by Bebe Wilde
I laughed. “No! I hate the thought of losing you and trying to find someone as good, which would be near impossible.”
“And don’t you ever forget that,” she replied and winked at me.
I didn’t. But she did help me in so many ways. I began to make more money than ever, not even believing it myself. But even though I was more successful, there was a downside to it and the downside was I heartbroken and couldn’t properly enjoy it. Because I was still hurting over my divorce, I began to self-medicate via shopping and spent more money than ever before. What was a few thousand dollars for a handbag? Who cared? It was only money! New car, shiny and clean? That’s the one I want! Who cared what it cost? Private island getaway for my one week vacation two times a year? All inclusive? Sure, why the hell not? Designer labels, designer fashions? Of course. Only the best for me! Cute bungalow in the Hollywood Hills that was way overpriced and a totally bad investment? One I would have never considered if I had been in my right mind? Yes! I have to have it! It was perfect for me! I always wanted a lap pool and the marble counters in the kitchen were to die for! Let me sign on the dotted line!
And on and on and on. I was spending like a Rockefeller, like there was no end to it. I was on a high from my success and nothing could stop me. Nothing but the market crashing and my career coming to a complete and total standstill.
Funny how that works.
If only I had paused to understand that buying stuff makes a person feel really, really good and takes their minds off all the crap in their lives only temporarily. If only I had taken a moment to realize that maybe, just maybe, saving money could be as fun as spending it. Yes, it was a viable short term way to self-medicate. But it can put you in a pinch. And it did. O-u-c-h!
In fact, it almost put me in the poorhouse.
But one day, I swore, I would be back on top. I had it in me, if only the market would change. Selling properties wasn’t rocket science. It was a craft and I knew my craft like the back of my hand.
And, so, when I got Roman Juniper’s multi-million dollar house to sell, I was ready for it. Though I knew it would be a lot of hard work, I had to have it. I had no choice, even if the owner was a little off-putting. I had to put all of my personal feelings aside and get the job done.
So, I set up the broker’s open, an open house of sorts where only the best agents were invited to view the property before it hit the market. The invitations had been sent out and the house was staged and ready to be seen by all the elite real estate agents in town. They would all come to eat the Mexican feast I’d had catered in honor of Cinco de Mayo. We had empanadas, we had guacamole and chips and fajitas. We had sombreros and margaritas. I overdid it, that was for sure, and had overspent so everyone would remember what a good, fun time they’d had. And in turn, they’d think about their clients who were looking to buy. And then, hopefully and with fingers crossed, we’d get some interest and then, eventually, a buyer. It was long, drawn out dance of numbers, amenities and square footage. But, if I pulled it off, it would make my year to sell this house. I’d have enough money to pay all my bills and still sock some away. I’d be back in the black again. And that’s what I wanted. If not, I’d be fucked and have to sell my house, most of my furniture and move into an apartment. Then I’d have to get a few part-time jobs to make ends meet between sales, just like I did years ago when I first got my real estate license, and hope to stay afloat. The other two options I had—moving back home or getting back with Kier—weren’t even up for consideration at that point. At that point, failure was not an option.
And, so, today was the day it would start. Everything was ready and staged. The owner, Roman, was out of the house and the agents could come and walk freely and admire all of his hard work. I looked at my watch. They would start showing up at any minute. Before that happened, I went outside Roman’s house and smoked a cigarette, looking out over his fabulous pool. The house was a magnificent mid-century masterpiece. The rooms were open and broad and spacious. The kitchen was done to perfection. The baths were to die for. Who wouldn’t love this place? It was perfect, if only I could find the right buyer. Tonight, maybe, I’d find someone who might know someone and that’s all it took, one spark of interest to get the ball rolling.
Before I went back into the house, I thought back to something that had happened a few days ago when Hailey and I were here, at Roman’s house. We were preparing the house, walking through it to see if there needed to be any cleaning or what-have-you done. She tried to turn on the TV in the living room with the remote. When it didn’t work, she shook it and said, “Hey. We need some batteries for this thing.”
“What?” I asked.
“The remote is dead,” she said. “It needs batteries.”
I nodded and went into the kitchen and started going through a few of the drawers.
“Well?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing here. Let me go see if he has some in his office.”
She nodded and I went into Roman’s office and sat at his desk. I didn’t feel odd doing this as I had sold many houses and sometimes you had to find things. I just opened the drawers on his desk, which was a long, black lacquered thing that had obviously been handcrafted, but came up with nothing. I was about to give up when I opened the last drawer and something caught my eye. It was a leather thing. It was long and slender like a feather duster but without feathers. I picked it up by the handle. Several leather straps came out the end of it like pom-poms. I shook it, taking it all in, staring at it in awe. What the fuck was this thing and what was it used for?
Just then, Roman came in, saw it, stopped in his tracks, then smiled. “Oh, you found that.”
“Oh! No!” I said quickly. “I was just looking for some batteries and… I wasn’t—”
“It’s okay, it’s fine,” he said, waving his hand. “It’s nothing. A joke.”
