“It’s over! It’s all done. I, I spent so much time on this, and I don’t get nothing!”
Theresa clasped her hands in her lap, and Mona was shocked to see tears in the older woman’s eyes.
“What do you mean, ‘It’s over’ ?”
Theresa sniffled. “I, I can’t do anymore.” She sighed and looked towards the heavens. “I’ve been talking to him for the last forty-five minutes. He, he won’t listen to me. I told him the buyers were backing out, and, and, and he still won’t listen. He said he don’t care. He wants me to find somebody else.”
Mona took a deep breath and shook her head, a tiny knot of tension forming in her belly. She didn’t know what was worse; the ineptitude of her employee, or the pretentiousness of their client. Mona leaned forward in a sleek leather chair and rested her elbows on her mahogany desk. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, and Theresa squirmed like someone dropped a hot coal down the back of her shirt.
Mona’s office was the most spacious in the building, and Theresa looked very small right then. The older woman brought a hand to her mouth and subconsciously nibbled her thumbnail. Theresa was brown-skinned with short hair and full lips. She wore a white blouse with burgundy slacks and a good deal of make-up. Theresa was in her late forties, but age and wisdom do not always come hand-in-hand.
Theresa had many careers throughout her lifetime, but so far she hadn’t mastered any of them. She never considered the tricky business of real estate until she saw an infomercial on television three years ago. Mona knew giving her the Pennington property was a risk, but that was the best way to determine her resolve: through trial and error. This setback was disappointing, but hopefully it wasn’t too late to salvage the deal.
“So you informed him of the buyer’s concerns?” Mona asked.
Theresa nodded. “Yes…yes ma’am.”
The irony of being referred to as ma’am by someone twenty years her senior was not lost on Mona, but she started this agency from the ground up, and she would expect nothing less.
“He wouldn’t come down on the price at all?” Mona asked.
Theresa nodded and then shook her head. “I got him down to one-five, but that’s it.”
Mona frowned. “You spoke with him in person? You called him down here?”
Theresa nodded. “Yes. He’s in my office right now. I’ve been in there with him for almost an hour.”
“You told him we only found one buyer?” Mona asked. “That if he loses this one, that’s it—there’s nothing else we can do for him?”
“I did,” Theresa assured. “I told him everything.”
“The penalties?”
“I told him.”
“The lost deposits?”
“Everything,” Theresa said.
Mona grinned. It appeared her protégé had done a thorough job. The only thing missing was the fine art of finesse.
“He’s still in your office?”
Theresa nodded. “Yeah. He still in there.”
Mona stood and made her way around the desk with the air of a divine healer. She paused long enough to retrieve Mr. Pennington’s papers from her employee.
“Gimme that file.”
Theresa handed it over graciously, and Mona walked out of the office, her expression barely giving away how upset she would be if they lost out on the seventy-thousand-dollar commission due at closing.
***
Mona’s office employed over a dozen agents, clerks, and consultants, and most of them made an effort to greet her as she passed their cramped cubicles. Today their boss wore a gray skirt suit with a tweed jacket that had a stylish Peter Pan collar. There were no rings on Mona’s fingers, but her right wrist twinkled with a slew of pearl bracelets that ranged from gray to gold to white in color.
Mona’s skin tone was smooth and rich like Georgia red clay. She had long hair that was mostly all hers and a slim figure that hadn’t changed much since her teenage years. She never needed a lot of makeup, but today she wore eyeliner that made her small orbs appear a bit larger. Mona’s breasts were always an attention-grabber. Her knee-length skirt hugged her other assets enticingly. She walked into Theresa’s office and immediately had the full attention of their dubious client.
Mr. Pennington wore a gray Armani suit with a white shirt and a dark blue tie. He was a handsome man with short hair and steely eyes. His skin was dark and smooth like Coca Cola. At first glance Mr. Pennington was a powerful man one should respect and possibly even fear, but Mona was hardly impressed.
She knew that their client had accumulated the majority of his wealth from the inheritances of dead relatives, and most of his personal business deals hurt his vast family fortune. If left to his own devices, Mr. Pennington would have become indigent long ago, but for each trust fund he depleted, there was always another one available.
