“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.
Hazel, who usually thought the best of everyone, couldn’t understand why her office suddenly began losing so many big contracts to Babs’s company. But all Hazel ever said was “Well, my hat’s off to her; she’s a darn good saleslady.”
T.G.I.F
Driving around the block looking for a parking space she could manage, she had to see it over and over again. She hated that sign. It had stood on so many lots where buildings she had loved had once stood. Of course, the new revitalized downtown, with its tall, sleek, modern buildings was beautiful, but still, Maggie couldn’t help but miss the old downtown of her youth. In the late sixties, people had begun leaving the downtown area and moving out to the suburbs. Slowly, one by one, the great department stores had started to close. Gone forever were the gleaming silver escalators leading up to eight and nine floors full of beautiful clothes and the second-floor mezzanine tearooms, where delicate little finger sandwiches of chicken salad, cucumber, and cream cheese were served on soft white bread baked that morning. Gone was the glamour of downtown; no more nighttime window- shopping, no more grand window displays at Christmas. By the seventies, even Santa had moved out to the mall.
For Maggie, it had been like watching a good friend die. Each time she had come home, she could see more places she had known as a child shut down; all the elegant deco buildings with the elaborate facades, deserted and standing empty. Nothing left but empty shells and boarded-up windows; the sparkle in the cement now covered over with dirt and grime. “Urban blight” they called it. “It’s happening everywhere,” they said. Still, it was hard to see all the places you loved crumble before your very eyes. But when they demolished the beautiful old downtown train station terminal and knocked down the big electrical WELCOME TO BIRMINGHAM sign, it broke her heart. She had loved that train station, with the big glass dome and all the excitement and hustle and bustle of people coming and going. It was there, on Platform 19, where she’d left for New York on her way to try to become famous. And that was the last time she ever saw Charles.
FINALLY, AFTER MAGGIE’S sixth time around the block, two spaces opened up, and she was able to park and go into the bank. Twenty minutes later, after she was almost finished withdrawing all her money and was ready to leave, the teller must have pushed a button, because the manager came out looking very concerned.
“Miss Fortenberry, is there something about our service you’re not happy with? We hate to lose your business. Is there anything we can do?”
“Oh no, I’ve been extremely happy with everything. It’s just that I’m moving…”
“I see. Well, we would still be more than happy to handle your account online.”
Oh, dear. She had to think fast.
“Oh thank you, but I really don’t know how to do that, but I can assure you, it’s nothing personal.”
She almost ran out of the bank. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings. But she hadn’t lied. She
Maggie had cleared her morning and didn’t have to be at the office until eleven, so she could try to finish up as much as possible before the weekend. When she got home, she sat down and made out a new, shorter list.
Things to Do
1. Pay gas, electric, water, MasterCard
2. Drop hint to Brenda
3. Call Salvation Army for pickup on the second
4. Call Boots to arrange for pickup on the morning of the third
5. Call and cancel all future doctors’ appointments (hooray!)
Her doctor had just informed her that he was insisting that all his patients over fifty-five have a colonoscopy. Something else she was
After Maggie had made her calls, she was cleaning out the medicine cabinet and thought about Crestview again. Coming home from the bank, she had (of course) gone out of her way and driven by it, just to torture herself one more time, she supposed. She knew it was silly. As she was putting fresh towels in the guest bathroom, she was sure she was worrying about nothing. Fairly Jenkins had to have heard wrong. Mrs. Dalton would never sell Crestview in a million years. She walked down the hall to the linen closet to pack up what was left. She really had nothing to be concerned about. But still… just the thought of Babs Bingington even having the slightest chance of getting her hands on Crestview was appalling. She didn’t trust Babs as far as she could throw her. In the past, the woman had somehow been able to have zoning classifications changed. Now, in what used to be pretty residential areas, there was a Popeyes Chicken or a Jack in the Box right next door to a lovely home. Who knew what might happen next? Babs could turn Crestview into a suite of dentists’ offices. My God, it could wind up just like Dr. Zhivago’s home, with strangers running in and out of every room. They would probably tear up the gardens and put in a parking lot. The more she thought about it, the madder she became. GOD-DAMMIT TO HELL! She should have run Babs over when she had the chance. Oh God, now she was cursing. Something she had vowed she would never do.
MAGGIE FINISHED PACKING up the extra blankets and sheets and towels and threw all the bath mats in the washing machine, but as hard as she tried, she just could not get Crestview off her mind. She
