack and Cal I didn’t hear anything if it comes up, but I realize it’s the only option I have.

  “Yeah, Mack and Cal are here. It’ll be slow, so if you want the night off, it’s yours.”

  Thinking about it, I decide to take him up on the offer, though I know it’s coming less from that kind place in his heart and more from the soft spot in his wallet. “That’s cool.” I say. “I’ll stick around for the staff, though, so we can go through any questions Cal has from Saturday night.”

  Chase stands up, looking over at me. “You’re the best, Bolo. Don’t know what I did to find you, but I’m glad that I did.”

  He’s a decent sort, I think as he steps out of the office, heading downstairs. He just needs to find the right girl to settle down with. I pull up the mental image of the Goddess, then realize I need to re-caption the image. Suzanne. Suzanne Claremont.

  “So.” Chase says, circling the group as we all sit in chairs on the club floor. “I want everyone to come up with ideas for bringing in more people during the week. Be creative. Just about anything helps. Our weekday receipts are complete shit. I’m looking for another investor as well, otherwise things might go tits-up before Christmas.”

  The room is silent for a moment, then he picks it back up again. The comment has hit everyone from left field just as it did me.

  “So Cal, what did you think about Saturday night?” He asks.

  Cal looks up with the face of someone who hasn’t really been paying attention. I notice the quick glance over to Mack before he starts speaking. “It was cool, I guess.”

  “Any questions?” Chase asks, prodding, leaning back on one of the tables.

  Cal considers it for a moment, then does another quick glance, this time at me, before answering.

  “So what’s the official word on who we let in and who we don’t let in?” He asks. The word ‘official’ makes me bristle as he knows as well as me that Chase and I have some disagreement on the issue. We’ve discussed it before, and agree to disagree. Even at that, he lets me run the show when I’m on the floor.

  “It’s subjective.” Chase says, using the same line he’s used with me. “We need to have a good, exclusive image for the place, but…”

  “We don’t have to be dicks.” I interrupt.

  Chase nods over at me. “Agreed.”

  “So, no fatties?” Cal says. The bristling turns into a burning. Mack snorts.

  Chase laughs. “Subjective, but Bolo’s in charge when he’s here.”

  “Some guys like a little variety.” I say, calmly.

  “I’ll agree with that, but come on.” Cal continues. “I mean, there were a lot here Saturday that I wouldn’t have let in.”

  His look over at me is as close to an attack as I feel I can ignore. Suzanne’s image is at the top of my mind, as well as how he had treated her.

  “They bought drinks, and the majority of those you wouldn’t have let in ended up leaving with a guy, so I call that a win, don’t you?” I ask, glancing at Chase. “Gotta have someone for everyone, am I right?”

  “Buying drinks is always a win.” Chase says, grinning. “The other is just icing on the cake that brings ‘em back, right?”

  “Well, I know one that didn’t leave with a guy.” Cal smirks. “I tried to keep her out, but somehow the sad-sack got back in.”

  His emphasis on the word ‘somehow’ is more than enough
. I resist the urge to stand up, but I know I’m not masking my emotions very well. Chase is trying to figure out a delicate way to handle the issue, but I can see he’s coming up with nothing. Mack finally chimes in.

  “The one you’re talking about is Anjelica’s roommate.” He says.

  “Now that’s one that deserves to be here.” Cal says. “She’s the blonde, right? Kickin’ body?”

  Chase looks over at him, his own ire starting to rise. “They’re a set. Anjelica’s a personal friend of mine and her roommate is always welcome. She’s a nice girl.”

  Cal lets it drop since it comes from the boss.

  “Anyway, Bolo, you got anything for the guys?”

  I make sure my fist is unclenched before I stand up, taking a deep breath without being overly obvious about it. “Like I’ve said, we have to balance the reputation for being a hot place with not being assholes. It’s the bottom line. If people don’t think they’ll be able to get in, they won’t even try, especially if we’re rude. You can refuse someone without insulting them or giving them a direct reason. Those pricks with the wedding cake store would have been fine if they had just told that couple that they were booked that week. It’s when they had to make a fucking point out of it that shit blew up in their faces and I don’t want that to happen here.”

  “Hear, hear.” Chase says. “Anything else before you take off?”

  “Bolo’s taking the night off?” Mack asks, incredulous. “I can’t believe it.”

  Cal looks furtively over at him, but the bartender brushes it off.

  “All work and no play…” I say.