More Secrets of a Spiritual Guru: Love & More Lies

by Tamara Dorris

  I take a deep breath, prepared to comfort and console these new clients with every fiber of my being. I bravely knock on the door, clutching my listing folder under my arm.

  “Hello,” says Mr. New Listing Guy.

  “Hi, I’m Melissa Murphy,” I say, extending my hand like I take new listing every day. I don’t.

  “I’m Ed,” he says, “and this is my wife Carla.”

  A meek woman, maybe Hispanic, appears behind him. They are both smiling, and I know I smell wine. Hmm.

  The nice couple invites me to sit down at their very plain, but clean, dining room table. The first thing I notice is that there are crucifixes above the doorways. Suddenly, the wine makes sense. I like them immediately.

  “So, tell me what you know about short sales and I can take it from there,” I offer, all friendly like a fellow wine-drinker should be, because after all, we share in the appreciation that Jesus himself enjoyed a good glass of vino now and then.

  “Well, not much,” Ed admits.

  “No problem, let me just explain it.”

  I proceed to tell them important points about short sales, like the fact that sellers don’t pay a penny in commissions, strangers will have to come into their home, and I will need to collect all their financial statements since they were born. Or close to it. They seem relieved, so I proceed with the paperwork.

  “Two hundred and ten thousand?” Ed asks.

  “Yes, after careful research, I feel this will be the most competitive price.”

  Ed and Carla smile at each other and then at me. Clearly they know when a professional is in their presence.

  I wake up the next morning with a sore throat chakra. By the time I get to the office I am sure I have cancer of the trachea. What would all the fans of my spiritual blog say? “There goes Nala, she never could unblock her throat chakra”? In spite of the fact that I am very likely facing a terminal illness, I manage to pull myself together and once again apply extra mascara. Tac has got to show up today. I mean, he has a business...a successful practice. He can’t be trying to avoid me, right? I’m guessing his grandmother, who is in hospice, took a turn for the worse. Poor soul. Seriously, that would certainly explain why I didn’t hear from him on Saturday. Makes good sense.

  In the office, Becky is busy writing down a message. I have no clue why she doesn’t just let calls go to voice mail, but she’s funny that way. I nod hello to her and she smiles while she’s writing down something and rolling her eyes at me. That is best friend code for: this person is driving me crazy. I offer a wise and understanding nod.

  He’s at his desk.

  At first, I feel a little lump in my throat at the sight of him. Then I remember all about my trachea cancer and realize the lump has nothing to do with Tac.

  “Hey there,” I say not even making eye contact, or trying not to, which was relatively easy because he doesn’t even turn around. He just kind of throws his head in my general direction and says, “Hey Melissa, how’s it going?”

  I have to admit it, I’m a little confused. Why I expected him to greet me all shiny-eyed and apologetic, explaining how he was called away to be with his dying grandmother, is beyond me. But here he is, searching MLS, contracts scattered across his desk, not even letting on at all how much time he’s spent thinking about me this weekend. He’s really good, this guy named Tac. I decide to play along with his little game. I am absolutely convinced this has to be a game, right? This is the same guy who fixed me lightly steamed asparagus for God’s sake, and now he’s sitting five feet away with his back to me? You don’t just fix someone steamed asparagus like that unless you’re serious. I mean, have you seen the price of asparagus lately?

  Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted when my phone rings.

  “This is Melissa,” I say, wondering if Tac can overhear the smirk in my tone.

  “Hello, this is Tina Stein and we need to sell our house.”

  HA! While I have no idea who this Tina Stein person is, or why she wants to sell her house, I am instantly thinking she’s the greatest person I have never met.

  “Well, I’m happy to help you,” I tell her.

  “Great. Um, my husband and I, we’re separating...” My new best friend’s voice trails off and I suddenly feel sad for her.

  “Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, trying to be all sensitive like I am.

  “Thank you. Anyway, I just want to get the house sold.”

  “I understand. Is this by chance a short sale?” I ask, remembering that Tac is sitting there. I straighten my spine like a good warrior.

  “No, actually we should have some money left over. At least I’m hoping so.”

  I finish my conversation with seller Tina and get off the phone to check comparable sales in her area while pretending that I do not even notice that Tac is pretending to not notice me. I am pleased to discover that Tina’s house is in fact, worth about $250,000. I suddenly find myself wanting to do the money dance, and not really caring about dumb Tac and his big head anyway.

  I decide to take an evening yoga class. My new seller Tina responded to my email and says they are happy to fill out the paperwork that I will send to them this evening. Technology certainly has its good points. I figure I can get in a yoga class, do my listing paperwork from home, and write my chakra post, all by wine time.

  A new teacher is subbing for Dawn. Her name is Angela and she has beautiful hair. Angela has us do the child’s pose for what seems like a long time. I like her a lot. She tells us that one of the most important things any of us can learn in yoga is that we are all perfect just the way we are. She says that wherever we are in our poses is perfect and that we should never go into our practice with a competitive spirit. I agree with this and feel confident that she will not complain about my warrior feet.