Mona dropped his folder on the desk and gave him a good once-over. Rich black folk were definitely the most peculiar breed of people she had the pleasure of working with.
“Hello, Mr. Pennington. I’m Mona Pratt.”
He stood hesitantly and offered a hand to shake. “Pratt?”
“The one and only,” she said. Mona’s name was on the building’s marquee, as well as eight billboards scattered throughout Austin. Mr. Pennington was a man who appreciated authority, and he smiled broadly.
“So I finally get to talk to the bigwig.”
The client’s hand was soft, almost as delicate as Mona’s. She liked a cultured black man, but not one with tender hands like Mr. Pennington’s. She doubted if this guy ever performed manual labor more strenuous than washing the dinner dishes when he was a child.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Mona said. She released his hand and took a seat across from him. “Unfortunately, most clients only make my acquaintance if there’s a problem.”
Mr. Pennington nodded and took his seat as well. “Yeah, there is a problem.”
“Tell me about it,” Mona offered.
“The problem is your agent doesn’t follow instructions,” the client replied gruffly. “I gave that woman very specific instructions. There was no need for her to call me back so many times, and there was certainly no need for me to come down to your office this afternoon. I’m a busy man. If she can’t handle this sale, she should’ve passed my property off to someone else.”
“First of all, I apologize for your inconvenience,” Mona said. “And Theresa did pass your property off to someone else. I’ll be handling your sale personally from this point on.”
“Good.”
“Well, it’s not all that good,” Mona said with a smile. “You’re still going to have to drop another five hundred thousand off your asking price.”
Mr. Pennington’s smile evaporated. “What? I already told that other lady I’m not going any lower!”
“That other lady is Theresa,” Mona informed him. “And I’m sorry, but everything she told you is correct. You’re not going to get more than one million-two for that property. One-point-seven is out of the question.”
“I told her I’d go one-point-five.”
“Yeah, we need you at one-point-two.”
“I’ll, I’ll keep it then.” Mr. Pennington put his foot down, but his poker face had many tells.
“And do what with it?” Mona asked with a smirk. “The property value in that neighborhood is looking worse every quarter. There are already four houses on that street with signs in the yard, and your grandmother’s estate has been vacant for two years. I think you should cut your losses now before things get even more out of hand.”
“That house is worth three million dollars,” Mr. Pennington fumed. He was in his mid-forties, and his jowls hung like a bulldog’s. “I’m not going all the way down to one-point-two! That’s ridiculous!”
“No, what’s ridiculous is you’re still holding on to quotes from ten years ago,” Mona countered. “A lot has changed since that property was worth three million, and you need to get with the times. That area is not what it used to be, and that house isn’t, either.”
“There’s nothing at all wrong with my grandmother’s house!”
Mona saw a vein bulging in his neck, but she wasn’t fazed. “What about the plumbing problems?” she asked. “The toilets won’t drain in any of the upstairs bathrooms.”
“That’s nothing.”
“The hardwood floors need to be refinished.”
“That’s not bad.”
“Nobody likes that ugly wallpaper.”
“Again—not a big deal.”
“The roof needs work, that big crack in the driveway means you have a foundation problem, and termites are devouring the place as we speak. If you want to fix all of that, then maybe we can get you back up to two, maybe a little more. But as it stands, you should consider yourself lucky to have a million-dollar offer still on the table.”
The color drained from his face, but Mr. Pennington still had a little fight left in him. “I, I don’t believe you,” he muttered. “Even with all of that, I still think it’s worth one-eight. At least one-five. I’m not going less than one and a half—absolutely not.”
Mona sighed and shook her head ever so slightly. “Mr. Pennington, this is a decision you will no doubt regret. Your grandmother’s estate is nice, but to be honest, there are better properties in that neighborhood with better price tags. I’m not exaggerating when I say we were lucky to find you a buyer. I promise no other realtor will be as helpful as we’ve been, and when you finally do find another sucker willing to take that place off your hands, it will be for a lot less than the one-point-two you could’ve made today.”
Mona stood and smiled down at him smugly. “I’ll send Theresa back in, and if you have your checkbook, we can settle our account before you leave.”
