I Still Dream About You

in business, a trait she did not admire. In fact, had she met the family first, she might have had second thoughts about getting involved with Richard at all. She had been modeling at a charity luncheon in Dallas when two women demanded in loud voices that she come to their table so they could feel the material of the suit she was wearing, and as they were complaining about how cheap the material was (it wasn’t), Maggie happened to glance down at the name cards on the table and realized it was Richard’s mother and sister. Oh, dear. Not only were they rude, they were two of the most unattractive women she had ever seen. They looked like frogs with large pop eyes. Through some quirk of genetics gone right, Richard was a prince born into a family of trolls, but you never know when those other family genes might strike again.

Richard never did leave his wife. He dropped dead of a cerebral hemorrhage at age forty-six. If that had not been enough of a shock, three days later, she was handed an eviction notice. Richard’s family (armed with a copy of an old canceled check) claimed that he had bought her condo with company money, and not only did they want the condo, they wanted all the furnishings, dishes, silverware, paintings, television sets-things she had paid for. She could have fought them, but in order to avoid a scandal, she left the next day with nothing but the few clothes she was able to pack.

After Maggie left Dallas, she found a job on a cruise ship teaching classes in scarf tying and napkin folding. It sounded good on paper, but the cruise line she worked for was a far cry from the Queen Elizabeth or the Crystal cruises. She had hoped to teach people who wanted to learn about how to set a lovely dinner table, but her classes were filled mostly with children whose parents just needed a babysitter for an hour. And so when her parents became ill and she had to move back to Birmingham to take care of them, it was a mixed blessing. During the time she had been living in Dallas and she had come home to visit her parents or to attend the yearly ex-Miss Alabama reunions, it had been so much easier to keep up a good front. All anyone at home really knew was that she was modeling for a major department store in Dallas or, later on, working on cruise ships. Both professions had sounded somewhat glamorous from afar (they didn’t know the details), but now that she was home for good, it was going to be much harder to maintain even a semi-glamorous image. Her parents’ medical bills were piling up, and she had to find a job, and it was not going to be easy. She was getting too old to model, she couldn’t type, she had failed algebra (twice), so bookkeeping was out, and a former Miss Alabama couldn’t very well wait tables at the Waffle House or Hooters.

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 maitre 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?”