The Dream Comes True

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Does he know your plans?”

  “No, and I’d rather he not,” she advised, sending John a look that said she was trusting him to keep her secret. “I’ve done well for Martin in the six years I’ve been here. He’s made good money from my sales, and I don’t begrudge that. It’s the way things work. He gets his share in exchange for giving me a forum to work and to learn. I’m a much better broker now than I was when I came. Whether I have Martin to thank for that, or myself, isn’t important. What’s important is that if I can take out of Crosslyn Rise double what I put in, I’ll be in great shape to make my move.” Feeling that to be as smooth a segue as any, she once again fingered the top sheet in her file.

  Once again John stalled her. “That’s a lot of money,” he said with thought-filled preponderance. “I’d have thought you could pretty much set up a real estate brokerage wherever you wanted with little more than a telephone.”

  “Not the kind of brokerage I want,” she said, and let her dreams momentarily surface. “I want something classy. I want to either buy a house and do it over, or rent the best commercial space available. Then I want to decorate with the best furnishings, the best window treatments, the best artwork. I want a secretary, a sophisticated telephone system to make certain parts of my work easier, a computer setup to handle the latest programs and handle them well. I want to design a distinctive logo and stationery, and I want to advertise.” She took a breath. “All of that costs money.”

  “I’ll say,” John said, and sat quietly back, studying her as though she were something foreign that he couldn’t quite understand. “Couldn’t you start small? Do you need everything all at once?”

  “Yes. That’s the whole point. Real estate agencies are a dime a dozen around here. Granted, some are better than others, and those stand out. But for a new one to spring up and attract enough of a clientele to be successful, drastic measures are called for. From the very first, my agency has to be different. It has to attract attention. I think I can do it if, A, my offices are elegant, B, my staff is courteous, hardworking and smart, and, C, I advertise like hell.”

  “Your staff?”

  She sent him a dry look. “I’m not doing all the work on my own. That would be suicide. The whole point is to have people who are answerable to me, to teach them and train them, let them do their work, then take my cut in the profits. Isn’t that the way successful entrepreneurs do it?”

  John didn’t answer. He took a slow drink of his juice, set it down, then pushed his utensils out of the way when the waitress delivered plates filled with eggs, meat and toast.

  Mindful that once they had food in their stomachs, John would be willing to talk business, Nina began to eat. She cracked her eggs, scooped them from the shell onto the wheat toast, gave them a light sprinkling of salt.

  John’s fork seemed stuck in the first of his scrambled eggs. “I’m surprised,” he said unhurriedly, “that you want to set up business around here. If the goal is to make money and buy your freedom—”

  “Not buy. Ensure.”

  “Ensure. If that’s what you want, wouldn’t you be better in a large place where, by virtue of sheer numbers of people, the market would be more active?”

  “I’ve been there. I didn’t like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too impersonal. I may be hard, driven, aggressive, ambitious, even ruthless—people have called me all those things—but I like being able to greet the local grocer by name and have him greet me the same way. Besides,” she added with a glance out the window, “I do love the ocean.”

  John followed her gaze briefly before returning to her. “When do you have time to see it?”

  “I see it. Here and there. Coming and going.” She nudged her chin toward his plate. “Eat up. Time’s passing.”

  “Ever spend a day at the beach?”

  “A day? No. An hour or two, maybe. Any more and I get itchy.”

  “You never wanted just to lie out on the sand for hours listening to the sound of people and the surf?”

  “No. There’s too much to do.”

  He took a bite of his eggs, then swallowed. “That’s sad.”

  “Maybe for you. Not for me. I’d much rather get brief glimpses of the ocean lots of different times in the course of a day, know that it’s there, even listen to it at night at the same time that I’m getting something else useful done, than sit doing nothing on the sand.”

  He looked baffled. “But don’t you ever just want to go out and enjoy it for itself, rather than as an accompaniment to something else?”