“Our, our account?”
Mona narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Pennington, we’ve done a lot of work for you in the last couple of months. The inspection and appraisal aside, we also had to furnish the home, hire a crew to clean it, and maintain the lawn. There were minor repairs here and there… It shouldn’t be that much. I’m sure Theresa has the exact numbers.”
Mr. Pennington’s eyes bugged, and Mona had to stifle a chuckle. She smiled even more radiantly and continued towards the doorway. She knew she wouldn’t make it too far, and her squirrelly client didn’t disappoint.
“Wha-wait,” he said.
Mona turned back to face him. “Yes?”
“You, you said one-point-two, right? I can still get that today?”
“Actually that was Monday’s offer. You’ve given the buyer such a hassle, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s down to one-point-one by now…”
Mr. Pennington swallowed roughly. “All right. I’ll, I’ll take it. You can call him and tell him I’ll take it.”
“Great,” Mona said. “I’ll get Theresa back in here so you can sign the papers.”
She turned, but he stopped her again.
“Wait, Miss Pratt. It is Miss, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Pennington?”
“I was, I was wondering if you might like to go out for drinks later on, tonight maybe. We could, uh, we could celebrate the closing, if you’d like…” He looked her up and down, his smile like a peeping Tom’s.
“I’m sorry,” Mona said without a pause. “I never date our clients.” Especially a fool who can’t even maintain a ready-made fortune. “I’ll get Theresa back in here so you can sign the papers.”
***
It wasn’t unusual to bring in a seventy-thousand-dollar commission at Pratt Realtors, but this particular client put them through so much hell, Mona offered to take her closing agent out to lunch as a reward for her hard work.
“Cool,” Theresa said, her face bright like a firefly. “Let me file these papers and grab my purse. I’ll be right back!”
While she waited, Mona popped open her briefcase and went through a few letters that arrived at her home yesterday. Most of the correspondences were bills, but one envelope had a return address that quickly grabbed her attention. It was from her hometown: Overbrook Meadows, Texas.
Mona hadn’t thought about Overbrook Meadows very much since she left the metropolis in her rearview mirror almost a decade ago. She thought about her old high school even less than that, but the mysterious letter brought both of these places to the forefront of her attention. Mona read the letter twice, her heart growing light in her chest.
When Theresa returned with her purse, Mona was fully enthralled in a daydream that featured packed auditoriums, noisy hallways, and cute adolescent boys as far as the eye could see.
“What’s on your mind?” Theresa asked with a grin. “You already got plans for that money?”
Mona snapped out of her reverie. “No,” she said. “I was, uh, I was thinking about home. Looks like I’m going on vacation in a couple of weeks.”
“Really? What’s the occasion?”
“My high school reunion,” Mona said. “It’s been ten years since I graduated.” She shook her head wistfully. “God, I can’t believe it’s been that long.”
Theresa frowned. “Girl, you don’t want to do that,” she advised. “Everybody who goes to class reunions are just as fake as you remember them. They only want to show each other up: Look what I did with my life. Look how good I still look. It’s all a bunch of crap.”
Mona chuckled, surprised by how little Theresa knew about her.
“Woman, that’s exactly why I’m going. Ain’t no way nobody from Finley High did it bigger than me. And I know nobody looks as good!”
***
Approximately one hundred and fifty miles away, in an upscale Houston high rise, Rene Packard girded herself for what was sure to be her most stressful meeting of the day. She sat behind a large desk made of mocha cherry wood and leaned back on leather cushions that were very similar to the executive chair Mona had in her office.
“Who’s supposed to fire her?” Rene asked her secretary.
Mrs. Gentry was a large woman with rosy red cheeks and bright eyes that couldn’t conceal the amusement bubbling within her. “Um, Mr. Peters, I believe.”
“It’s not funny,” Rene told her.
“I’m not laughing,” Mrs. Gentry replied.
“I see it in your eyes,” Rene said. “You want to laugh. You’re just trying to hold it in.”
With that, Mrs. Gentry could hold it in no longer. She grinned, put a hand over her mouth, and then a chuckle escaped her lips. She tried to swallow it back down, and her belly jiggled like Santa Claus’.
