More Secrets of a Spiritual Guru: Love & More Lies

by Tamara Dorris

  Carol lets me off the hook. After all, she knows if I keep selling houses like this, I’m a really good agent for her to have in her stable. Brad Ryan signs tomorrow, so I decide it’s time to buy a new outfit. Coincidences like this happen all the time.

  In sticking to my no wine on weeknight rule, I am sipping cucumber water and reading about how the universe is just one big hologram. This stuff amazes me. Right in the middle of it my mom calls me because of course, she has to be a part of the hologram.

  “Hi Mom.”

  “I just love these smart phones! You know, back when you were younger, we never knew who was calling.”

  My mother says this like she is Obi Wan Kenobi.

  “I know, Mom.”

  “Well, I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “Good. I don’t like one guy who’s a creep, but I kind of like another guy who is. . .well, I’m not sure what he it yet.”

  My mother is silent for a few minutes.

  “Honey, are you drinking?”

  “Sadly, no.” I bow my head in shame.

  “Well, whatever happened to that Sam Elliott guy? Did he work out?”

  My mother causes me to break my rule and pour one glass of wine.

  I show up to “Signing One” for Brad Ryan like I do it all the time. Fortunately, Carol is there with bottled water and a big hug. She knows this is something I don’t normally do, but clearly she is prepared to act as if I do it all the time. I feel comfortable and confident. Even as Brad Ryan strides in, and I pretend like my heart chakra did not just skip a beat, I greet him with a handshake. No one needs to know my hands were in his pockets once.

  Carol goes through all the boring documents that Brad Ryan has to sign. He acts interested and I check my nail polish. Index finger on left hand needs a touch up. I suddenly find myself remembering why I don’t come to these things. B O R I N G. When it’s all said and done, and Brad Ryan’s been thumb-printed and verified in seven different ways, I notice that he’s not once made eye contact with me. Twice with Carol, and she is pretty cute, so I try hard not to be jealous. BUT, she is pretty cute.

  Brad and I walk out into the nippy afternoon. I see his shiny nice car that should be in my garage, and I suspect, he sees my funny little Leo car. I want to ask him if he’s ever had an astrological reading, but I choose not to.

  “So one more and we’re done?”

  I stop in my tracks at the way he says this. Racking my brain, I realize I am very uneducated when it comes to Scorpios. He must be implying something here, but I can’t tell what. I turn toward him and smile.

  “Yes, one more and you are all set!” I say it really salesy and hate myself immediately. He hates me, too. I can tell.

  “See you around, Melissa Murphy.” He smiles like he has to and disappears into that beautiful car.

  In the office, I’m returning a call to the listing agent on Tina’s new house, sending the short sale bank contracts that I’m pretty sure I’ve sent them twice already, and noticing that when Tac walks in, it doesn’t even bother me. This last one surprises me. He seems a little irritated, and then I realize I’m making this assumption based on the back of his head. Maybe I’m getting psychic? I squint my eyes right above his head to see if I can see his aura. Then, of course, he turns around and catches me.

  “What’s up?” I ask, as if I was really looking at something else. He stands and starts riffling through the stacks of folders on his desk. It’s really not good Feng Shui to have such a messy desk, and so unlike him. Maybe this engagement thing has got him off his game. I notice too that my Tac-o’meter is rather low. I don’t feel that normal, nagging, I want to kiss him or punch him in the face kind of confusion.

  “I’m looking for that damn magazine. You know, the luxury homes one?”

  Uh oh.

  “Last time I saw it was in the conference room,” I say, ever so casually while keeping my eyes on my computer screen.

  “Yeah, me too, but it’s not there now. My seller says I’ve got the square footage wrong.” His voice trails off as he whips back into the conference room to look for the magazine that is all cut up, and pasted on my vision board at home.

  In yoga today Dawn decides to start the class off with one “aum.” We all breathe in and then like a band of closed-eye yogi angels, we all aum in harmony. It really sounds quite lovely. Next, Dawn does like she always does and asks us to set our intention for the class. Normally, I don’t pay much attention to this because my intention is usually just to get through class, but today I feel all full of intentions.

