“Think I could get an autograph?”
I look down at what I’m wearing, wondering if my ass is hanging out for all to see. “Uh, sure. Let me change first.”
“Oh, okay.” He looks dejected. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Just sign while wearing this hospital gown? And what am I signing? He has nothing for me to write on.
Pulling my clothes out of my locker, I turn and find the guy right behind me. I smile and sidestep past him and into a room. Thank God the door locks and I can dress as slow as possible. Not that I’m doing that on purpose; it really does take me a long time to get dressed these days. I’m hoping that by the time I come out, he’s gone, and I won’t have to worry about forcing my arm into writing my name. It was hard enough when I had to fill out page after page of information on my injury.
When did it happen? I don’t know.
On a scale of one to ten, where is your pain level? A million.
Do you feel more pain in the morning or evening? Um, all the time.
Do you feel safe at home? Nope, not at all. Those shadows that lurk in the corners get me every time.
On a scale of one to ten, when you’re doing your normal daily activities, how do you feel? Like I want to die!
When I open the door, the guy is standing there, but this time he has a sheet of paper and a pen ready for me. I smile, grab the pen, and scribble my name. It hurts like fucking hell, but I do it.
“Please make it out: ‘To Terry, thanks for being my biggest fan, Love Hawk’.”
My hand pauses on the paper. Is this guy for real? There’s no way I can write that much, not right now. “Sorry, gotta run,” I tell him as I set the pen down and book it for the door. There’s a time and place for autographs and photos, and the hospital dressing room isn’t one of them.
Four
Bellamy
Being late for anything is one of my biggest pet peeves. My clients, who just had to see a farmhouse on fifty acres which is forty miles from town at half past ten this morning, were almost an hour late and are taking their sweet time walking through the house. Every time the husband turns and looks at me, I smile sweetly even though I’m wringing their necks in my mind. My meeting with Brett Larsen is soon. Even if I leave now, don’t hit any traffic and speed, I’ll be late, and that’s the last thing I need when I’m trying to do whatever I can to help my son.
After a thorough walk through highlighting all the features of this house, then taking them out onto the back porch to show them the view, I left them to talk it over. And they’re still talking. This house has been on the market for over a year. It’s not going anywhere. They could easily have the conversation about whether to invest in a massive piece of land at home. Not while I’m pacing back and forth on the front porch, wringing my hands together, and glancing into one of the two large picture windows. To make matters worse the husband seems to know when I’m passing by each time, and just happens to turn his head to smile creepily at me.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m exaggerating all of this, but the fact remains that they were late, which is making me late for my next appointment. I’m about to go back into the house to see if there’s anything else they need, hoping to speed things up because I really need to go, when the door opens, and they walk out. They’re holding hands and both are smiling. Instant gratification soars through me as I know they’ve decided to buy the place. Finally. The sellers will be ecstatic now they’ve moved to the big city and adapted to condo living. Can’t say I blame them. One reason I bought my house where I did was because of the HOA. The homeowner’s association has a landscaping company that comes in during the spring, summer and fall to maintain our yards and they plow in the winter. For a single mom, these are huge benefits.
“Beautiful home, isn’t it?” I direct my question toward the wife. I’m normally spot on with reading people. Mostly when I’m showing a house, I can tell right away if the buyers are remotely interested. It’s usually the wife. If she doesn’t love the entrance from the second she walks in, all bets are off.
The husband beams while the wife looks pensive. There’s something she’s unsure of and I sense that it’s her husband who wants this house. She needs my attention. I take her by the arm and ask her to follow me and also ask the husband to stay where put. We walk up the stairs and I use buzz words like ‘grand’ and ‘elegant’. When we step into the master bedroom, we keep walking until we are in the bathroom. I move over to the window and sigh. The view from the upstairs is breathtaking and I need to sell her on it.
“The house has been on the market for a while,” I remind her. “We can negotiate a better selling price. And when we do, I think you should take the savings and redo this bathroom. Make it your sanctuary: Radiant floor heating so you’re never cold. A walk-in closet with built-ins. A stand-up shower in the corner with dual sprayers, and by the window, put in a deep garden tub so you can look out. I can see you soaking, watching the snow fall.” I finish with a satisfying sigh and a long pause. “That’s what I would do in this room.”
“It’s so far from the city.”
I’m in complete agreement and fight the urge to look at my phone. My meeting with Brett will not happen today and there isn’t anything I can do about it. As much as my son comes first, so does work. Without my job, I can’t pay the bills, and lord knows his father isn’t going to cough up any extra child support.
“There’s a lot to be said about living away from the city. It’s quiet, the air is cleaner and if you want to walk around in your pajamas all day, who is going to see you?”
“It takes longer for police, fire and ambulances to reach you. People target out of the way homes for crime,” she adds.
“The crime rate is so low here, it’s not even a statistic, and there’s a fire station a mile down the road.” I know I’ve lost the sale. If she’s paranoid about safety, there’s no way she’s going to make an offer on this place. “Let’s head back downstairs.”
Her husband’s sitting on the steps when we walk out. He smiles, but it quickly changes as he takes in his wife’s demeanor. He wants the house, probably to hunt and fish on the property, but it’s clear he’s going to have to convince her this is the right place for them.
“You have my contact details. Let me know what you decide. In the meantime, I’ll continue to look through the MLS for anything that might suit you better.”
“Thank you, Bellamy, for meeting us today.”
“Of course, we’ll speak soon.” They walk to their car and as eager as I am to get the hell out of here, I wait until they’re out of sight before putting th
e lockbox back together and making sure the door is secured. This isn’t the first time I’ve lost a sale and it’s definitely not going to be the last, but it frustrates me, nonetheless. With them being adamant they see the house today and then being late, there was a sliver of hope they’d make an offer.