“Ooh, excuse me.”
“I told you it’s not funny,” Rene griped. “That’s my cousin.”
“I know,” Mrs. Gentry said. She tried to regain composure, and her eyes watered.
Rene stood and walked to one of her windows overlooking the city’s hectic downtown area. For work that day, Rene wore a black tweed skirt with a turquoise cardigan over a white camisole. Her stockings were black, highlighting what Rene always thought was her best feature: long, smooth legs that stretched from the floor like a ballerina’s.
Rene didn’t have one of those coveted corner offices, but her digs were still spacious and well-decorated. All of her furniture had rich, earthy colors, and she had plenty of fresh greenery, from angel ivies, to cactuses, to the tropical bonsai tree she kept on her desk.
Rene never let her jet black hair get longer than shoulder-length, and today she wore it in a loose bob. She had dark skin like polished mahogany, and she had always been a slim girl—even though the girth of her hips eclipsed her chest size way back in high school. Rene didn’t like to wear makeup, and today was no exception. She knew she was pretty, striking actually, but she didn’t let it go to her head like some of the girls she grew up with.
“They couldn’t just write her up again?” she asked her secretary.
“No.” Mrs. Gentry shook her head. “I’m sorry, but they’re going to let her go. It’s a definite. I don’t think even you could stop it at this point.”
Rene crossed her arms over her stomach, still looking out of the window. “I’m not going to try to stop it,” she said after a while. “I can’t keep sticking my neck out for people. One day I’m gonna come across someone who really wants to work, but I won’t be able to get them on because of messes like this. Human resources will put my referrals at the bottom of the pile.”
“It’s not that bad,” Mrs. Gentry offered.
“Please, this is three in a row,” Rene reminded her. “They fired my other cousin Angela for smoking weed—and don’t forget about my nephew. You remember I got Scooter a job in the mailroom…”
“Oh, well, he doesn’t count. He was here for almost a year,” Mrs. Gentry said.
“Yeah, but he still got fired,” Rene insisted, “for stealing. You don’t think HR’s keeping track of all of that?”
“I doubt it,” Mrs. Gentry said. “Really. Scooter got fired three years ago, and no one even remembers Angela. She didn’t make it past her probation period, did she?”
“No, she didn’t,” Rene said. She turned from the window and faced her secretary. “And Chameka’s only been here two months. She didn’t make it past probation, either.”
Again Mrs. Gentry had to stifle a giggle.
“How come you don’t like her?” Rene asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to offend…”
“Just spit it out.”
“Um…” Mrs. Gentry cleared her throat. “I don’t like to be negative, but I’d have to say Chameka is the absolute worst secretary I’ve ever met. She may be a good person, but–”
“You trained her,” Rene reminded her.
“Yes, and let me tell you those were three weeks of sheer horror. She’s insolent. She thinks she knows everything. I can’t tell you how many times I asked her to spit her gum out before she answered the phone. Let’s see, um…” Mrs. Gentry began to count on her fingers. “She doesn’t dress appropriately for the workplace. She called in twice during her first two weeks. It takes her forever to do the simplest things, but she won’t ask any questions. If you offer to help her, she’ll snap at you: ‘I got it. Did I say I needed any help?’ ”
Rene had to chuckle because her secretary matched Chameka’s mannerisms perfectly.
“All right, maybe she does need to get fired,” Rene said. “But I’m done after this. This nepotism crap hasn’t done nothing but make me look like a fool.”
“It’s really not that bad,” Mrs. Gentry said consolingly.
“It is for me,” Rene said. She went back to her desk and plopped down in the seat. “I worked too hard to get where I’m at. I don’t need Chameka and Ray Ray and Scooter coming in here making me look bad.”
“Who’s Ray Ray?”
“That’s my other nephew. I was thinking about getting him a job up here. But not now. He’s going to have to figure something out on his own. What’s Mr. Peters’ extension?”
“Uh, twenty-four forty-five,” the secretary said.
Rene picked up her phone and punched the digits. A gruff-sounding gentleman answered after a couple of rings.
“Advertising. This is Mark.”