  We do our flow and I try to remember not to worry about not being perfect. I notice as I stretch and push that my throat chakra is feeling better. Perhaps it was blocked and all I needed was a good long child’s pose to break it open? I’ve managed to get through the whole class without having to assume child’s pose any other time. It’s important to point out that in yoga we are always reminded (except in Meanie Teacher’s class) to feel free to take child’s pose if we need it and I always need it. At least once in each class you can find me all curled up like a hesitant fetus, face-down on my pretty blue mat, wondering why in the hell I continue to torture myself with this nonsense. Today though, I manage to get through the entire practice without stopping. I am sure this means something important.

  At home, I am all full of pride over my yoga benchmark. I even consider the thought of getting my yoga certification and moving to India to teach yoga to little Indian kids. I would look so good in a gold sari. The listing paperwork for my new separating-sellers is a breeze. In fact, I put it together so quickly that I have to stop and double-check to make sure I’ve done it correctly. I guess this is a sign of expertise. I email Tina and give her my cell phone number and tell her it’s fine to text me if she has any questions. She almost immediately responds: “I am signing now and Todd will come by later. He doesn’t have a computer. Thnx.” I’m not exactly sure what that has to do with me, but I am happy to help in whatever way I can. I text her back that I would like to put a lockbox on tomorrow. She says sure, that Todd can meet me at the house at 3:00 p.m. and I can just pick up the paperwork then so she doesn’t have to figure out her scanner-thing. I tell her of course and add this event to my calendar. It is the only event I have on my calendar for the entire month.

  My chakra post seems a bit overwhelming. One thing about chakras is that each one has so much to it, and the thing about being a spiritual guru is that I should know about all of them. I decide my best approach for this post is to do a sort of chakra summary. You know, introduce the concept of all seven chakras and what they relate to. I figure this will be especially good for my readers who don’t know much about the chakra system, like Tac. Speaking of Tac, since he’s such a loyal read
er, I think I’ll put a little emphasis on the heart chakra. Bastard still hasn’t texted or called me. I’m having nothing to do with him. Sign stealer.

  I start my blog.

  “The Chakra System is a line of energy that runs from the base of the spine (root chakra) to the crown of the head (crown chakra). Although these energy vortexes are not seen by the human eye, spiritual masters and sages for all of eternity have taught about this important system. Today, I will share with you the basis of each one.

  The Root Chakra, at the base of the spine, has to do with our basic need to be called back when someone belong. Right above that is the Second Chakra, which relates to our interest in kissing again sexual natures. Our solar plexus is where we find the third chakra, and that has everything to do with our ability to not feel rejected when he doesn’t respond personal power. Our heart chakra, clearly, has to do with all things Tac needs to work on!!! relating to love. Our Throat Chakra is about our ability to communicate and texting back certainly counts!, and our Third-eye Chakra (located between the eyebrows) concerns our intuition like when you know for sure he’s playing games with you. Finally, the Crown Chakra is our connection with our higher self.

  I finish my editing and decide I’m in serious need of an overall chakra tune-up.

  Today is going to be a crazy day. First off, I have that one thing on my calendar, and even though I don’t have other things on my calendar, I can assure you that it’s a full day. Besides my lockbox appointment, I have to get things going on the short sale listing for my wonderful wine drinking Catholic clients. That house should get an offer fast, so I better send my form into the bank so that I have permission to speak to the bank on the seller’s behalf. In real estate lingo, this is called a Third Party Authorization Form, because duh, I’m the third party. Beyond that, I have promised my mother I will come by and talk about her having sex with the foot doctor. This will not be the highlight of my day.

  In the office, Becky is standing next to Tac and they are talking about something that I act like I’m not interested in. Tac is laughing. I whip by, looking as unimpressed as humanly possible. Becky greets me and walks back up to the front of office.

  “How’s things?” Tac asks, as if he’s never kissed me.

  “Fine,” I say, holding on to the fact that I have two new listings and I don’t care that he didn’t text me over the weekend.

  He says nothing. I sit at my desk, a bit flustered over all this attention he’s suddenly throwing my way, and my cell goes off. I pick it up and see it’s from Tac. Tac? I look in front of me, and there’s the back of his head, sitting there, as if he didn’t just text me. I read his text: “Had a nice time with you the other night. Round two?”

  Round two?

  I am pretty sure that I have absolutely no idea what I think about this. Is Tac schizophrenic? Let me just recap this for my own sense of sanity. Tac fixes me dinner and kisses my lips. Tac doesn’t text or call me for three days. Yesterday he barely talked to me, and today, here he is like a kid in high school, sending me secret text-messages about going out again. Wait a minute. We didn’t actually go anywhere. Oh and he’s being secretive, hence the text, so does that mean he’s also not wanting anyone to know? Now I’m mad. It’s one thing for me to want to keep our friendship outside of work a secret, but that’s what he wants too? Does he think something is wrong with me? What nerve he has. Just what does he expect me to do? Drop my listing appointment so I can have a secret date with him? Doesn’t he know how busy I am?

