Chapter 11: Manon

Work was a hassle. My class schedule forced me to leave Emily at the college daycare center while I was in class. I didn’t want her to be in daycare while I worked, too. But we were just coming into the prime listing/selling season. I needed an inventory if I was going to make money this spring and summer. I made phone calls with Emily sitting on my lap. I did neighborhood research with Emily on my back. I pulled comps and did market research with Emily asleep in her stroller beside me. And I made cold calls in the neighborhood with Emily in a chest carrier to keep her warm.

“Oh! Well, we have been trying to decide if it will be a good market this spring. We were thinking of moving to a bigger place. My wife is pregnant. Is that a baby?”

“Yes. This is little Emily. She’s learning to sell real estate. You can’t start too young.”

“Well, come in. Honey! There’s an agent from that real estate company here. The one who sent us a postcard.”

“Good timing! Bring her in and let’s talk!” the wife said from the kitchen. They introduced themselves. I already knew they were Robyn and Donald Silverman. I did research before I did cold calls. She offered me coffee or tea and I accepted tea. I’d never acquired a taste for coffee, even though I drank one occasionally.

“This really is good timing. We were just sitting at the dinner table discussing whether or not this was going to be a good time to sell,” Donald said.

“But really, it wasn’t much of a conversation when you’ve got two little ones to take care of. You know how it is with children,” Robyn said. “But you have such a little angel.”

“She’s usually pretty content to just cuddle and nap about this time. You’re expecting again?”

“Yes. You know men. They talk about chastity belts for women, but I might have to get a padlock for his zipper. Every time I walk by ... You just wait. You’ll see what I mean before long. Men only give you two months before they want sex again!”

“Robyn! You’ll scare her. Let’s talk real estate,” Donald said, rolling his eyes. Nonetheless, I noticed his hand was on her thigh, around her shoulders, or under her butt the entire time we talked. I sort of thought she was handling him just as much.

It was cool. It gave me a strange sense of hope that there were relationships between men and women where the two were really into each other, like Lily and I were.

We didn’t sign a contract, but I was pretty confident that we would. Robyn was a little surprised at how young I was. But I showed them my sales record for the past six months and they were pretty impressed. I’d visited my two listed clients the first of December to find out the level of urgency they had for the sale. Both were fine with taking a three-month break, so we suspended the listings until March. The Silvermans’ house would be a perfect addition when I did my spring promotion. I had the campaign all planned and Gordon was on board with it. I knew he was egging on his other agents to get listings, but no one seemed to have the drive to get a listing. And without inventory, you were at the mercy of other agents. Like me.

“Your paper shows a unique perspective,” the note from Professor Sutton said. “Unfortunately, Massenet had quite a different opinion of the opera. Still. He’s dead. I’m giving you an ‘A’ for this and encourage you to keep developing your views. Opera critics seldom reflect what the composer intended.”

Music Appreciation was another of those classes that had two hundred people in it. A liberal arts education had to include certain introductory classes that were simply required. Most of the arts classes—Music Appreciation, Art Appreciation, and Intro to Theatre—were overfilled auditoriums that had three lectures a week. We’d already gone through the part of the course where Professor Sutton played excerpts from famous classical pieces and had us identify them. Then he brushed through some theory and finally he was on to his obvious passion, opera.

My class requirement included two papers of which I’d submitted the first and received my grade with a sigh of relief. But I was concerned that we were coming up to the spring opera and everyone was required to put in fifteen hours of work on the set, costumes, props, or production. That included anything from helping dress the singers to pulling the curtain. I was sitting outside Professor Sutton’s office waiting for an appointment to discuss my problem with fifteen hours of ‘community service.’ I had a baby, damn it!

And already I was running late to daycare because he was running late with his office hours.

His door opened and a boy came out of the office. Okay. Young man. He was a male of the species. He was kind of cute in a gangly, long-haired, scraggly kind of way, but lately, every boy I saw seemed kind of cute. He flopped down on a chair and Dr. Sutton’s secretary rolled her eyes.

“Didn’t go well?” she asked.

“Not terrible, but ... Hey,” he said turning to me. “You’re next. Just try to put him in a good mood before I have to go back in, okay?” I looked at him a little strangely. “I’m Bruce Wayne, technical director. And no, I am no relation to Batfuckingman. Better go in. Sorry he’s not in a better mood.” I looked at the secretary. She nodded her head toward the open door and I stepped up to it.

“Come in. Come in! I don’t bite. I’m impressed with your paper on Manon. I’m actually anxious to hear what you have to say about it after you see the production.”

“I can’t believe you actually read and remember my paper. There are at least two hundred people in that class,” I said.

“Yes, and it’s only one class. Fortunately, Music Theory and Tenor Voice do not have as many students. Bartleby only gave me the top ten papers to review. He graded the others.”

“Bartleby?” I said. Doctor Vern Sutton had a presence that overflowed his office. I realized I hadn’t closed the door.

“Sit, girl! Sit, sit, sit! Let’s have a little chat. It will distract me from Batman’s problems.” He motioned me to the chair and I sank into it. “Bartleby is what we all call Tom Davis, the TA in Music Appreciation. He has to read the papers. We call him Bartleby after Bartleby the Scrivener: A Story of Wall Street. Are you familiar with it? Of course, you aren’t. All anyone knows of Melville is Moldy Dick. Three years ago, when Bartleby was a senior, he played the lead in Libby Locke’s delightful operetta, Bartleby the Scrivener, an adaptation of Melville’s short story. When I asked him this year if he’d like to be my TA, he completely deadpanned and said, ‘I’d rather not.’ But he is and I’m delighted that he referred your paper to me. Now where were we?”

“Well, Dr. Sutton, it’s about the requirement of fifteen hours of work on the production. I am afraid I have to request a hardship deferment. In addition to school, I have a full time job and I am a single parent of a three-month-old. I can barely keep up with my studies and if I don’t work I don’t eat,” I said.

“Oh!” he gasped, clutching his heart. “I wish Libby were here to write your story. But it’s too early. We need to see you in twenty years. Batman!” he sang out.

There was a scramble in the office and the technical director appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, Vern?”

“All is forgiven. Here’s your model. Do it exactly as you have designed it. I’ll approve the extra budget. But DON’T GO OVER IT! I can actually see where Lescaut sings ‘Don’t hold me back’ to Guillot. And yes, you may take the door from the office of the old church.”

“Really?” Bruce asked.

“Absolutely. However, you are to take our new opera critic, here, and work out a fulfillment to her practicum requirement at her convenience. Mark that, Batman. At her convenience. If you have to sit with her and explain the position of the doorway at midnight while her baby cries in her arms, you will do it. Whatever is necessary, Batman. Everyone in my class fulfills their requirement. And in May, we will waltz!”

“Um ... Thank you, Vern. We’ll make it the best ever. As long as Cindy can get the costumes done, we’ll get everything else.”