  For one thing, I intend to go look at newer used cars over the weekend. Between riding in Brad Ryan’s beautiful car and on his vibrating bike, I’m trying hard to keep him and his toys off my mind, so that’s a second intention. He’ll be signing on his new house tomorrow, and I’ve decided I’m not going to that one. Why torture myself with men I can’t have? Then, I’ll have to see him one last time to give him the keys to his new house. That’s it. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to ask him out, right? What would I do, pick him up in my clunker and take him to Olive Garden?

  I get into my very good forward fold and almost kiss my shins. Dawn appears from behind and gently touches my back. I think when she does this, she is helping us to release a little bit more. It always seems to help. Maybe Brad Ryan just needs a little help in figuring out that he’d really like me if he got to know me without making me so damned nervous all the time.

  At home, I’m working on my new blog post when I get a text from Becky. All it says is, “Are you home?” I tell her I am, because after all, it doesn’t seem to be a trick question or anything. Next, she asks if she can come by. This is strange. Becky has never once been to my condo. She sent me a Christmas card last week, which I personally thought was very sweet, but what a waste of postage when she sees me every day.

  I look around to see if I should pick anything up and only discover one large hairball in the entry hall. Becky arrives so fast that I’m sure she was calling from my parking lot.

  Becky looks upset. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “I just need to talk to someone.”

  I smile inside at the idea that I am the someone she thought of. After all, Becky knows I’m older, thus pretty wise to the ways of the world.

  “I’m leaving Brian,” she says, tossing her big coat over a kitchen chair.

  “What? Why?” I find my own chair and scoot up close to her. She’s not quite crying, but I can tell she has been.

  “It’s just, well. . .” She starts to sob.

  “Broker Bert?” I ask, hoping I am very wrong.

  “Uh huh.” Now she buries her face in her hands.

  “Becky, he’s old enough to be your grandpa.” I say this and instantly regret it.

  “No, he’s not. Only a really old father.”

  I pat her back and she hugs me. I honestly don’t know what to say. It’s not like she and Brian are married, and Broker Bert has been single for decades, so if they want to play house, who am I to object?

  “I’m not leaving Brian for Bert. It’s really important everyone knows that.” She says this as if there’s going to be a trial of some kind. I wonder if she’ll need a good attorney? I decide to tell her about Brad Ryan.

  “I like my client.”

  “You do?” Now suddenly, Becky has stopped crying and wants to know more because after all, good gossip is good gossip.

  “Kind of, but he doesn’t know, or like me, so the point is, Brian doesn’t have to know anything.”

  “Is this the client that resembles Sam Elliott?”

  Becky is so good at remembering details like that.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, how do you know he doesn’t like you?”

  “Oh, I guess because he never flirts, rarely smiles, and seems to almost enjoy making me feel awkward.”

  “Ask him out!” Now Becky is being my cheerleader. I remember this isn’t supposed to be about me and decide to turn the t
ables.

  “No. I’m not his type. He’s an attorney with a Mercedes and motorcycle. I’m an agent with a clunker and a condo. Besides, he’s got baggage.”

  “Kids?”

  “One, and the ex-wife that I’m sure goes with it.”

  “Hmm. . .yeah, I’m lucky that Bert’s kids are all grown.”

  I’m not sure how Becky considers that she is the same age (or younger) than Bert’s kids exactly as lucky, but I let her have this one.

  “Yes. So are you moving in with Bert?”

  “God no! But I am leaving Brian and getting a little studio. I can’t afford much, but Bert wants to help. Is that bad of me?”

  “Bad to let Bert be your sugar daddy?” I ask.

  We both smile.

  “It’s really not like that, Melissa. I like him. Is that bad?”

