I Still Dream About You: A Novel (41 page)

F
OR MAGGIE, LIFE WAS JUST GETTING BETTER AND BETTER. IN
addition to her cooking classes, she was now taking driving lessons. Just as she was walking out the door this morning, headed for the office, the kitchen phone rang.

“Maggie? It’s Mitzi. Listen, honey, I’m just heartbroken to have to make this call, but poor David’s company has been so whipped around by this awful economy thing. He’s not going to get to retire when we thought.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yes, can you believe it? He’s going to have to stay in New York at least another three years and help them get it straightened out and try to make sure his clients don’t lose everything.”

“Oh, Mitzi, I am so sorry.”

“Well, me too, but the worst part is, honey … we can’t keep Crestview and our place here, and as much as we hate to, we’re going to have to just turn right around and sell it.”

Maggie’s heart dropped, and she sat down. “I see.”

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am. I know you think I’m silly, but I practically had the place furnished and was already planning the parties I was going to give and everything.”

After she hung up, she felt badly for poor Mitzi and also for
Crestview. She was afraid she would never be able to find more perfect people than Mitzi and David.

Later, when Maggie walked into the office, Ethel looked up and greeted her with even worse news.

“Little Harry died,” Ethel said.

“Oh, no. When?”

“Sometime yesterday.”

“What happened? What was it?”

“They didn’t say; just old age, I guess. But we need to send flowers or something, don’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely. Oh, poor Little Harry. I’m surprised he lived as long as he did. You know he must have been so lonely without Hazel.”

“I’m sure he was.”

“Little Harry must have been what? Eighty? Eighty-five?”

Ethel shook her head. “No, Little Harry was not that old; he was at least ten years younger than Hazel. I don’t know if he knew or not, but he was. Anyhow, you know what this means, don’t you? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s curtains for Red Mountain Realty. I always said, ‘The minute Harry goes, his family will sell the company.’ ”

Maggie nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“I know I am. The lawyer just called ten minutes ago, asking to see the books.”

“Oh really, did he say why?”

“He said he wanted to look them over before he sent them to an interested party, and I’ll give you three guesses who the interested party is. Hint: she’s been circling over our heads like a buzzard for years.”

“Does Brenda know yet?”

“Oh yes, she was here when the lawyer called.”

“Was she upset?”

“Does a cat have a tail?”

“Where is she?”

“Back in her office, I guess.”

Maggie walked down the hall and called out, “Brenda. Where are you, honey?”

But at that moment, Brenda was already walking in the front
door of the Krispy Kreme doughnut shop six blocks away. The idea of Babs Bingington taking over Hazel’s company made her sick. She needed a doughnut, and she needed it right now. Brenda sat down at the counter, looked the waitress in the eye, and said, “I want a dozen glazed, a dozen assorted, and four cinnamon buns to go, and bring me a coffee and two jelly doughnuts for here.” Her cell phone started ringing, but she ignored it. It might be her Overeaters Anonymous sponsor; she had not called this morning, but Brenda was in no mood to be saved from herself.

Ten minutes later, just as she was about to bite into another jelly doughnut, she heard a familiar voice behind her saying, “Okay, Brenda, step away from the counter!”

Brenda froze in her seat. It was Ja’ronda Jones, her Overeaters Anonymous sponsor!

“You heard me. Step away from the doughnuts; put the doughnut down now!”

Brenda knew you didn’t fool with Ja’ronda; she was a six-foot-one retired policewoman and could do you some real harm if she wanted to. Brenda slowly placed what was left of her doughnut back on the plate, and before she knew it, Ja’ronda had snatched up her purse and had her by the arm, walking her out the front door. The girl called out, “Don’t you want your to-go order?”

“No, she doesn’t,” said Ja’ronda.

Not only was Brenda losing her job, she had just been ratted out by a fellow member of Overeaters Anonymous, who’d happened to be driving by and had seen Brenda’s car, with the Red Mountain Realty sign on the door, parked in front of the doughnut shop. It was that
damn
car’s fault! Some days, it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.

Maggie sat at her desk and continued to dial Brenda’s cell phone number, feeling pretty low herself. After all of her hard work, Babs Bingington would wind up with the listing on Crestview after all. What had ever made her think things were looking up?

T
HE VERY NEXT
day, their worst fears had come true. The sale happened so fast, one couldn’t help but wonder if the lawyer and Babs
hadn’t had everything in place before Little Harry died. Four days later, the lawyer came to the office to explain the transition to the staff of Red Mountain Realty. The terms were simple. They were to be out of the office in two weeks, and at that time, all their existing properties under contract were to be absorbed into the parent company, and they were to turn in their leased cars on the last day.

Ethel said, “I don’t suppose we can expect any sort of severance pay.”

The lawyer shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, the new owner feels that two weeks’ notice is sufficient.”

Ethel said, “So after fifty-six years with the company, it’s ‘Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry’? If I were a drinking woman, I’d buy a bottle of champagne—and hit her over the head with it.”

The lawyer smiled. “I understand how you feel, Ms. Clipp,” he said while pulling out yet another set of papers. “However, I wouldn’t let it bother me too much if I were you. The previous owner, Hazel Whisenknott, made certain arrangements that I think will more than make up for it.”