  “Why should I? It’s the best accompaniment in the world. It makes anything else I’m doing that much nicer.”

  “That’s sad,” he said again, and Nina found herself getting irked.

  “I don’t see you with a tan.”

  “I haven’t had time yet this spring. But I will. You can count on it. As soon as lessons let up a little for my son, we’ll be hitting the beach.”

  Nina was about to ask what lessons he meant, when she caught herself. The child had a handicap. She didn’t want to put John on the spot. Besides, his personal life wasn’t her affair.

  With a tolerant shrug, she said, “Different strokes for different folks. What works for you doesn’t necessarily work for me, and vice versa. It’s no big thing, John. Really.” He didn’t believe her, but that wasn’t her worry. Crosslyn Rise was. “Listen, I’d really like to get to those papers.” She glanced at her watch. “We have to be at the bank in less than half an hour.”

  “How was your seminar?”

  “My seminar was fine.” She put her hand on the top paper. “What I have here is my personal recommendation. I’ve broken the project down by size and expected date of completion—”

  “Did you learn a lot? At the seminar.”

  She paused, stared, nodded. Then she patted the paper. “The more I thought about it over the weekend, the more I realized that we hit on something good last time we talked. The idea of—”

  “Was it worth the four days?”

  She took a breath for patience. “I’d say so.”

  “You’re a better broker for it?”

  “I’m more knowledgeable.” She took another breath. “The idea of pricing the units progressively—”

  “Don’t you ever get tired?”

  She pressed her lips together. “Of work? I told you. I love my work.”

  “But don’t you ever get tired?”

  “You mean physically fatigued?”

  “Mentally fatigued. Don’t you ever want to stop, even for a little while?”

  “If I do that, it’ll take me longer to reach my goal.”

  “What about burnout?”

  “What about it?”

  “Doesn’t it scare you?”

  “Not particularly. If I get where I’m going, I’ll have plenty of time to take it easy, without the risks.”

  “What are the risks?”

  “Of taking it easy now?” She didn’t have to take time to think. She lived with certain fears day in, day out. “Loss of sales. Loss of reputation. Loss of status in the agency. There are other brokers out there just dying for my listings. If I’m not around, if I’m not working, if I’m not on top of things, if I’m not getting results, I lose.”

  In a rare instance of expressiveness, his mouth twisted in disgust. “I get tired just listening to you.”

  “Then don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t ask me questions, and you won’t have to listen to my answers. All I want—” she slapped the paper beside her plate “—is to come to some sort of decision here!”

  John stared at her. She glared back. Gradually his stare softened into study, and before she knew it, she felt the same kind of quiet force emanating from him that she’d felt before. As had happened then, her heartbeat picked up, all the more so when his amber eyes began a slow, almost tactile meandering over her face. She felt their touch on her cheeks, her nose, her chin, then her mouth, where they lingered for a while to
trace the bow curve of her lips.

  The indignation she felt moments earlier was forgotten, pushed from mind by a strange, all-over tingle. “John?” Her voice wobbled. She cleared her throat. “I, uh, really think we should talk.”

  He wasn’t done, though. His gaze dropped to her throat, touching the smooth skin there before slipping down over silk to the gentle swell of her breasts.

  Even sitting, she felt weak in the knees, which made so little sense at all that a flare of pique shot through her. “John.”

  His eyes rose. “Hmm?”

  “I need to show you my papers.”

  “What papers?”

  She rapped the folder. “These.”

  He looked at the folder, then looked back at her. Along the way, his mouth hardened. “You won’t let it go, will you?”

  “Let it go? But this is why we met!”

  He said nothing, just stared at her. Not even his glasses diffused the strength of that stare.

  She felt penetrated. “Wasn’t it?”

  Slowly he shook his head.

  “Then why?”

  “To have breakfast.”

  “You insisted on this meeting just for breakfast?”

  Slowly he nodded.

