Chapter 8

Atwood nodded, "So, tell me your license is current, your surety bond is good, and when you can start. I don't dare let you out that door. Someone else would grab you and I'd never get that office next door opened."

"I don't know ... I mean, I'm really on vacation ... this was sort of a spur of the moment kind of thing, I've only had one job in my life. I was just curious to see if I..."

Atwood threw his head back and roared with laughter. Gail couldn't help but smile and laugh a little herself. He finally stopped long enough to say, "Damn, I got me a Texas Land Title Association licensed escrow officer and she wasn't even looking for a job."

Atwood took a deep breath, "I'm teasing you, Gail, and I shouldn't." He paused a moment then said, "Look, you saw that space next door. I have at least a week, or just a little longer, before I will be able to put a desk in there for you. It's going to be dust and blue jeans and boxes around here for at least the next two or three weeks and maybe longer. We have to cut holes in walls and in between that I have all these files that are going to be closing plus other work that needs to be done. I'm drowning and I'm looking for someone I can turn some of this over to. If you are interested, I'll take you today, like you are, and we'll work out the details later."

"Yes sir, I'd like the job, but I think I have a problem. I don't speak Spanish."

"Uh oh, now that might be tough. But we can probably do something about that, at least to get you on your way. Petra can help some. At least she can sit in with anyone who just cannot understand simple English. Do you know what an ESL language course is?"

"Ah ... Is that English as a Second Language, or something like that?"

"Right you are. My wife, bless her heart, does it the other way around, she's a Mexican National. My daughter—in—law teaches ESL at a little branch of a junior college. My wife works with all the, excuse the phrase, Yankees who come down here, working for big business. They're usually associated with some of the Maquiladoras across the border. She teaches them to operate in Spanish. Some of them might know Spanish, big business does that for their executives, but they can't "talk" it. So, the wife has an evening, once a week, where they come and go and the only rule is 'No English Spoken Here'.

"Those businessmen get to mingle with each other, which they enjoy and profit from, and a few of the business people from across the border wander in occasionally. So I can get you into those meetings. I'd sort of like to do that anyway. They all know me, but they think I'm just an old lawyer. You'd be able to promote yourself and we might get a little commercial business out of it. In the meantime, Petra can help. What do you say?"

"Goodness, oh my, I'm speechless. I don't know what to say. I guess the best thing for me to do is just say, 'Yes' as fast as I can and leave, before you change your mind."

"Great, but I don't want you to leave. Let me take you out front and introduce you to Petra. She takes care of me. She knows less than half as much about this as you do, and you can teach her while she helps you, too. She's got a green card, meaning she's here as a legal resident, but she's sort of dithering on whether to try to become a US Citizen. I think she has a lot of family over there. I can't even begin to look at getting her licensed until that happens and she can meet all the other requirements. I'm hoping I can retire by then, or at least slow down a little. I'm so far behind in my fishing that all the trout in the bay will be grandmothers many times over before I ever start catching up."

Atwood described the other people who worked in the office, including a receptionist who was on the last week of her vacation, an abstractor—researcher, a part—time runner who worked afternoons, and a bookkeeper in another office of the small commercial strip of offices. He was hoping to get everyone in one location and would take over another section if he absolutely must, but would prefer not to do so. He hesitated a moment and said he would hire an assistant for Gail as soon as she said she couldn't keep up.

What began as curiosity, turned into a full day of filling out a real employment application, signing up for health and life insurance, which would be automatically deducted from a salary that was at least three times what she was making at her previous job, with the promise of a commission structure in six months. Petra helped Gail clear off a table in one of the office's workrooms for her to work at, and they found a chair for her to sit in before she ever picked up a file to look at.

True to Atwood's description of Petra's skills, Gail was soon collecting one file after another, reviewing what each file represented, usually the purchase and sale of residential property. A few files included a variety of the legal difficulties and encumbrances both buyer and seller had encountered in their lives that made homeownership a challenge. It took only a short time for Gail to realign her mental arrangement of a file to match the way Petra had files arranged.

Petra said Atwood usually handled most of the work on the commercial transfers. She just collected the forms and documents he gave her. There was often a great deal more to those files than a simple transaction involving the real property. Some included tax abatements, future highway frontage, or entrance and exit ramps. So all Gail needed to do was acquaint herself with the residential files.

Mid—afternoon Gail looked up at Atwood standing in the door of the workroom, "Are you a coffee drinker?"

"Yes sir."

"Then come with me, Petra has a fresh pot brewing. I don't even know your middle name yet and I'm working you like a dog."

For the next hour or so, the three new friends traded information, learned a little about each other and in general decided Petra was overworked, Atwood was overworked, and Gail complained she was overworked too so she wouldn't have to take any more files than the dozen or so already on her desk.

