by Fannie Flagg
After a few weeks of looking, she was on the verge of taking a low-paying, somewhat humiliating job as hospitality director for the downtown Sheraton Hotel. Her duties would mostly consist of greeting people, handing out city maps to conventioneers, making hair appointments for their wives, and arranging shopping tours and visits to the Civil Rights Institute and the statue of Vulcan. But fate stepped in and saved her at the last minute.
THE MORNING OF her job interview at the hotel, Maggie was walking through the lobby on her way out the door when she heard a familiar voice.
“Maggie! Maggie Fortenberry … Hey, Miss Alabama!”
She looked around, but there was no one there. Then, from below, she heard a woman’s voice: “Maggie! It’s Hazel … Hazel Whisenknott.” Maggie looked down and saw Hazel beaming up at her.
“Do you remember me? You used to come to my house for fittings with your mother when you were a little girl.”
Maggie knew who she was immediately (how many three-foot-four people do you meet in a lifetime?) and said, “Of course I remember you. How are you?”
“Great, fantastic, couldn’t be better. How are you?”
“Just fine, thank you,” she lied.
“You look fabulous, as always. I read that you’re living in Dallas now?”
“Well, yes, I was, but I’m home for a while; Mother is not in great health.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. She was always such a sweet lady. I still have that Easter bunny costume she measured me for—do you remember that? With the big ears that stand up?”
Maggie laughed. “Oh yes, I spent hours helping her insert the pipe cleaners so they would stand up, and I helped her sew the cotton balls together for the tail.”
“You did a good job; I still wear it.”
Hazel cocked her head and looked up at Maggie. “Listen, doll, what are you doing right now? Can I buy you a drink? A cup of coffee? I’d love to catch up with you.”
Maggie looked at her watch; she had plenty of time before she had to be home. “Well sure, I’d be happy to.”
Hazel talked a mile a minute as they rode the elevator up to the restaurant on the top floor, telling her about all the things that were happening and how Birmingham was on its way to a big comeback and that a lot of the old companies that had left in the sixties were now coming back, and new companies were moving in. When they got upstairs, of course the maître d’ knew Hazel and seated them right away.
After they ordered coffee, Hazel said, “I just finished doing a breakfast speech for the Lions Club. What are you doing at the hotel? Are you staying here?”
“Oh, no. I was here for a meeting.”
Hazel looked at her quizzically. “Ahhh … a meeting.”
Even though she was embarrassed, Maggie felt compelled to explain why she’d been in the lobby of the hotel. She didn’t want Hazel to think she was a call girl or something. “Well, they’re looking for a hospitality director and wanted to talk to me about it, so I met with them.”
“I see. So you might be home to stay for good?”
“Well … I’m not sure yet, but I thought while I was here, maybe I’d look around for a little something to do …”
Hazel’s eyes widened in surprise. “You mean a job?”
“Well. Yes. Maybe …”
Hazel slapped her tiny little hands together. “OOOOH booooy, when I found that penny this morning, I just knew this was going to be my lucky day.” She called out to the waiter, “Hey, Billy, forget the coffee—bring us two martinis,” and then she turned to Maggie with a new gleam in her eye.
“Honey,” she said, pointing her tiny little finger at Maggie, “I’ve been searching for someone exactly like you. I need a gal with looks, class, and style to head up my Mountain Brook office, someone who knows the territory, understands the upscale market, and you would be my dream come true. Forget what they offered you here. With me, you can double it. No, triple it. What do you say?”
Maggie had to laugh. “Oh, thank you, Hazel, you’re very sweet, but I don’t know a thing about real estate.”
Hazel looked surprised. “What is there to know?”
“Well, a lot. I wouldn’t have a clue about how to draw up a contract, for instance.”
“So what? Real estate is more than contracts; it’s instinct, it’s emotion, it’s presentation, and with your looks and background, you would be a natural.”
“Well, thank you, but you don’t understand; I’m really not very smart about details and things.”