  I tell her it is not bad and ponder the idea that her boyfriend Brian, is a young, industrious and very handsome, buff guy, and here she likes a much older guy who quite frankly, needs to lose 30 pounds. I guess it’s really true when they say love is blind. I would at least like to have a seeing eye dog in this case.

  Becky stays another thirty minutes, plays with Sam Jr. and then leaves, thanking me for talking to her and making her feel better.

  She also told me I really should go to Brad Ryan’s signing and give him one extra time to be around me. She said he’s bound to see how great I am. In spite of Becky’s encouragement, I decide I am absolutely not going to his final signing. The deal will close in just a few days and I will give him the key and that will be it.

  I check my work email before going to lie down and watch television. I just don’t feel like writing my blog post tonight. I see two emails. One is from a home warranty company telling me how much cheaper they are than the competition. I delete it without even opening it because really, I don’t care. Then I see one from Brad Ryan. Hmm. I open it, wondering what he wants. It says,

  “See you at the signing tomorrow. BR”

  All of these books and I can’t read them fast enough. I even got up extra early this morning so I could read with a cup of coffee and the cats before that damn signing at noon. One thing I read that has got me thinking is the idea that thought is the first cause. Hmmm. So pretty much, what I think it’s saying is that everything in the universe starts with a thought. This makes sense, right? I mean, I was thinking about Brad Ryan’s signing today, and now I’m going. I was thinking about a white Mercedes in my garage, and it appeared. You have to admit, that was one crazy coincidence.

  All these books seem to say much of the same thing, but in so many different ways. I wonder if that’s what we need. As humans we’re pretty stubborn, neurotic and even materialistic, so hearing things over and over again maybe somehow breaks through all that? Even Tony says that repetition is the mother of something or other. I decide to try to meditate. I fell asleep last night trying to meditate, but I think when that happens it’s not really meditating as much as it is sleeping.

  My morning meditation attempt goes fairly well. I think I stay still for ten minutes or so before I couldn’t stand it anymore and decided I really needed a facial before my shower. I’m going to look as cute as I can today and try to be a little braver around Brad Ryan. After all, if he’s interested in me, his time to make a move is running out. For some reason, I don’t think he worries about things like that.

  I get to the signing smelling and looking better than even I knew I could. The new face cream is working really well. This was confirmed when Becky told me yesterday that I looked great. I go to the title company and am lead into the conference room where Brad Ryan is already seated. Of course. I specifically looked for his car, but now I’m guessing he drove his truck. He’s a slippery one for sure.

  “Hi there,” I say, professionally.

  “Hello,” he says, clearly in a good mood. This surprises me.

  We go through the same dog and pony dance for escrow signings as usual and it takes forty-two minutes. I know this because I am watching the clock above Brad Ryan’s head every few minutes and also trying to see if I can find his aura.

  “Any special plans for the holidays?” This escrow officer I don’t know asks as we wrap up the last forms. I do not know if she is talking to me or Brad Ryan, but I decide to let him answer since I want to hear if he does have any plans for the holidays.

  “Work,” he says, and then looks at me.

  “Oh, me, too,” is all I can manage. She looks at us both quizzically and then we say our good-byes and he and I step out into the wet, dark day.

  “So as soon as it records I can meet you at the house,” I tell him.

  “Yep,” he says. Business as usual.

  In real estate the holidays do not mean warm-fuzzy fireplaces and Christmas trees. Instead, they mean fewer business days for closing deals and fewer people interested in buying and selling houses. It’s also, for single people without trees like me, a big fat reminder that I’m single. And I didn’t get a tree. I figured Herman might pee on it and Sam Jr. would try and climb it because he’s been climbing and scratching everything lately, including the corner of my couch. I have threatened to have him declawed and never let him outside, but this does not seem to dissuade him.

  Escrow officers know all about this holiday stuff because this is what seasoned escrow officers do—navigate signings and closing around Christmas and New Years. Fortunately, this new escrow officer pulled a Christmas Miracle and is getting Brad Ryan’s deal recorded on December 24th. I am impressed by her awesomeness, but will not tell Carol as I do not want to make her jealous. I am sensitive like that.