“Hey. This is Rene from sales.”
“Oh, how are you doing, Ms. Packard?”
“I’m fine. I, uh, I hear you’re going to fire my cousin Chameka…”
“Oh, uh, yeah. I’m sorry, Rene, but she’s highly incompetent. I didn’t know she was your cousin.”
“It’s okay. I’m starting to wish I didn’t recommend her. Do you, could you do me a favor?”
“Sure, Rene. What’s up?”
“Could you let me fire her—if you haven’t done it already?”
“Actually no, I haven’t,” Mr. Peters said. “I was looking for her ten minutes ago.”
“Looking for her?”
“It’s not break time, but she’s not at her desk,” the advertising manager informed Rene with a sigh. “This is one of many issues we’ve been having with her.”
“I’m sorry for that,” Rene said. “I really am. Could you send the termination papers to me and send Chameka to my office—if she ever comes back. I’ll sign them and forward them to human resources.”
Mr. Peters laughed. “Okay, Rene. Will do.”
***
Chameka didn’t return to her department for a full twenty minutes, and she looked excited rather than concerned when she walked into Rene’s office five minutes after that.
“What’s up, girl? We going out to lunch?”
Rene looked at her watch. “It’s eleven-thirty.”
“I thought we was gon’ take a early lunch,” Chameka ventured. “Since you a manager, I know you can do that if you want.”
“I heard you’ve been taking early lunches already,” Rene said. “Early breaks and unauthorized breaks, too.”
Chameka took a seat across from her cousin and looked down at her nails with a frown. “Huh?”
Today Chameka wore a short, denim skirt with a shiny pink blouse. Her skirt ran out of material at least three inches above her knees, and her blouse was unbuttoned all the way down to the top of her bra. Rene knew her secretary was right about Chameka’s ongoing inappropriate attire, but she also knew there was a good deal of jealously mixed in with Mrs. Gentry’s accusations. Chameka looked absolutely voluptuous with her bulging breasts and enticing thighs. If Mrs. Gentry could get away with wearing an outfit like that, she’d sport one every other day.
But then again, Chameka was popping chewing gum at that very moment, and even Mr. Peters complained about her ineptness…
“Where were you earlier?” Rene asked, “at eleven?”
“What you mean?” Chameka had fair skin, the color of a sugar cookie. She had long hair that was braided and twisted like curly fries. Her pink lips glistened with shiny gloss. She was twenty years old, but she could easily pass for sixteen or seventeen.
“I mean you weren’t at your desk at eleven o’clock,” Rene said. “Where were you?”
“I don’t know. In the restroom…”
“For twenty minutes?”
“Oh, I was down there talking to Quincy,” Chameka suddenly recalled. “He’s the security guard on the ground floor.”
“I know who he is.”
“Girl, he fine, ain’t he?”
“He’s all right,” Rene said. “Don’t you know we can’t wear jeans to work here?”
Chameka looked down at her ensemble and stated the obvious. “I’m not wearing jeans.”
“Blue jean skirts are the same as jeans,” Rene informed her. “Actually they’re worse because those are so short I can see your panties when you sit down.”
Chameka furrowed her brow and crossed her legs. “What’s up, girl? You starting to sound like them people up on my floor.”
“Them people? You mean your superiors?”
“They ain’t superior to me,” Chameka said with plenty of umph. “I don’t even like that word.”
Rene shook her head in exasperation. “Chameka, you’re fired.”
The girl’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“You heard me,” Rene said with a frown. “You’re a terrible secretary, and I need you to give me your ID badge and go clear out your desk.”
“Uhn-uhn!” Chameka rolled her neck. “They can’t fire me!”
Rene was incredulous. “First of all, they’re not firing you. I am. And second, they can fire you any time they want to. Girl, who the hell do you think you are? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Why? They just mad ’cause they know they can’t talk to me any old kind of way.”
“They’re not talking to you any kind of way,” Rene said. “All they asked was for you to do your job—you know, the one they hired you for? You think they’re going to pay you twelve dollars an hour so you can go downstairs and flirt with the security guard?”
“That ain’t no kinda money anyway,” Chameka complained. She folded her arms under her chest and switched to severe pout mode.
