She cussed. Loud and clear. A rare happening. Good for her. Lights came on. The brighter the lights, the louder her frustration. I followed her in; even with my cleaning there was no way of ignoring the smell of dog poop.
“Wait until I get my hands on him,” she howled as she looked at the devastation to her beautiful home. “You just wait.”
She noticed the drinking glasses on the kitchen counter, one with lipstick on the rim and instinctively turned to me. I didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, could only shake my head in commiseration.
“How about I help you clean up?” I offered.
I noticed an open folder on the coffee table, next to the couch where Brenda usually sat. Pages had slipped out of the folder, and I could see colorful pics of dishes and what looked like recipes. “Are you working on a cookbook?” I asked.
“Oh, that? No. Lois Thomas, Angelique’s assistant, asked me to take a look to see how hard it would be to modify some of the recipes to less fat and lower calories. In other words, make them more senior-friendly.”
“Interesting. So, is it hard?”
She shrugged, walked over and slid the pages back into the folder. Then, without a word she got the bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge. Along with clean glasses, she brought everything to the coffee table, set it next to the folder, poured some wine and nodded me over. Brenda kicked off her shoes and slumped down on the couch. After she lit a cigarette she said, “Let’s drink to life without men.” We did.
SIXTEEN
THE CALL CAME in as I drove south on Tatum, on my way to the office. The kind of call I’ve dreamed of since receiving my real estate license. A prospect, a completely unknown-to me- human asked to see my brand new listing; the one with the walk-in tub. Okay, the caller never mentioned the walk-in tub, but that had become my personal, secret nickname for my adult community property. As instructed by Kay, I didn’t ask the caller’s age nor anything else personal, just a name and phone number — in case we got disconnected. Another clever hint from Kay. Mental note to myself, get a thank you gift for Kay and a very, very special gift for Tristan.
Aye, big mistake, just the thought of his name sent me plummeting into despair once again. What did he share about his marriage in that message? How could I find out? Can you retrieve deleted text messages? Who should I ask? And why? He probably will never want to talk to me again anyhow.
I drove like a distracted driver, except in my case I was my own distraction. The appointment with the caller was in ninety minutes. If I managed to stay focused, I could stop by the office, grab a cup of coffee, print out the most recent stats of the neighborhood and still get to my listing with enough time to turn on all the lights, open all the curtains, make the place look light and bright. I could hardly contain my excitement, and for an instant even my strong work ethic, as mentioned by him, made sense. Okay a fleeting instant. Then that went south (still trying to figure out why Americans use south instead of, you know, east, or west) as soon as I stepped into Desert Homes Realty. For one thing, Kassandra’s desk was empty. I heard voices coming from the kitchen. So I headed that way. That’s where the coffee was to be found anyway.
“Would you have the nerve to do that?”
Kassandra spoke with her mouth full of eggs on a muffin? Actually that looked good, I thought as I watched her stuff the last piece in her mouth.
Scott, Kassandra’s audience, shrugged, picked some breadcrumbs from the corner of his mouth. “Don’t know. Depends on the reason. What’s there to gain?”
Neither acknowledged my presence. What? Had I become invisible?
“What are you guys talking about? And is there anything left of what you two are, or I guess have been, eating?”
“That creep who stole my bra.”
Kassandra wiped her mouth first, then her hands, and tried to make a hoop into the trashcan with the scrunched up napkin; she missed.
“The cops checked out the address I gave them, you know, where we had the séance. Turned out he didn’t even live there. He was housesitting for someone else. And, he was using someone else’s identity to get a house-sitting job. Yeah, I think that’s what the cops said. And no, no food, all gone. Scott bought some breakfast stuff from the beloved Golden Arches drive through. Well, you look perky this morning. Got your visitor?” she asked me.
My visitor? What was she talking about?
“Kassandra, Tommy was staying at Brenda’s, not my place.”
“Tommy? What the hell do I care where that big jerk is staying? I mean, you know.”
She rubbed her hand on her belly. OMG! She asked about my period? In front of Scott? Suddenly my need for coffee evaporated. I turned on my heel and rushed over to my cubicle to look up my comps and get out of there. Noooo. Someone had shut off my computer. It takes forever to get it going. We were the only three souls in the office. Make that two souls. I grabbed my briefcase and left without saying goodbye.
Now I wasn’t driving distracted, I was driving mad. Mad as hell. I couldn’t believe Kassandra. What else did she tell Scott? Did she show him my test kit? What test kit? I never got it. The nightmare continued. Clear your mind Monica, clear your mind. Strong work ethic, remember?
Meantime, in my hurry to get away from the office, okay, from Kassandra, I didn’t do my comparables. But lucky
