I nodded. Just like buyer’s remorse, sellers sometimes had second thoughts: Was this the ideal time to list their house? Should they have held out for a higher price? Did they really want to move?
While I reviewed the offer, Lois boasted about how she had sold the Troutmans’ family home the previous week. “They need a one-level home now because of Mr. Troutman’s arthritis, so the Henricks’ little house is perfect.” She drummed her fingers on the desk, her acrylic nails clicking. “They’ll want to remodel the kitchen, of course.”
The Henricks’ kitchen, with its knotty-pine cupboards, tiled backsplash and gingham curtains, far outshined mine. I hadn’t considered it outdated but supposed it paled in comparison to Lois’s. I heard she lived in a six-bedroom mansion in exclusive Windermere.
“Isn’t it funny?” She glanced at her bejeweled fingers and diamond-studded Rolex. “People are either wanting a bigger home or downscaling. I’m glad they haven’t figured out how to make the trade without us, or we’d be out of a job.” She paused, her lips pressing flat. “I can’t imagine moving into a smaller home even when the kids leave, can you?”
Not wanting to stir up the water, I shook my head in agreement, when in truth the longer I lived alone, the more sense it made.
Lois grabbed the edge of her desk and pulled her chair closer. “Say, that was great the way you took my open house, then sold it. I have so much going on right now, I can barely do my clients justice. Maybe we could go partners on some listings.” She nudged one of several framed photographs occupying the corner of her desk closer to me. “Walt and I rarely get away on weekends anymore because I’m always so miserably busy.”
“I wish I had your problems.” I stared at the picture of Lois and her sun-tanned husband in a Hawaiian shirt posing before a tropical sunset. With Walt slaving away in an operating room removing appendixes and gallstones for several thousand dollars a whack, Lois certainly didn’t need to work. She must like it.
“We could try working as a team, co-list a few houses and see how it goes,” Lois said, her voice bright again. “You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Really? That would be great.”
“Fabulous.” She shook my hand with a grip so firm it pinched my knuckles. “Let’s go close this deal, partner.”
I was glad I didn’t have to face the Henricks alone. I sank into the cushy leather passenger seat of Lois’s Mercedes and enjoyed being chauffeured by a woman who knew her way around town better than any cab driver.
Ten minutes after I followed her into Wayne and Sherry’s living room, the couple had agreed to the lower price. Listening to Lois negotiate the deal, I felt as though I were attending the professional sales training class I should have taken years ago. My admiration for the woman grew, and I tried to memorize her polite but firm phrases for future use.
When signatures had dried, and it was time to take the paperwork back to the Troutmans, my stomach began twisting with worry. I dreaded what I called the falling dominos effect. If the Troutmans balked and changed their minds, Wayne and Sherry wouldn’t sell their house and couldn’t purchase a new one. The whole deal would be off, and all my labor would wash down the drain in a single splash.
“You’re really amazing,” I told Lois as we strolled out to her car under her Burberry plaid umbrella.
“You’re not so bad yourself. I’ve heard you speaking to clients in the office. You sound very professional.” She unlocked the doors with a remote, and we both got in.
“We’ll complement each other,” she said. She headed us back to the office by making a U-turn, cutting down a side street, then taking a shortcut that knocked several minutes off the trip. “You’re more the stay-by-the-phone type, which drives me nuts. I like to be out blazing new trails, putting deals together.”
“I guess you’re right, I am more comfortable talking on the phone than speaking face-to-face.” You see, for me it was easier to hear the word no through a piece of plastic. I would be happier manning the office or holding Lois’s open houses, where people wandered in by themselves or were escorted by another agent.
Lois pulled up alongside my car. “Tootles,” she said.
“Good night, and thanks again.”
The moment I was out and had closed the car door, she spun away. Part of me disliked this type of woman: affected and condescending. But so what? Lois was exactly what I needed.
The next morning, as I ambled to the corner for my Moms’ walk, dusty clouds lingered high in the sky. It was a welcome respite from the stormy weather that had plagued Seattle, making even the most die-hard Northwesterners cantankerous.
The last to arrive, Susan opened the back of her minivan and her Labrador retriever galumphed out. With much commotion, she fastened on its leash and headed our direction. Charlie marched forward to reacquaint himself with the boisterous dog, causing Susan to trot toward us to avoid being yanked off her feet.
“I just remembered why I usually leave this beast at home,” she said, jerking on the leash without results.
After a few moments of sizing each other up, Charlie, in spite of his diminutive stature, claimed the right of top dog with a lift of his leg and a dig into the grass. This done, he lost interest in the Lab and allowed me and the others to start down the street toward the lake.
Erika walked on my left. “How’s it going with Tim?” she asked. “You should bring him over for Jonathan and me to inspect.”
I’d often appreciated Erika’s dinner invitations. Not all married women encouraged single girlfriends to hang
