Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out (19 page)

I set down my spoon and picked up the phone. 

“I’m calling about the house.”  It was Marcia, Marcia,
Marcia
. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Crap.

I
drew my legs up and
tuned up my tone from grumpy and interrupted to
chirpy and pleasant with just a hint of other offers about to be made and so you mu
st
hurry up. I chose not to point out the time.

“I’m so glad you called
Marcia
(I gulped back the iteration)
, what can I tell you about the property Marcia?”  Marcia. Marcia.

I
carefully
set down the ice cream
and started
punching down
my pillows and fluff
ing
them up again, punch, fluff. 

“My clients are interested, but the price is too high
.  What kind of Comparative Market Analysis did you do?  I always work with a dozen homes, just to get it right.  I always get everything right for my clients.  But you know that.  I’m just a
bulldog when it comes to my client
’
s interests.  I will always do the best by my clients.
And they love me for it.
Is the refrigerator included? It didn’t say it was included in the listing, but my clients
are possibly
interested in the refrigerator, if you reduce the price.”

I punched the pillow back down again.

I knew it was best to record everything Marcia said, get the
call transcribed and then
notarized by a third party (not someone from her office
,
however
) and ke
ep
it all in a sealed envelope so that when she turn
s
on me, and she
will
very much turn on me, I’d have proof, written and signed and the New Century Attorneys, who all know Marcia
,
Marcia
,
Marcia, by all three of her names, will have something tangible to work with.

I grabbed the
melting pint container
, tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder and cautiously
made my way downstairs.

“I’ll write up an amendment to make sure the refrigerator question is clear.”
I paused at the bottom of the stairs.

I held my breath and jumped over the pit.  If Ma
rc
ia hea
r
d the thump, she did not
comment
, she was too busy thinking of her clients.  I o
pened my new refrigerator.
I didn’t want the
old
refrigerator, but
appliances
are effective last minute negotiating items
.
“Would your clients like to see the house?” 

“We’ll be by at 3:00 tomorrow afternoon
,
”
s
he announced.
“Of course you can be there too, you don’t have any other offers
on the proper
t
y
pending, I checked. You’ll want to be at the house to meet your buyers.
Of course, and make sure the owner is out of the way.
”

Her arrogance rankled.
I glanced at the microwave as if knowing it was 9:36 PM would help.
I was still in Claim Jump, but
Marcia, Marcia, Marcia did
not
know that.

“There’s a lock box
on the front door.  Go
ahead a
nd
check it out
,
”
I offered. “The house looks just like i
t did during the Broker’s Open.
Yesterday.”

“Oh, okay.” She was clearly disappointed.  Was she hoping to disrupt my schedule?  Hoping I’d invite her to come over tonight? 
 

Good idea.
“Would you like to see the house again tonight?  You can go right over, I’m not there at the moment,
I’m with a new client,
but if you
r
clients are
anxious.
.
.
”
I trailed off.  It was a ridiculous offer, but one I couldn’t resist.

“No, no, tomorrow is soon enough
,
”
s
he admitted reluctantly.

“Really?
The
house is open anytime until midnight.” 

I knew to the pint how many Ben & Jerry’s cartons were stored
in my
River’s Bend
freezer, if she took one, I
’d
know who did it.

Marcia saved face by announcing she’d view the house tomorrow.  I tried to sound as gracious and lovely as I could muster.  Once she signed off, I considered jumping back in the car
and driving like a maniac to my house just so I’d have time to scrub the floors, paint the interior of the closets and trim the grass with manicure scissors
,
but I needed some rest.   I
leapt
bac
k
over the hole and wondered if
the piece of plywood Prue used for the dining room table would fit over this hole. 

I
punch
ed
the pillows again, dr
a
nk some soothing tea that did not live up to the little sleepy bear on the box and
ground
my teeth
all night
until I could reasonably rise
and
jump into the car and head back down to
River’s Bend to head Marcia, Marcia, Marci
a
off at the pass
.