“Now look, baby doll, you let me worry about the details. I have sharp gals working for me who can handle details; all you have to do is look pretty and deal with people. I know you’re good at that. What do you say?”
“Well, I’d have to think about it. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint me? How could you? There’s no way you can make a mistake. Oh come on, don’t break my heart, say yes.”
“But what if you’re wrong about me?”
Hazel threw her head back and laughed. “Me? Wrong? Oh honey, I’m never wrong. Trust me, you’ll love it … it’s the best business in the world.”
The waiter brought the drinks, and Hazel said, “Thanks, Billy.”
“Hazel, I’m really very flattered, but I don’t know how to sell houses.”
“Okay. Let me ask you this: Are you nosy?”
“Nosy?”
“Yes. When you drive by a house, are you just dying to get inside and see what’s there?”
Maggie thought about it. “Well yes, I guess I am curious about seeing how people have decorated.”
“I knew it! I have instincts. I took one look at you today and said to myself, ‘Now, that’s a real estate woman if I ever saw one.’ But not just any run-of-the-mill everyday real estate agent. You’re a Miss Alabama!”
Maggie hesitated. “Well, I wouldn’t want to trade on … that.”
Hazel’s little eyes flew open. “Why not? It’s a terrific advantage. Listen, honey, in this life, where we get so few advantages, particularly women, if you have something that can get you in the door, use it. It’s what happens after you get in that’s important, and using what God gave you to your advantage is nothing to be ashamed of. Look at me: when I was a little girl”—she laughed—“well, littler than I am now, I said to myself, ‘Hazel, the doctor says you’re never going to grow taller than three foot four, so you have two choices: one, you can feel sorry for yourself or two, you can use it to your advantage.’ So, I did.” She took a sip of her martini. “I noticed from an early age that people were curious about me. Why? Because I was not your run-of-the-mill person. Once they met me, they never forgot me.”
“Well, Hazel,” Maggie said, “you are hard to forget.”
“That’s right! I’m different. And that’s our calling card, doll. We both have something of interest about us: Hazel Whisenknott, cute midget. Margaret Fortenberry, beautiful ex–Miss Alabama …”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way. But still …”
Hazel leaned in. “Listen, Maggie, I understand you have a certain standard to live up to; you can’t just take any job. You need it to be a high-level prestige position, and with me, you would be starting at the very top, dealing with only the best clientele. And if you come work for me, I will guarantee you’ll never be sorry.” Hazel looked at her watch. “What are you doing now?”
“Right now? Well, nothing, I guess.”
“Good. I want you to come downstairs with me. I have to do another speech, for the Women in Real Estate luncheon, and then we’ll talk some more. I’m not letting you get away from me, young lady, until you say yes.”
The enthusiasm in this little teeny woman was amazing, and Maggie found herself getting up and following Hazel right back into the elevator like a large dog trailing after the Pied Piper. She had been forced to make so many decisions lately. It was a relief to just let someone take charge and tell her what to
do next. Hazel had already plied her with liquor before noon, and Maggie thought it was a good thing Hazel wasn’t a man. With her powers of persuasion, she probably would have been pregnant by now.