“A joke?” I asked.
“It’s called a cat o’nine tails, I believe,” he said. “Some people call it a flogger. One of my associates gave it to me as a gag gift, implying that I was whipped by a former girlfriend. He didn’t know the half of it,” he said, giving me a knowing wink.
He had taken something that would have embarrassed most people and turned it into a joke. I stared at him, realizing that he was perfectly imperfect and he was confident in that. Many people might be embarrassed to have someone find something like that in their house but him? He shrugged it off. He was cool. I’d never met anyone like him before in my life.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked, then kicked myself. I then realized I was still holding the flogger. I threw it on the desk. I felt so embarrassed and stupid. But I couldn’t stop myself.
“No,” he said and chuckled. “I’ve given up on love. But it’s not for lack of trying. I have been divorced twice.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, it didn’t work out.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t a very good husband,” he said.
Neither was my ex. He turned to stare at me, nodding to himself. “What is it?” I asked.
“You’re very vanilla,” he told me. “Aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?” I asked, aghast.
He ignored my response and continued, “But I wonder… Is there a moaner in there just waiting to come out?”
Was he serious? Was he really saying this to me?
He grinned. “I’m just teasing you, Teagan.” He stood back to take me in. “Still dressed in the school marm look?”
I glanced down at my dress. It was an off-white, tea length one that had a layer of lace on top. It was one of my best dresses. It made me look sophisticated but still young and pretty and approachable, which was the exact image I wanted to portray to the world. Dressing like this had helped me sell a lot of houses.
“A woman like you needs to wear something else,” he said.
It was going from bad to worse. “A woman like me?” I said, trying to contain my irritation.
“Yes, a woman like you,” he said. “Show off your curves a little. You’re vampish but you hide it. I can see that. But that dress fails you in that. It doesn’t lie. It makes a man wonder what’s under it.”
My mouth dropped. Was he really saying this to me? Really? I studied him, his rugged good looks. He looked dangerous, like he would just fuck you and leave you panting on the bed once he was done. He’d leave you wanting more and when a man does that… Well, it was too much to think about. I liked the thought of it, though. It excited me. I hated to admit that, hated what it might mean, but he did. He excited the hell out of me.
But at the moment he was being an asshole and just a little too forward.
“However, I don’t really think you’re vanilla,” he said and bent across the desk and picked up the flogger, touching it. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, oui?” He smiled at me.
I shook my head, not knowing what to think. “Listen, you’re being a little too forward,” I said. And the situation was getting a little too weird. I needed to leave the room and get back to work. ASAP.
He ignored me and said, “Would you ever consider playing a game with me?”
“Excuse me?” I asked, appalled and confused. What the hell was he talking about?
“Play along,” he said. “Trust, Teagan, trust comes first. Trust me.” He shook the flogger a little. “May I?”
“May you what?” I asked.
“Test the waters,” he said and came around the desk so he was standing next to me.
I didn’t know what he was talking about, so I said quickly, “No.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“What do you mean?”
Without answering, he smacked the flogger against my legs gently. It burned just slightly but didn’t hurt. He bent to whisper in my ear, “I can do more, of course, but that is your call. But now, you have work to do.”
My heart was about to beat out of my chest. I didn’t know what to do. Had that just happened?
He stood up and tossed the flogger back on the desk and started to exit the room, pausing at the door to say, “Just put that back, please.”
I nodded and grabbed it, shoving it back into the drawer. Just then, Hailey entered, pausing to lean in the doorframe and said, “Sorry,” to Roman with a smile before turning to me. “Did you find the batteries?”
I shook my head quickly. “No.”
Roman stared at her, then back at me. “When you have your broker’s open, I’d like you to wear the dress.”
And with that, he left. I blushed, thinking about the dress he’d given me to wear while showing his house, a black cocktail number that was sexy and tight-fitting and was now hanging in my closet, tucked away from sight.
Hailey stared after him and asked, “What’s he talking about?”
“Nothing,” I said hurriedly.
She stared at me and smiled a little.
“What is it?” I asked and got up from the desk, feeling a little weak and odd.
She shrugged and said, “Well, did you find the batteries?”
“What?” I asked. “Oh, no. I didn’t. It’s okay. I’ll pick some up later.”
She continued to smile.
“What is it, Hailey?”
“Roman,” she said. “He’s kinky, isn’t he?”
“What?” I asked.
“Roman,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “He’s kinky, isn’t he?”
“How would I know that?”
“Just by the look on your face and on his,” she said. “He excites you, doesn’t he?”
I couldn’t think of an answer.
“What a man,” she said and giggled, giving me a look.
“Hailey, shut up,” I said. “We have a business relationship. That’s all.”
“Oh!” she said, then leaned back. “You’re sleeping with Kier again.”
“I am not,” I said. “Well, once. So what?”
“If you keep doing that, you’ll never find anyone.”
“I’m not looking for anyone.”
“Yeah, that may be true, but that guy,” she said and jerked her head in the direction Roman had disappeared. “He is looking for someone. And I think he’s got his sights set on you.”