  Now I’m thinking about how, if I were at home, I could just ignore his text and consider how I wanted to respond. Pretend that I’m so busy I simply haven’t had time to read it. However, I am not dealing with any dummy here. He’s perfectly aware that I am sitting right behind him and that I heard his text notification go off. Pompous ass probably has eyes in the back of his head and even saw me read it. I need to hurry. Taking too long is a sign of thinking too much. I need to just act like it’s no big deal and give a quick reply. I think fast. Then without hesitating I type: “Depends if asparagus is involved.”

  Clever, right?

  I hear the ever so soft vibration of his phone, which is sitting on top of a stack of files. I see him pick it up and read it. I can’t believe I am spying on Tac, or worse yet, that we are playing this silly game that I am finding, well, somewhat exhilarating. I mean, I’ve never flirted with someone via text when he was sitting seven feet away from me. I am waiting for Becky to come back and take our phones away. Becky would die if she knew Tac and I were texting. I giggle inside.

  Next thing I know, I get this from him: “Why don’t I bring Chinese by tonight?”

  Suddenly my heart chakra is beating extra hard and even though I don’t have a chakra in my toes, I am squeezing them silly. I respond that I’ll text him when I’m home from my listing appointment. I really didn’t need to do the extra typing and tell him what kind of appointment I was going on, because I’m not that competitive, but I thought he’d like to know. I finish my emailing and faxing and trying not to look at Tac at all. Then he hops up without saying a word to me, and leaves. I hear Becky say, “You gone for the day?” but I can’t hear what he says back. Damn. This is intolerable, and now I have to go to my mom’s to hear about her kinky sex life.

  “Mom, I really don’t want to hear details.”

  “Oh honey, don’t worry, I haven’t even done anything yet.” I feel a sudden rush of gratitude that my mother has not yet shared her private parts with the very nice foot doctor.

  “That’s good. I mean, maybe it’s too soon?”

  My mother looks at me like I’ve just licked her table cloth (again).

  “Melissa, nine years is not too soon.”

  “Are you including Leap Year?” I ask, grasping at straws.

  My mother ignores me and tells me she plans on having Dr. Podiatrist over for a slumber party this weekend.

  “In Dad’s bed?”

  She rolls her eyes at me, “Melissa, honey, this is a bed I got several years ago, remember? Your father never slept in this bed.”

  Somehow this seems worse.

  “All I care about is that you use protection.”

  That did not come out right, I can tell by the way my mother is laughing at me.

  “Oh honey, we’re a little past that point.”

  “I’m talking about disease, Mom. Jeez.”

  “We’ve both been tested, and we’ve both been celibate, so I think we’re okay.”

  “That’s spontaneous.”

  Suddenly, I stop trying to not envision my mom applying a condom on the good doctor, and start wondering if Tac has been tested. I mean, it’s not like I have any intention of, you know... but if I ever did, how would I know if he’s safe?

  I am immediately impressed with my new listing. As soon as I turn onto the street Brandon Way, I know I am in a high-end neighborhood. Having my sign up in this kind of neighborhood is making me giddy. You see, one of the perks of having a listing is that you get to put your real estate sign up in the yard. The reason this is good is two-fold. First of all (and most of all, if you’re an honest agent), you get buyer leads. Buyers will drive by, see the sign, call you up and want to know how much it is. In reality, those callers never buy that house. It’s something I call “Buffet Syndrome.” You know how when you go to a buffet and pile your plate as high as the ceiling fan because, duh, you can eat all you want for one price? The problem is that you only get about halfway through your plate before you’re unbuttoning your britches and burping up your brownies. We’ve all been there. Anyway, sign-calls in real estate are the same thing; buyers bite off more than they can chew, or in this case, afford. It’s an industry fact that most people who call from driving by and seeing a sign in the yard aren’t usually qualified for the house they see. Their eyes are bigger than their bank accounts. Buffet Syndrome.

  The other reason this excites me so is because all the neighbors will see my sign in the yard. That means if any of
them are thinking of selling their homes, my name will shout out at them every day as they drive by. If that’s not awesome advertising I don’t know what is. Just as I’m imagining my real estate sign in every yard on the block, I see a tall guy standing in the driveway waving me down. I look at the file sitting in the passenger’s seat. Yep, this is it. I pull up in front of the house, mentally searching where my sale sign will look best, when he greets me at my car door. Kind of freaks me out.

  “Hi. Are you Melissa?” he asks, as if maybe he’s taking a survey of some kind.

  “Yes, and you must be Todd?”

  “Yeah, nice to meet you.”

  At this point, I’m not sure what to do. He’s almost blocking me in my car and I need to get out so I can put the lockbox on. I’m not exactly sure what an aura is, but I think he’s in mine. Quick thinking has me reaching in the back seat, grabbing the blue box and holding it up for him to see.

  “I just need to put this on,” I tell him.

  He takes the hint and scoots aside.

  “I’ve got the paperwork you need too,” he tells me. He reaches under his arm and produces the stack of contracts that I honestly didn’t even see when I was feeling accosted in my driver’s seat.

  “Oh, great!”