I Still Dream About You: A Novel (17 page)

“I see, but … what about Dottie Figge?”

“What about her?”

“Aren’t these her clients?”

“No.”

“Ah well, I don’t know if they told you or not, but she showed them the same unit at least three or four times.”

“So?”

“Well, she did spend a lot of time with them, and I think she was sort of counting on this commission.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Oh, I know, but in all fairness, Babs, she did show it to them first.”

“What’s your point?”

“Well, couldn’t you see your way to at least giving her two percent?”

Babs glared at Maggie. “Are you trying to tell me how to run my business?”

“No, of course not, I was just thinking that—”

“Look, I’m busy—if you don’t want to present the offer, fine. I’ll just go directly to the owner and tell them their listing agent is trying to block the sale.”

“I’m not blocking the sale, Babs. It’s just that I don’t feel right about cutting her out all together.”

“Why? It’s no skin off your nose. You still get your commission.”

“I understand that, but it really puts me in a bad position. Dottie is a friend; we were in the Miss Alabama Pageant together and—”

Babs exploded: “Oh, get over yourself. Dottie Figge is an idiot, and nobody cares about all that stupid beauty-pageant crap! Wake up and smell the roses, honey: the world has moved on. Are you going to present the offer or not?”

Maggie was shocked by Babs’s sudden outburst; speechless, she just stared at her. After a moment, Babs rudely snapped her fingers at her and said, “Hello, Miss Alabama, anybody home? I’m busy. Yes or no?”

Maggie felt something very hot slowly rising up inside her, and her cheeks began to burn bright red. Then she heard a strange voice she had never heard before in her life saying, “Now, wait a minute, you can say anything you want about me, but you say one more word about the pageant, and I’ll knock your block off … you … you … person!”

At that moment, Maggie looked down and realized that she had actually made a fist and was at present shaking it across the desk at Babs. Good Lord, she thought. How had that happened? She had never made a fist in her life. Babs looked at her like she was something that had just dropped out of a tree and said, “You must be nuts,” picked up the offer, walked out, and slammed the door behind her.

Maggie just sat there, with her cheeks still burning bright red, stunned that she had actually yelled at someone. Oh dear, had she really said “knock your block off”? How embarrassing. She had never said anything like that in her life. Where had that come from? Some bad movie she must have seen as a child, she guessed. Just then, Ethel stuck her head in. “What was that all about? Her Beastliness just flounced out of the door in a snit; what happened?”

Maggie looked up and said, “I don’t know.”

She really didn’t know what had set her off. Was it because Babs had called Dottie an idiot? Or the condescending way she had called her “honey”? Or had it been how Babs had said “Miss Alabama” in that sneering way? She wasn’t sure, but now she was worried. She
had
shaken her fist, and Babs might file a police report saying she had threatened her with bodily harm, which, of course, she had. Oh, Lord! That’s all she needed, to be arrested right now. She was going to have to call Babs and apologize and try to keep herself out of jail. Oh, why had she promised Brenda she would go to see the Whirling Dervishes? If she had jumped in the river when she had wanted to, this never would have happened. God, what next?

A frantic hour later, Babs finally answered her cell phone.

“Yes?”

“Babs? Is that you?”

“Who is this?” Babs snapped in her usual charm-free way.

“It’s Maggie.”

A long silence, then an even colder, if at all possible, “What?”

“Babs, I am so sorry for speaking to you the way I did. Please accept my apology. All I can say is I guess I’ve been under too much stress lately with the market and—”

“Spare me the details. Are you going to accept the offer or not?”

“Yes, of course.”

After Maggie hung up, she decided she would give Dottie the commission money out of her savings in advance and just say it was from Babs.

T
HAT NIGHT, WHEN
Maggie got into bed, she was relieved that she had been able to smooth it over with Babs, and thank heavens she hadn’t run her over that day when she had crossed the street in front of her. She closed her eyes. Then suddenly, another thought popped up. On the other hand, now that she was leaving for good, if she were to just happen to “accidentally” run over Babs Bingington … it really wouldn’t be murder. It would be one of those random acts of kindness everyone was always talking about. She would simply be doing the other real estate agents in town a little favor before she left, as a sort of goodbye gift. And like Brenda said, the police would probably never find out who had done it, and even if they did, she would be long gone by then. It was something to think about.

As she lay there, she started to think of all the things you could do if you didn’t have to worry about the consequences. It was so freeing, really; knowing you didn’t have to worry about the future anymore. It opened up endless possibilities. She suddenly felt sort of reckless, or devil-may-care. She hadn’t planned on this. Who knew that jumping in the river could be so liberating.

U
NLIKE MAGGIE, WHO ALWAYS HAD TROUBLE SLEEPING, ETHEL
could sleep; she just chose not to. She was too aggravated to sleep. Tonight she sat up, flipping from channel to channel, sipping on her bourbon. The very gall of that woman to come into the office and upset Maggie. Maggie was too much of a lady to have to put up with that nonsense from anybody, especially from some snake in the grass like Babs Bingington.

But that was the way of the world now. Manners didn’t count for a thing anymore. Nobody had any respect for anybody, thanks to all those smarty-assed comedians making fun of everything and everybody. Nothing was sacred.