Chapter
10

I
reached
my driveway
in record time, giving me
a good couple hours
to take a
dishcloth
and swipe at
the already polished
walls and floor.  I was pis
sed off
that I felt so compelled to come down to be here for Marcia’s clients. She co
uld walk them through the house
;
she didn’t need my help.
Yet I wanted to make sure nothing was missed. I want
ed
to explain.  I wanted to be here.  If I have this attitude about everyone who wants to see the house, I would be a wreck
in a
week;
the shower would merely
finish me off.

Emily called
as I was automatically loading more boxes into my car to be ready for the next trip up to Claim Jump.

“They have their caterer, his people just called to confirm.” Emily announced.

“You don’t sound pleased
,
” I
gripped a box by the top flaps and dragged it to the car.  They were all too
heavy for me to pick up,
which
begs a number of questions and would engender more than a few suggestions from Ben, but I was not in the mood to do this well, just in the mood to do it.

“His People?”  Emily, like
Carrie, can convey an eye roll over the phone.
“Really?”

“He is probably too busy flambéing or braising or pandering on his TV show to make his own catering calls.” I defended the indefensible.

“Really
,
”
Emily
h
uffed.

I stacked the boxes next to the car.  “Emily, we can still switch this, I can hold it here at my house, I have
no furniture, no books
so
it would be big enough if
we seat
fifty or so of the guests
in the driveway
.”

“
Fifty
people
standing around
in your driveway
?  No.  We’ll make d
o
, but I
don’t mind
tell
ing
you, I’ll be glad when this is over.
  What are you and Ben going to do?  You can hold the wedding here.
”

“
You are very sweet to offer, we don
’
t
know what we’re doing yet.
But thank you.
” I had been so intent on my conversation with Emily that I hadn’t heard the sounds from my own stoop.
As soon as I clicked off the phone, I heard them.
Shit,
Marcia, Marcia, Marcia
was ear
ly, just to catch me off guard. And it worked.
I almost tripped over the stack of boxes as I rushed through the kitchen and to the front door.

Marcia,
Marcia
,
Marcia
greeted me
in
the foyer.
She was alone.  I heard voices upstairs.
She had not knocked, but just let herself in
using the lock box
.
She could have knocked first.
  You never know what you’ll find when showing an occupied house:  owner
s just stepping out the shower,
owners in the throes of an argument, owners dead in the bedroom.  Many possibilities.  I
always
knock.

Marcia was decked out in a bright green blazer with her Green, Green and Green name tag
in
glitteri
ng gold.  She had clearly slept
better than me. Her make up was perfect and she was as calm as a
crocodile
ready to
grab a baby zebra at the watering hole
.

I stepped out of striking range.

“We will need both garage door openers,
” she started as her greeting.  “
I have t
wo on my list, you’ll probably need to hunt down the second remote since you are probably only
using
one.”
She made
the use of a single garage opener
sound pathetic
.
I steeled to keep my expression neutral
and resisted glancing at Marcia’s left hand.  My own ring was heavy and comforting
.
  Carrie had my other
garage opener
.  But I did not point that out.

“I’ll deliver the door openers after escrow closes.”

I pulled out a yellow legal pad from the front hall table.  I scribbled something she couldn’t see.  “What else did your buyers want to include?” 
I had already made the bed, but neglected scrubbing the tiles one more time.
I hoped they wouldn’t notice that the tiles weren’t
sparkling
.

“The
m
aster bedroom is
awfully
small, I don’t
think the king size water bed will fit in there, and there is no chandelier in the living room, that’s not very elegant. What will my friends say?
”  A
familiar
whine
floated down
from the second floor hallway
and
caused the hair on the back of my neck to
rise
.
I glanced up with quickly dawning horror.   It was Heather
Schultz
,
a young shallow girl with far more beauty that common sense or personality.  She
actually
worked
as an agent in our office for
a
few tortuous months,
then
changed her career to work for State Farm
Insurance
.  That company
recently
relocated to Bakersfield
,
which
I’m
not
so
sure was
n’t
a
reflection
on Heather, and now here she was.
In my house.
  Was I doomed to deal with everyone I disliked in a course of one short
week?  A
gentleman
who looked to be
in his late fifties
, fit, with a bland expression
,
followed Heather out of the master bedroom.
 