  “But why? You could have had breakfast for less money and with less hassle if you’d stayed home with your son. Why on earth did you drag me out here if you didn’t have any intention of discussing Crosslyn Rise?”

  “We’ll discuss Crosslyn Rise. When we’re done eating.”

  “So what do I do until then?” she asked in exasperation.

  “You slow down. You take a deep breath. You look out that window and watch the sea gulls. You have a second cup of coffee and take the time to smell the brew.” His voice lowered, growing sharper and more direct. “You’re rushing your way through life, Nina. If you’re not careful, the whole thing will be over and you won’t know what in the hell you’ve missed.”

  Incredulity holding her mute, Nina stared. She had to take a deep, deep breath and give a solid swallow before she was able to say, “Last time I looked, this was my life. Seems to me I should be able to do what I want, and if that means rushing, I’ll rush.”

  His voice came out gentler than before, but no less direct. “Not with me, you won’t.”

  She sat back in her chair. “Fine.” Two could play the game. She hadn’t wanted this breakfast, anyway. All along, she had wanted the committee to take its vote. “Fortunately, I won’t be with you beyond this meeting.” She smiled. “Take your time. Eat. I’ll just sit here and enjoy the scenery.”

  * * *

  She worked hard at doing that. After an eternity, with barely ten minutes until they were due at the bank, John invited her to show him the papers she’d brought. Staying calm, patient and professional, she went through them. With surprising ease, they came to an agreement on the third of her plans. Together they walked to the bank.

  Sixty minutes later, when Nina returned to her office, she was like a steam kettle ready to blow. Slapping the folder sharply on her desk, she squeezed her eyes shut, put her head back and let out an eloquent growl. Its sound brought Lee in from next door.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Which plan did he go for?”

  “C, damn it.”

  “And the consortium agreed?”

  Nina nodded. Seconds later, she threw a hand in the air. “Don’t ask me why I didn’t argue more. I should have.”

  “Plan C is just fine.”

  “It’s not aggressive enough.”

  “So why didn’t you argue more?”

  “Because—because—” she struggle for the words, finally blurting out, “because John Sawyer wore me down, that’s why.”

  “I thought he was blah.”

  “He is.”

  “But he wore you down.” Lee grinned in a curious kind of way. “That’s a change. Usually it’s the other way around. You must be losing your touch.” When Nina gave her a dirty look, she said in an attempt to appease, “Sometimes the most blah people can be forceful, just because they take you by surprise.”

  But it wasn’t that, Nina knew. It was John’s persistence, his molasses-slow approach and a doggedness that was built of reason. His will was stronger than she’d expected, and, as fate would have it, his will coincided with that of the majority of the consortium.

  Not for the first time, Nina vowed that she would never again involve herself in a project where decisions were made by committee. Unfortunately, she was stuck with this one to the end. “Crosslyn Rise may be the death of me yet.” Snatching up the pink slips that were waiting, she flipped sightlessly through, then flattened them back on the desk. “The worst of it is that they want me to keep working with him. Can you believe that? They see him as kind of a lay advisor. So even though consortium meetings won’t be held more than once a month through the summer, they’re expecting John and I to meet once a week.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “It’s a royal waste of time, a total frustration.” She sent a beseeching look skyward. “Someone up there better help me out, or I’ll be a raving lunatic by the time summer’s done.” Eyes dropping back to the desk, she sighed. “At least I can give the printer the go-ahead to print those brochures.” Moving the folder aside, she drew up a pad of paper. At the top, she wrote Call Printer. “I want to have an introductory Open House over the Fourth of July weekend, something with lots of hoopla to launch the selling campaign.” To the list, she added, Call Christine, then Call Newspaper. Her pen went back to the Christine part. “If the model apartment is ready. Chris was aiming for the first of the month. It’ll be impressive.” Looking at Lee, she asked, “Have you been up there lately?”

  Lee shook her head. “I’m waiting for you. Maybe today, after lunch?”

