I needed a house.
I hate sales people--unless, of course, I'm doing the selling.
I'd taken a new job, moved across country and was juggling my time between the demands of a new boss and the need for a place to live. The wife stayed behind to continue her job until she could join me.
I don't like the games realtors' play. So, I wouldn't sign their agreements without crossing out some parts and had at least three of them looking at houses for me. I made sure they all knew it. I was considering some very upscale neighborhoods and the price tags (and commissions) were out of sight.
One of the realtors was Kathleen. I estimated her at age 40, with beautifully and expensively styled dark hair. She stood about 5'4." I estimated 125 pounds. Then there was her eyes--not just blue—china blue—steel blue—sky blue, I never could tell. They seemed to change with the situation.
On the negative side she was married. She and her husband owned the agency, which I learned had only 5 sales people all female, all very attractive. However, they probably did quite well as the agency concentrated only on the high-end houses. She drove me around town in the biggest Mercedes I had ever seen. She always looked so coolly business-like in her well-tailored pants suits carrying her little briefcase. Her black hair shone and her blue eyes constantly assessed me—the mark of a good sales person, always watching always thinking, trying to peer into my brain to gain her advantage.
I know. I'm in sales also.
I got all kinds of ideas, but unfortunately she not only had a big car, she also had that big diamond on her finger. I told myself to calm down and concentrate on the house. After all, there are a lot of beautiful women, and one should not mix money and getting laid.
After two weeks of looking, I had it down to two houses. As luck would have it, one was Kathleen's listing. I really liked both houses. I also convinced myself that I really did like her house because it was a good deal and not because of her. (And I think that is true)
I took a Friday off, determined to make a decision. I looked at the first house in the morning, and then met Kathleen after lunch. She was good. She didn't bug me, as she knew by now that I was as familiar as she with the house. I roamed, and she stayed in the den.
Upstairs, I made up my mind to take it.
The house still had the previous owner's furniture as they had to move quickly. I had the price I wanted so there was nothing to do but walk down stairs and sign. Kathleen and I had sparred for days. She made all the classic moves to close, and I deftly parried. I admired her style. She was good, so subtle in her sales techniques, yet effective. But what the hell I thought. I might want to try one more offer. A couple of thousand more wouldn't hurt. Besides it's fun, and I held all the cards. I'd made sure she knew that I'd been with the other realtor that morning. Plus, I knew I wanted the house. She could not know for sure.
As I came down the stairs, she was sitting on a custom-made bar stool looking through a window at the pool. She turned and looked into my eyes as always, trying to see if she had a deal--light blue they were--the gaze steady. I put on my best, perplexed look. "I don't know," I said shaking my head.
I could imagine the little calculator wheels turning in her head. I waited. Her move. She'd soon give me an opening, then I'd name a new "final" price. She'd excuse herself to phone to the owners with the new offer. I love the game. "Wait here," she said her eyes narrowed as she went out to the car.
Ten minutes later she was back. She had a bottle of wine in hand. "Sorry it's a little warm from the car, but we need to talk. Open this. It's Friday and you're my last appointment."
I poured into two crystal stems from the owner's cabinet. It was an excellent Pinot Noir.
"Let's go upstairs," she said, her eyes now a darker indeterminate shade. "I think there are a few features you may have missed." I admired her ass as we went up the stairs. How did she maintain that beautiful crease in the pants? Mine seemed to be so wrinkled. Then there were those small, heeled shoes peaking from the cuffs. So small, so exquisite... no no, I cautioned myself... this is business... money not sex.
Straight to the bedroom. The long golden ray of the late afternoon sun streamed through the wooden blinds casting her trim little body in sharp relief. Highlights danced in her hair. She crossed to the window, and fixing me with her now china blue eyes turned the mechanism that made them close.
"I suppose you've noticed the beautiful view from here?"
"It gets better."
I said nothing.
She moved to the closet and took out some coat hangers.
"Again, I want to point out the large walk-in closets."
"There're nice," I agreed.
Off came her suit coat, and she put it on the hanger. "You noticed the beautiful crown molding?" She brushed some imaginary dust off the sleeve.
She kicked off her shoes then slipped off her pants, folded them neatly and used a second wooden hanger. "The wallpaper could be changed. The owner wanted it to match the sheets and there is a whole collection of them that come with the house. Why don't you pull back the spread?" She concentrated on lining up the perfect creases in her pants.
I did what she asked. She was correct. The sheets contrasted nicely with the walls.
.... There is more of this story ...