I stared at her. “That is completely and totally untrue. And absurd.”
“Tell him that.”
I blushed.
“But you need to stop sleeping with Kier,” she said.
“A girl’s got needs,” I told her.
“Girl, get a vibrator.”
I had one. It wasn’t the same.
* * * * *
And now I was at Roman’s house again, moments before the broker’s open was about to start, smoking a cigarette outside, waiting in nervous anticipation. Hailey was inside making sure that everything was perfect. We had an open bar to go along with the catered food as well as decorations. I had to show that I was still successful. If I showed even one ounce of weakness or desperation, they’d eat me alive.
I hadn’t seen Roman since that day, which I referred to in my mind as “the flogger incident.” Just after Hailey told me to get a vibrator, I had caught a glimpse out the window of Roman leaving the property in his big black SUV. He looked so cool and handsome, it stirred something in me. It was a longing I had never felt, not even with Kier. I knew it was because he was so different and I’d never run across anyone like him before. But I didn’t have time to think about him or about what he meant or what might happen between us. I shook the incident off and refocused on my work. There was too much to be done to delve into fantasy land.
After I finished smoking the cigarette, I looked around for a place to dispose it. There was a vintage ashtray on one of the wicker side tables. I tossed it in and noticed that there was at least three other butts in the ashtray. I wasn’t aware Roman smoked.
But why would I be? I didn’t know anything about him. Fuck! I had to get this man out of my mind. I had work to do. And besides, I needed to quit smoking again myself. It was just all the stress that kept me reaching for the cigarette. Once I got this house sold and got back on my feet, I’d quit, I promised myself.
I went inside and made sure that the food was laid out to perfection, that the sombreros were everywhere they needed to be, that the bar was ready to serve drinks. This was it. I had to get some good feedback. I had to have someone fall in love with it so they would want to sell it to one of their clients. I had to do it. I would do it, I reassured myself.
Soon, the broker’s open began and the best agents in town showed up, walking around the house in awe. Many of them told me, “I wish I could buy it for myself. This place is phenomenal!”
It was. It was phenomenal. Yes. But do you have anyone in mind?
No, they didn’t. The place was great but most people were looking for family homes. Could you imagine raising a kid in a house like this? The stained concrete floors were incredible but not kid-friendly at all. And the built-in Italian leather sofa? Ah-ma-zing! But not right for my clients. Nobody was interested in it even as an investment.
I was disheartened, to say the least. The feedback was good; however, it was bad, too. I knew this house would be a hard sell but the way they told it, while it was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen, it was unsellable because no one would want to buy it.
There were about a hundred agents that came that night, all enjoying my feast and my free drinks, donning the sombreros, sipping margaritas and not a fucking single one of them had anyone in mind to buy the place. Even that bitch Miranda showed up and I knew she’d rather die than help me sell a house. Which was just as well.
By the reactions I had gotten, I knew the market was in a tighter crunch than I had thought. The house wasn’t that unsellable. It was a fantastic house but no one was buying right now. That was the fact of the matter. Right or wrong, good or bad, sad but true, the market wasn’t dictating a sale of this sort. Maybe it was time to move on to something else. But th
is was what I loved, selling houses. What could I move on to?
“How’s it going?” Hailey asked, coming up beside me.
“It’s not,” I said. “It’s worse than I thought.”
She nodded. “Yeah, no one wants to spend this kind of money on a house like this right now.”
“You’re right,” I said.
“Here,” she said and handed me a margarita. “I had them make it for you. Extra salt on the rim and a couple of lime wedges.”
“You’re sweet,” I said and took a long sip. It did taste good and I needed it, that was for sure.
She stepped back to take me in. “I must say, I’m digging the new look.”
I glanced down at the dress. It was the black cocktail dress that was made of knit jersey and fit like a glove. It was the one Roman had referred to on “the flogger incident” day. I thought I’d try it, that maybe it would bring me some luck instead of my usual frilly “girl” dresses. He’d also given me a pair of black leather stilettos but in lieu of them I had paired the dress with a pair of five-inch stilettos Kier had given me, ones he had received as a gift for me from a famous French designer, who’d told him to “Get her back.” Like that was every going to happen. Even so, they were silver and covered with crystals. Who was I to say no to free shoes? My hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and my makeup light and fresh. I looked good. Just not good enough to get a referral, apparently.
“And you’re rockin’ the stilettos, too,” she said, nodding with approval. “Soon, you can be a video vamp.”
I laughed because, in a way, I did look like one of those girls in that Robert Palmer video swinging a guitar or whatever, just like I had imagined Roman had wanted me to look. I shook my head at her and said, “Just thought I’d try something new.” I didn’t tell her it was because Roman expected me to wear his dress. How awkward would that conversation be?
Just then, I saw a few agents leave together, pause at the front door and give me a wave. It was over now. A few stopped by on their way out, telling me they loved the place and they’d see what they could do. I told them I appreciated it and thanked them for coming. Soon, they were all gone and it was just me and Hailey and the catering people who were cleaning up.