I
N
THE 1980S, WHEN THE WORLD HAD GONE LITIGATION-CRAZY, AND
so many frivolous lawsuits had been filed against businesses, Hazel had quietly transferred her other company, L.P. Investments, into Harry’s name. They all knew that Harry owned another company that handled a few commercial real estate holdings. But what they hadn’t known was that in the late 1950s, when land was cheap, L.P. Investments had quietly bought block after block of property on the south side, the same property where the huge University of Alabama Medical Center sat today. Although Hazel had lived modestly, she had died a very wealthy woman. Naturally, being a smart businesswoman, she had wanted to protect herself, so if either company was hit with a lawsuit, the lawyers would not be able to tie up everything she owned. At that time, Hazel had verbally specified to Little Harry that if anything happened to her and he sold the companies, he was to make sure that all the current members of Team Hazel were well taken care of. And so, according to her wishes, they were to share 50 percent of the profits from Red Mountain Realty and L.P. Investments. Since there were only three members of Team Hazel left, the lawyer handed each a check for $8,278,000! He went on to explain to them that they would each have to pay income tax
on the original amount, but even after taxes, Team Hazel would still be sitting pretty. All three were astonished.

Brenda was the first one able to speak. “But I’ve never heard of L.P. Investments. Who is L.P.?”

The lawyer checked the original and informed her that L.P. wasn’t a person at all. “L.P.” stood for “Lucky Penny.”

L
ATER, AFTER THEY
got over the initial shock and could think straight, they all started talking about what they were going to do with their money.

Ethel said she was going to take a trip around the world, get a new hip and a face-lift and cataract surgery.

“I’m putting mine in the bank,” Brenda said, “and keeping my mouth shut. If those nephews of mine find out I’ve got money, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“What are you going to do, Maggie?” Ethel asked. “Have you decided yet?”

Maggie knew exactly what she was going to do. She smiled. “I’m going to buy Crestview.”

That night, David and Mitzi were thrilled when she called and told them. Mitzi said, “Oh, Maggie, as much as I hate to give it up, I can’t help but wonder if you weren’t supposed to have it all along. Isn’t it strange how things work out?”

After she hung up, Maggie had to smile. It wasn’t so strange how things had worked out. Hazel had been right about people all along; they never do really die, they just go on and on. Just when they had thought that all was lost, little Hazel had come riding in on her white horse and saved them once again. Now everything made sense. No wonder Hazel had stopped her from jumping in the river. After all, Hazel had always said “Don’t give up before the miracle happens.” And if this wasn’t a miracle, Maggie didn’t know what was.

A
FEW DAYS
afterward, Audrey got home from the Brookwood Mall and stopped at her mailbox and was surprised to see a personal letter
addressed to her. She rarely ever received a real letter anymore. It was always bills or ads or a fake letter that was really an ad. But inside this envelope was a cashier’s check made out to her for a hundred thousand dollars; no note, just the check. She didn’t know who had sent it or if it was a real check or a fake, so she didn’t want to get too excited until she could go down to the bank and find out, on the off chance that it was real. Oh, the things she would do. The first thing she would do would be to get all dressed up and take herself out to a fine restaurant and enjoy herself for a change. Why, she could think of a hundred little things she needed and some she didn’t.

The same day, the Visiting Nurses Association and the Humane Society received nice checks, and a fund for the annual Hazel Whisenknott Easter Egg Hunt was established. Maggie thought her friend would have liked that.

M
AGGIE COULD HARDLY
believe it. Her life was going to have a happy ending after all. Crestview would be hers. She could hang Thanksgiving corn on the door, Christmas lights, Halloween witches, flags on the Fourth of July; place eggs and baskets of white lilies on the front lawn at Easter. It would be hers to decorate forever. To Maggie, it wasn’t just the house, the bricks and stone. It was the idea behind it; it was a constant reminder of beauty, grace, and symmetry. To her, Crestview was a dream that one man had imagined, a dream that had come true and still stood all these many years later. And then, too, something Hazel used to say about the one little candle came to mind. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was supposed to keep that one little candle burning as best she could. If nothing else, who knew, maybe someday a little girl might look up on the mountain and be inspired the way she had been. There had to be something left for people to look up to and dream about, didn’t there?

O
F COURSE
, E
THEL
said that with all our problems these days, it was just the beginning of the end for Western civilization. Maybe so, but
Maggie, for one, was going to hang on to it for as long as she could because no matter what ugly things people said about it, she
liked
Western civilization. It was just so civilized. And, okay, maybe we weren’t perfect, but my heavens, hadn’t we given the world movie stars, musical comedies, electricity, baseball, hot dogs and hamburgers, not to mention Disneyland? And if anyone thought women would give up their equal rights now that they had them, they needed to talk to Brenda. She, for one, could tell them that that just wasn’t going to happen. Just like the old iron statue of Vulcan, Maggie would stand up on the hill overlooking the city she loved. And just the other day, she had seen a bumper sticker on a car being driven by a young man that read,
LIFE DOESN’T SUCK!
Crudely put, perhaps, but the message was certainly hopeful … She hadn’t liked the way she’d started out in life, but she sure loved the way she was ending up. Maggie began to think that maybe she didn’t have to change. Maybe it was all right to be who she was. Just a little bit out of step with the rest of the world, but very happy.

Then all of a sudden, an idea hit her. Hazel had always said, “Look around and see what the public needs, then supply it.” That was it. She certainly could see the need, and she could supply it. She went to her desk and started to turn on her computer, but then stopped. No, something as important as this should be written by hand; at least the first draft. She pulled out a sheet of paper and started outlining the chapters for her new book entitled:

Real Estate Etiquette
by
Margaret Anne Fortenberry

Outline

Chapter One

    For Sellers

    Showing Your Home

Chapter Two

    For Buyers

    Looking for a Home