  Something about the way Lee mentioned lunch gave Nina pause. She dropped her eyes to her desk calendar. Catching in a breath, she said, “Lunch! That’s right!” She had forgotten all about it. With a grin, she looked up. “Happy birthday, Lee.”

  Lee blushed. “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry. Wow, I should have been thinking about that when you first walked in here, but I’ve been so annoyed all morning. Hey, how does it feel to be twenty-nine?”

  “You’ve been there. How did it feel to you?”

  “I don’t know. It came and went so fast, I think I missed it.” For a split second, she remembered what John Sawyer had said, then pushed her mind on to more meaningful things. “So, we’ll go out for lunch to celebrate. Any other plans?”

  “I’m meeting my parents in town for dinner.”

  “Nice,” Nina said with enthusiasm, though she couldn’t help but wonder about Tom Brody. If there was something real going on between Tom and Lee, he should have been the one to take her to dinner on her birthday.

  As though reading her mind, Lee said, “Tom and I celebrated last night.” She touched her earlobe. “See?”

  Nina was a stickler for her own appearance, dressing for the part she wanted to play. She carefully shopped for clothes and accessories, and wore them unselfconsciously once they were hers. There, though, her interest in fashion ended. She was far more apt to notice the overall effect of a person’s clothing than the details of it. That was why she hadn’t noticed Lee’s earrings before.

  Looking back, she didn’t know how she’d missed them. They lit up Lee’s ears in a way that neither gold, silver nor neon enamel could. “Wow,” she breathed, coming out of her chair for a closer look. “Those are gorgeous.”

  “They’re three-quarters of a karat each. Tom said to make sure I insured them.”

  Nina wanted to say that if Tom Brody had style, he’d have given her a year’s worth of insurance along with the gift. But Tom had flash, not style. There was a difference.

  “Definitely insure them,” Nina said. She didn’t add that that way Lee would be sure to have something of value when Tom left her behind. Nina wasn’t a spo
iler. But she felt awful. “It’s too bad he can’t join you tonight. Has he ever met your parents?”

  “No. He has to be in Buffalo. It’s just as well,” Lee reasoned indulgently. “My parents would be looking Tom over as husband material, and that kind of pressure is the last thing Tom needs. He has enough pressure with work.”

  Nina felt momentarily chilled. Making excuses for a man was a sure sign that a woman was giving more than she was getting. But before she could say that, Lee made for the door.

  “Martin is having a root canal. I told him I’d cover for him. He has some people coming in from the Berkshires. Their daughter is starting at Salem State in the fall and they want to buy a condo for the four years she’s here.”

  Nina was hearing that same story more and more often. She supposed that if she had kids she’d want to do the same thing, since, given rents versus tax benefits and property appreciation, it made sense. Of course, she didn’t have kids, so it was a moot point.

  “How about I make reservations for twelve-thirty?” she asked.

  “Sounds great,” Lee said. “I’ll be back here by twelve. See you then.”

  Nina waved a goodbye, then looked again at her desk calendar. The fact that she’d forgotten about lunch was nothing new. At the end of a given day, when she looked over her program for the next one, business appointments were the things she saw. Fortunately, she didn’t have anything that would conflict with Lee’s birthday celebration. She liked Lee a lot. She felt good about taking her out.

  She was also grateful for the opportunity to eat, since she hadn’t had much of the breakfast she had so glibly ordered at Easy Over. John had distracted her. Even when he’d been leisurely eating his own food, she hadn’t eaten much. He made her stomach jump.

  Annoyance, she told herself. Annoyance and irritation. John was the kind who, in his innocent way, gave people ulcers.

  Actually, it was a wonder he was so calm, given the problem he had with his son. It couldn’t be easy for him raising a child alone. She wondered about the extent of the boy’s problems, wondered what kind of schooling those problems entailed. She wondered whether John ever got frantic, threw his hands into the air and gave up. Some parents did that when confronted with a frightening situation. Her mother had, more than once.