And Heather
hadn’t even called
us, her
former
office
and place of (albeit brief)
employment
,
to help her buy her house
. 
What will Rosemary and Katherine say about that?
Now that was something I could hardly wait to convey.  Maybe it would distract them from their squatters
-
in
-
the
-
foreclosure project.

I smiled tightly and addressed the
man
who trailed behind Heather.  He looked
well
enough to take on a woman half his age
, which was about right.
Heather simpered and eyed me with
an expression of
clear triumph.

“
Oh
,
hi Allison.
This is Hank, he’s buying me a new house
for a wedding gift
, isn’t that romantic?”  

The last time I saw Heather she was mocking me, along with the rest of a room full of agents
,
for finding another dead body in
one of my listings. I
may not forgive her for that. I may not forgive her for a number of things, but Heather never l
it on any one career or project
long enough
for me to get a clear sighting.
  I hoped Hank was up for her level of activity. He looked as if he may be.

He leaned around his lovely, young,
girlfriend
and shook my hand.  “Hank
Wilson,
nice to meet you. Your client has a beautiful place.”

Heather pouted a bit.  “But it’s not very big.”

I automatically bristled but resisted rising to her bait.

“It’s very big for your price range.” Marcia, Marcia
,
Marcia said severely.  “This is the thirtieth house we’ve seen this week, if
you want to stay in
River’s Bend
,
this is the last of your
choices
currently
on the market.”

“Don’t you have any of those pocket listings?”  Heather pouted. “I know about those, you keep all the good houses for yourselves
and don’t put them in that MLS thing.
I was in the business you know.”

She had been in the business for about fifteen minutes.  Heather made a terrible Realtor in that she always got lost.  She could
n’t
find her way back to her own house
even armed
with a GPS and
a
Google Map. 
I stepped back and fought to
suppress
a huge
smile from stretching across my face.
Oh sure, this was bad,
if Heather did like my house, the
escrow would be miserable and awful especially with Patricia so distracted.  But damn, thirty houses? 
(
In
probably more like a
week and half
,
Marcia, Marcia, Marcia was prone to exaggeration). And she had to save mine for last?  No one was having a good time in this partnership.  I was delighted.

“I can fire you, you know.” Heather continued, her glossy lips, a signature of hers, formed into an even more expressive pout.

“No,” I
defended Marcia
,
Marcia,
Marcia
out of
shear spite
.  “Don’t do that, you know Marcia,” I choked back the other two repetitions
,
“
i
s a bull dog when it comes to her clients. You know you want someone who will fight tooth and nail to make sure every light bulb is in place after the client moves out.”  I batted my eyes and dared Marcia, Marcia, Marcia to respond.

She riffled through
sheets
of MLSs printouts and stared at the ground.
What
on earth was she doing with all that paper?  No one used paper anymore. 

“You did count the light bulbs already?” I goaded her.  “You know
,
we don’t want anything to go unaccounted for and not written down
,”
I
wrote
a note on my
own paper
-intensive
notebook
.  I glanced up at the high ceiling in the foyer.  “Do you want to count the cobwebs as well?  Or should we assume they come with the house because they are clearly attached?”

I smiled gleefully.  I just needed the right, terrible, dark attit
ude.  Ho
sting
a shower with two
women carrying the sobriquet of the Furies will do that to a woman.

“Do you have the
p
est
report
we can review?” 
Marcia
asked me, not addressing anything I just suggested.
No sense of humor, or whimsy
, poor woman.

“
I’ll email them.
And the
p
est suggestions
as well
, everything is up to date
.” I
nodded
to Hank. “The refrigerator
may be
negotiable, but the price is not dropping.”  Not
if Heather wants it
.
I may
even
consider increasing the price
.

After they left,
I eyed my house and garage.  What would it cost to just have someone else come and take everything away?

When a house has been foreclosed
and abandoned,
the new owners
,
who look
very
much like
bank vice presidents
will
occasionally concede
that the house
, already an unwelcome asset,
would sell faster if the rotting food is removed from the refrigerator
and the rusted pick-up truck towed from the drive.
Often the only way
to
accomplish a th
or
ough cleaning
of a foreclosed house
is to order a trash out. 
In a trash out, a
group of professionals come into the house and strip it of every nasty, horrible thing from the back bath to under the house.