Before Maggie knew it, Hazel had her downstairs and in a seat in the back row of the huge ballroom packed to the rafters with hundreds of women. After being introduced, Hazel walked out on the stage to thunderous applause, stepped up on a wooden box, flashed her famous smile, and began her speech the way she always did: “I’m so happy to be here today; I can’t tell you how much I look up to all you gals in WIRE”—pause—“but then I look up to everyone.”— Wait for big laugh.—“You know, the other day, I was out to lunch with Susie, one of the girls from my office, when a friend of hers she hadn’t seen for a while came over to the table and asked her what she was doing, and Susie let out a big sigh and said, ‘Oh, I’m just a real estate agent.’ After the friend left, I asked her why she had said ‘just’ a real estate agent. And she said, ‘Oh, because she has a really important job.’ So, just in case we have any Susies out there who think your job is not important, I’m here to remind you just how important it is. Home ownership is not only the backbone of this country, it is the secret of a successful society. Once a person owns a home, he has something invested not only in himself, but in his country, his state, his city, and in his neighborhood. As a home owner, he has a stake in everything and everybody around him. It’s the reason people flocked to America from all over the world, with nothing but a strong desire to work hard and a dream of one day owning a home of their own. Don’t forget, private ownership is still a pretty new idea in the time frame of the world, so when you help a family buy a home, you may be fulfilling the dream of generations of that family. And one day, a family member will be able to say, ‘This is mine; I own it.’ ”
She paused and smiled. “Now, I have nothing against renters, you understand. Our rental department does very well. I used to be a renter myself. But with just ten percent down and a forty-year mortgage, I was able to buy a house, and to this day, I will never forget the moment when my real estate agent handed me the key and said, ‘Welcome to your new home.’ I felt at least ten feet tall, and for me, that’s twenty feet.”—Another big laugh.—“So, remember, when you help a family buy a home, you’re not just typing up papers; you’re helping that family make years of memories. If you don’t believe it, every Thanksgiving, every Christmas, you ask people what they’re doing, and they’ll say, ‘I’m going home.’ I’ll bet everyone in this room can close their eyes right now and still remember the house where they grew up. How many times have we heard people say about a house, ‘This was where I was the happiest, this is where I raised my children.’ A home is a special place that will live in someone’s heart forever.
“I know our business is hard work, and sometimes we get caught up with all the little details, but never forget that you are part of one of the most important transactions in a person’s entire life, the biggest investment in the future most of us will ever make. Remember, you’re not just a real estate broker, you are a dream broker. So get out there, girls, and keep on selling those dreams!”
As soon as she finished, the entire room leapt to their feet and cheered, and Maggie, who was not even a real estate agent, jumped up and screamed along with them. She was ready to run out the door and start selling houses that day. But as Maggie was to find out later, in all the years she was with her, she’d never seen Hazel do a speech where she didn’t get the same reaction. The truth was, Hazel had never really stopped being a cheerleader. She cheered for life itself.
After going through that terrible ordeal in Dallas with Richard’s family, she had been depressed. That’s probably why the day Hazel Whisenknott had walked back into Maggie’s life, she had been like a spring tonic. It had been said about Hazel that she was a person who could change your mind about the entire human race.
Meeting a Friend
1990
MAGGIE HAD BEEN WORKING FOR HAZEL FOR ONLY A FEW WEEKS and was having lunch at Cobb Lane when Mitzi Caldwell Lee, an old school pal from her Brook Hill days, walked in. The minute she saw Maggie, she rushed over to the table.
“Maggie! Oh, I’m so glad to see you; somebody told me you were back from Dallas. Can I sit with you?”
“Of course, Mitzi. It’s so nice to see you; please sit down.”
Mitzi, still as cute as ever, with short red hair and bangs, sat down and said, “I will, but don’t look at me. I know I look a hundred and eight, but you! You still look just like you did in high school.”
Maggie laughed. “Well, I doubt that.”
“Oh, Maggie, didn’t we have fun back then? Don’t you miss the good old days when we were growing up?”
“I do, very much.”
“What great luck to run into you. I’m only home for a few days. Daddy flopped out on the golf course again, with another heart attack, so I had to come home and help Mother.”
“Oh, I’m sorry …”
“David says between his parents and mine, we could start our own clinic. Old age, honey, it’s a drag.”
“I know. How’s David?”
“Oh, fine, oh fine, working too hard. I can’t wait for the day when we can come home for good. New York is nice, but it’s not Birmingham. I said to David, ‘When your children start talking like Yankees, it’s time to come home.’ But what about you? Are you home for a while? Are you still modeling? Tell me everything.”
“Yes, I am home for a while, and no, I don’t model anymore. Actually, I’m selling real estate now.”
Mitzi’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped in surprise. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it! You are selling real estate?”