And there was nothing decent to watch on television anymore. Just a bunch of bad reality shows sandwiched in between erectile dysfunction and bladder-control ads. Body functions used to be private, but not now. Nobody seemed to be embarrassed about anything. There was no shame; so many politicians got caught up in sex scandals and the next day, they were out riding in parades, smiling and waving at everyone, like nothing had ever happened. She paused a moment on a rerun of
Sex and the City
and was appalled and clicked back to Fox News.

What ever happened to the
Pillsbury Bake-Off
show and
Petticoat Junction
or Carol Burnett? That gal was funny. Now it was just one trying to be more filthy-mouthed than the other. Nobody had any class anymore. They wouldn’t let you. Now they wanted to drag everybody down in the gutter. Nobody was safe. Even poor Queen Elizabeth was written up in tabloids. Sure, she’d had some trouble with her kids, but who hadn’t? Ethel’s own granddaughter had come home with a tattoo on her behind.

Maggie was the only person she knew with genuine class. “Damn it to hell!” she yelled to the cats. “What ever happened to people behaving like ladies and gentlemen?” The cats had no clue, and got up and left the room.

As she sat there sipping her drink, Ethel’s mind wandered to other irritations. Why didn’t they make a car with a place for a woman to put her purse? And why did there have to be so much loud noise everywhere? Cars, buses, motorcycles, planes, leaf blowers, and whose bright idea had it been to have those horrible loud beepers go off every time a truck anywhere in America backed up, night or day, especially garbage trucks? She used to love to shop, but lately, shopping had become sheer torture; every store had loud music blasting out at you at full volume. She remembered when music used to be soothing, a pleasure to listen to. What ever happened to pretty music? Now it was just people screeching offkey at the top of their lungs or rap music booming in your ears, with not a tune to be found nor a lyric to be understood, at least not by her. Now all the kids were riding around town with that stuff blasting away so it almost knocked her off the sidewalk. Brenda had promised Ethel that when she got to be mayor, she was going to make it against the law to play your radio at full volume with your windows down. Brenda had Ethel’s vote, on that issue alone.

Still, she hoped Brenda wouldn’t leave real estate before Maggie could retire and get all her benefits. She worried about Maggie; she was clearly no match for Babs Bingington, and in this dog-eat-dog world, good guys usually finished last. Look what “the Beast” had done to Hazel.

A
BOUT SIX MONTHS AFTER BABS BINGINGTON HAD OPENED HER
office, she’d found out that Red Mountain Realty was getting the huge contract from the new insurance company moving to town. Babs knew getting that contract could make or break any office. Relocating a big company’s corporate office from Philadelphia meant finding houses for hundreds of people, and Babs wasn’t about to let some half-pint, hire-the-handicapped office knock her out of that business. She flew to Philadelphia and called the president of the insurance company and asked for a meeting. She informed his secretary that she was in town representing the Birmingham Board of Realtors and she told him that it was of vital importance to his company that she speak with him in person as soon as possible. When the secretary handed him the message, the president figured it was yet another public relations meeting. By this time, he had almost been glad-handed to death by the entire city of Birmingham, but he wanted to keep everything on a positive note and so he agreed to meet with her.

The next morning, Babs was escorted into the president’s office. In her best fake southern accent, she started by saying, “Oh, Mr. Jackson, thank you for seeing me. You just don’t know how hard this is for me; I’m a nervous wreck, but we … all of us … are so thrilled
and proud that your company is moving to Birmingham, and it would just kill us if something were to go wrong.”

Mr. Jackson was suddenly interested. “Oh?”

“I’m afraid the real estate firm you hired is … May I speak confidentially?”

“Of course.”

“We feel you need to know that Red Mountain Realty is not a company you should be associated with at this time.”

He looked at her. “Really? And why is that?”

Babs affected a pained expression. “Well, you see, Mr. Jackson … I have been chosen as a member of the real estate board to warn you that we have privileged information that Hazel Whisenknott is about to be brought up on embezzlement and fraud charges by a federal grand jury, and when it happens … well, we feel that you might want to consider the ramifications for your company. I know your reputation means a lot.”

Babs reached into her purse and pulled out a lace handkerchief, blinked a few times, and managed to look teary. “Oh, I do wish I hadn’t been the one chosen to tell you, but all of us in Birmingham care so very much that you be well represented. We would just die if anything went wrong. In fact, I’d consider it a privilege to handle your account personally and charge only a five percent fee, as a courtesy. That’s how highly we think of your company, Mr. Jackson,” she said as she slipped her card across his desk. “Of course, it’s entirely up to you. You do what you want to do, but at least now you have the information.”

After Babs left his office, Mr. Jackson thought about what she had said. He had liked the other little real estate lady, but she was right. Even if the charges were dropped, she was sure to be tied up in civil court. He didn’t want to try to do business in the middle of that mess, and he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot in a new city. So why take the chance? He would have someone call and say they had changed their minds.

He picked up Babs’s card and looked at it. It must have taken a lot of guts for her to fly all the way here and warn him, and he also liked the 1 percent cut in commission she had offered.

Babs was a master at faking sincerity, and since she was usually dealing with men who could easily be fooled by a woman who could cry on cue, she was successful more often than not.