“Some people would love to have twelve dollars an hour,” Rene said. “As a matter of fact, three months ago you were begging me to get you a job for ten dollars an hour.”
Chameka lowered her gaze.
“And look how you repay me,” Rene went on. “Don’t you know how stupid you made me look?”
Chameka sighed, and the anger subsided. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. You should be.”
“I’m, I’m fired, for real?”
“It’s done,” Rene confirmed.
“You can’t make them let me stay?” Chameka wondered.
“Even if I could, I wouldn’t,” Rene said honestly. “You’re the third relative I brought up here who showed their ass the first chance they got. You couldn’t even make it past probation.”
“But you don’t see how they be hating on black people up here,” Chameka whined.
“Don’t even go there,” Rene said. “Your manager was black, nearly all of the supervisors are black, and one of our vice presidents is black. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m black, too.”
“It’s hard to tell, the way you be acting up here,” Chameka muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
“No, go ahead and say what you got to say. And look me in the eyes while you’re at it.”
“I didn’t say nothing.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Rene said. “You keep thinking your attitude doesn’t matter at work, and you’re going to keep on getting fired. I don’t change who I am at work; I just follow the rules and decorum expected of me in this building. If you think all there is to being black is popping chewing gum and dressing like you’re going to the club, then you need to grow up and read some books. People died so you can get a job in a place like this. Show some respect.”
“All right, Harriet Tubman.”
“What?” Rene felt her blood starting to boil, but Chameka laughed, and after a while Rene did, too. “Girl, you need your butt whooped.”
“So I’m fired for real?” Chameka asked.
“I wouldn’t play about something like that,” Rene assured her.
“Dang,” Chameka said. “Mama gon’ be mad.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Rene offered. “I’ll tell her you sucked, but I won’t tell her how bad.”
“Thanks. Oh, and while you calling relatives, Memaw wants to know why you don’t never call her no more. She say she haven’t seen you in like, four years.”
That warmed Rene’s heart even more. Memaw was what everyone in the family called her grandmother, the matriarch of the clan.
“I’m going to see her when I go home in a couple of weeks.”
“Really? You going on vacation?”
“Yeah. I’m going to a ten-year reunion for Finley High.”
“Ten years? Dang, you old!”
“No, I’m not!”
“Naw. I’m just kidding,” Chameka said. “I can’t wait till we have a class reunion for my school. I can see all my old homegirls and boyfriends. I know some of them dead by now. Did you have a lot of friends when you was in school? Was you popular?”
“I was homecoming queen,” Rene said with a big smile. “I was real popular. Me and my friends used to have that school locked down. People called us the Finley Sisters.” She chuckled. “We were bad, girl. Cute and sassy. Couldn’t nobody tell us nothing.”
Chameka grinned, too. “The Finley Sisters? Ha ha! That’s wack!”
“Forget you. It wasn’t wack back then.”
“Naw, I’m just kidding. Do you still keep up with your homegirls?”
“No, we kinda fell apart,” Rene admitted. “I miss ’em, though. I’ve been thinking about them ever since I heard about the reunion. I’m gonna try to find their numbers and call them when I get off today.”
“That’s cool,” Chameka said, then, “You think you could let me stay in your office until five? That’s when my ride’s picking me up.”
“They can’t pick you up early?”
“He don’t get off till four-thirty.”
“Why are you down there flirting with the security guard if you already have a boyfriend?” Rene wanted to know.
“I’m too much woman for just one man,” Chameka said.
Rene rolled her eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Chameka said. “I know you got more than one boyfriend.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, what about when you was with your Finley Sisters?” Chameka laughed. “I know you had some freaky-deaky going on back then!”
Rene shook her head but couldn’t stop from grinning. “Girl, I’ll give you a ride home when I take my lunch at twelve-thirty. You think you can be quiet and try to maintain some professionalism until then?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Chameka said and dug through her purse for a nail file. “I should take me a couple of laptops with me when I go. These fools got the nerve to fire me. They must not know who I is.”
“Naw, that’s why you got fired,” Rene said. “Trust me, they know exactly who you is.”