  The office is closed tomorrow, being that it’s Christmas Eve, so I decide I will go to yoga in the morning, think about a closing gift of some kind for Brad Ryan, and then wait ‘til the awesome escrow lady calls and tells me I can give Brad Ryan the keys. I can think of worse things than having a deal record on Christmas Eve. Kind of a good way to wrap the year up if you ask me.

  About closing gifts. According to the IRS we, as independent contractors, are only allowed to write off a twenty-five-dollar gift on our taxes. No one in real estate is going to give a twenty-five-dollar gift on say, a five-thousand dollar commission. And in Brad Ryan’s case, I didn’t give him a closing gift for closing the first house, so I kind of owe him double. I normally give new home buyers a gift certificate to a home store, and with some clients, I just don’t give them anything at all. Especially if they annoy me like my racist lesbian client. I didn’t even send her a congratulations card when we closed that one.

  So far, when I have delivered keys to clients I like, I’ve brought a bottle of chilled champagne. I figure they can enjoy it in their new home. Only with Brad Ryan, there is no “they,” plus, I don’t even know if he drinks. I seem to remember seeing beer in his fridge when I did his open house. And yes, I always look inside people’s refrigerators at open houses. Not that I would eat anything, but you can tell a lot about a person by what he keeps in the fridge and how clean he keeps his produce drawers. Brad Ryan had a very impressive interior.

  I stop at the store and buy some nice champagne— not the cheap stuff. Then I put two plastic cups and the champagne in a basket. I throw some good chocolate in that Broker Bert left on all of our desks last week for a Christmas gift. Next, I go to the home store, since I know Brad Ryan will be doing a lot of construction stuff on the new house, and I pick up a gift card. I make it for one-hundred-dollars and hope it’s the right amount. I would die if he thought I was a cheapskate.

  Because I really like Win Sing and she is always talking about Buddha, I had ordered, in my mass online shopping spree, a book of quotes by him. As I’m getting ready to deliver Brad Ryan his keys, I think about this quote,

  “Look not to the fault of others, nor to their omissions and commissions. But rather look to your own acts, to what you have done and left undone.” BUDDHA

  Hmmm.

  First off, I am beyond impressed that the Buddha talks about
commissions. I wonder if he ever sold houses? But more importantly, what I think he meant by this is that we can’t blame everyone else for their mistakes, but instead, just worry about doing the right thing no matter what. Kind of like, take care of business without blaming the other guy, even when it’s his fault things got messed up. I think about poor Tac, whom I now sort of feel sorry for. I was so busy blaming him for how his cheating and lying made me feel, that I never stopped to think how bad he must feel to be like that in the first place. People who lie that much can’t be happy, right? I mean, guys like girls and sex, this I understand, but to like so many at one time? How can that be fulfilling? I guess when you’re not yet thirty you’re still interested in how many touchdowns you can get as opposed to the overall score of the game.

  Then I try not to think about Brad Ryan. I wonder what happened with his wife. Did she just get tired of him being so bossy and not talking much, or did he get like that after they split up? I’m sure he has a soft side. I mean, he has to if he has a five-year-old little girl, right? I would literally die to see him interact with a child. Heck, I’d even pay to see him hold a cat.

  I give my hair one more tossing, add some extra lip gloss to my pout, and then put the gift basket in my backseat.

  When I pull up at the new house, I see that Brad Ryan is already there. His big truck is parked in the driveway and seems to be full of tools and supplies. Boy, this guy doesn’t mess around. I go right to the lock-box to retrieve his new keys, and then, as he’s getting out of his truck, I swing by my back seat to grab the gift basket. The look on his face when he sees it is priceless.

  “Congratulations!” I say, really meaning it.

  “Thanks.” He says this, but just looks at the basket. I’m hoping he’s not a recovering alcoholic, in which case it would be the worst gift ever. He takes the basket, a little awkwardly, and I unlock the front door and toss the keys on top of the basket.