Maggie felt her face flush. “Well, I just felt that while I was here—”
“No! I mean, I can’t believe it! It is sheer kismet running into you today. I’ve been trying to get Momma and Daddy to sell their house, but they won’t listen to me. I brought in a real estate agent to talk to them, and still they wouldn’t budge. But they always loved you! I hate to impose on our friendship, but would you consider taking the listing? The two of them are just rattling around in that big old house, and I know if you got involved, I could get them to sell and move over to St. Martin’s in the Pines, so I wouldn’t have to worry about them night and day. Please, won’t you talk to them?”
Maggie was lucky. After a meeting with Mitzi’s parents, they agreed to sell, and Maggie got her first listing: a large three-story gray limestone house located “over the mountain.”
The weekend she and Brenda held the first open house, Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell were out of town for three days, leaving her in charge. A lot of people showed up for the open house, many with young children who ran through the house unsupervised, and considering there were so many expensive objects of art, Maggie felt a little nervous. But after a quick check, everything seemed fine. Brenda left first, and Maggie locked up around five-thirty and went home, happy and exhausted.
Sunday morning, when Maggie arrived to get ready for the next open house, the moment she reached the front door, she heard a strange rushing sound. When she stepped inside, she couldn’t believe her eyes. A wall of water was cascading over the second-story balcony, crashing onto the floor in the entrance hall and running down the stairs in currents and into the living room. Maggie immediately ran up the stairs to the second floor, squishing as she stepped on the waterlogged rug. When she got to the second floor, she saw a large rush of water flooding out of one of the bathrooms. She ran in and turned off the faucet. Someone had turned on the water in the bathtub and left it running. Evidently, it had been running all night; the upstairs hall and the entire downstairs were flooded with about an inch of water. All the rugs, the bottom of the curtains, and the handsome hardwood floors were sopping wet. Brenda walked in the door and said, “Good God Almighty … what happened?”
An hour later, Hazel walked into her office at Red Mountain, and Maggie was waiting for her in tears. “Hi, sweetie,” Haz
el said as she threw her purse on the desk and jumped up into her chair.
“Oh, Hazel, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault; I should have checked everything before I left. The Caldwells are coming back tomorrow, and I’ve ruined their house.”
Hazel dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Oh, don’t be silly. You haven’t ruined anything; it’s just water. Don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing; these things happen. What time are they coming back?”
“Around noon.”
Just then, Ethel walked in, still in her purple church outfit, and sat down at her desk with a wave to Hazel. Hazel smiled at Maggie. “You just relax; we’ll take care of it,” she said as she flipped open her overstuffed Rolodex. Hazel’s desk had a row of large black phones, each with five lines that lit up. Maggie had heard that Hazel was a master at working the phones, but she had never really seen her in action before. She watched in amazement as Hazel began dialing and punching from line to line, with the ease and finesse of a concert piano player:
Punch. “John! Hazel. Hey, doll, I’m sorry to bother you at home on a Sunday, but how fast can you get some fans up to Crest Road? We have a little flooding problem. I know it is, but can I count on you, honey? I surely would appreciate it if you could. Ah, thanks, John. You’re my hero. Ethel will call you back with all the details.”
Punch. “Hey, is Al there? Tell him it’s Hazel. I’ll hold.”
Punch. “Danny? Hazel. Listen, hon. I’m gonna need a cleaning crew A.S.A.P. I know it’s short notice, but I really do need you to do me this favor, okay? You know I’ll make it up to you … Aww … Thanks, Danny. Ethel will be calling you back with the details.”
Punch. “Pete. Hazel. Hey, doll, I need to have some floors waxed and polished by ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Can you do that for me? Ten? I knew I could count on you … Hold for Ethel.”
Punch. “June? Hazel. Darling, I need a big favor; I need some curtains dry-cleaned by the morning. You know I’ll make it up to you … Uh-huh, by around ten? Oh thanks, hon, I’ll dance at your wedding for this one … And you tell that good-looking husband of yours I said hello. All right. Hold on for Ethel.”