"But, Gail, you saw all those files in my office. They stack up faster than Petra can find room in the file cabinets, so who am I going to turn all that over to?"

"Then you better find a larger file room, or turn business down."

Atwood threw his hand over his heart and moaned, "Her first day on the job and she's trying to give me a heart attack." He straightened up and said, "No, I'm not, but that's part of why I'm taking over that other space. See, I own this whole strip of offices. The equipment room is behind us and that space next door is a lot deeper, so there's a lot more room. But most important of all, I'm going to take all the old files out of my wife's garage, or she will never speak to me again. I promised her a new car for her birthday and she said she won't go pick one out until she has a garage to put it in. Petra's going to get Olivia's old car because I feel guilty every time I see Petra walking to work when her old clunker has broken down again."

Gail's eyes twinkled, "Now let me see, I'm going to need an apartment. Oh yes, and since my furniture is almost two hundred miles away, I could use a house full of furniture. Let me see, what else do I need? Oh yes, a wardrobe, I'm here on vacation with jeans and shorts. I bought this dress and these shoes this morning so I wouldn't look like a practical joke asking for a job. Yeah, I guess that about does it. If I think of something else, I'll let you know and you can take care of me, too."

Atwood said, "Now wait a minute." Then he turned to Petra and said, "Go make me a sign or something, like 'Under Construction' for the front door. Then you two can wear jeans or whatever for a couple of weeks. Will that work? I'll think about the furniture, but a house I cannot do, they can't build them fast enough around here, so your name would just go on a waiting list."

Gail leaned back in her chair, much as Atwood did when he faked his heart attack. "Darn, I guess I'll just have to keep living with Howard."

"Howard, Howard who? Hey, you're Howard Pleas wife, aren't you? You're the one Billy bargained a dance with in exchange for accepting Howard's apology. I thought you said your name is Fisher."

"My goodness, does everyone in town know about that dance?" Gail asked.

"They may not know about the dance," Atwood explained, "but they sure as hell know when Billy Ramsey accepts an apology. If his daddy wasn't the sheriff in this county, he would have been in jail since he was nine years old and lost his temper over a game of marbles on the playground."

Gail nodded, "Ah ha, that's why Howard talked to the sheriff. Now I understand. I guess small town personalities aren't any different from big town ones. My father is a police officer. He resigned and moved to another town because he got tired of doing favors for all of the brass's cronies. Then he found out it wasn't any different at his new job."

"Yes," Atwood agreed, "and you will discover it is even worse this close to the border and all the different layers of relatives. I'm an old man and I can say things young folks won't say. Latinos are wonderful people, I'm married to one, but they are also a clannish people, worse even than the Irish, and I'm Irish."

Atwood stood and said, "Okay girls, I have a closing in a few minutes. Oops. Gail, don't take offense to me calling you one of my girls. That's how I think of you and it would be less than honest if I tried to comply with all those workplace requirements about discrimination. That's why I need to retire. I'm seventy—two years old and that's too old to change."

"I don't know, Atwood" she said and paused then blushed when she saw Atwood look at her warily, "I sort of like it, myself."

When Gail arrived at the hardware store to pick up Howard, she walked around the front of her truck to let Howard drive them to his room above the garage at Frank's house. Before she could complete her trip around the truck, Howard stopped her.

"Wow, I should take you on a parade up and down the main street of town. You are one beautiful woman in that dress. Oh—oh—oh even high heel shoes. Did I ever tell you how much I like high heels? Dang, you have gorgeous legs." Howard stood looking at Gail, backing up a step to take in all of the complete change from the jeans and sneakers person he had known for so many days.

Showing a little exasperation, Gail complained, "Howard, be serious for one minute, I'm trying to tell you that I have a job."

"Nope, can't be serious until I've had at least one kiss." He took a step forward and stood as close as he dared, grinning at her, "And I might need more than that."

"You are a thoroughly crazy man sometimes." Gail blushed and looked around to see who might be watching them. "Did you know that?"

"Yes," Howard nodded, "and I still want my kiss and I'm not leaving here until I get it."

"Right out here, in front of God and everybody, you expect me to kiss you?" Gail looked around again seeing a car pull up in front of the store. "At least get in the truck and drive us out of the parking lot."

"Nope. I'm not getting in the truck." He shook his head and moved just a little closer. "I need a kiss and it's not mannerly to force a woman, but I might consider it. I need that kiss."

"Howard," Gail lowered her voice, hoping no one would hear her. "People are watching."

"I don't care, let 'em watch, maybe they'll learn something and I know they'll be jealous."

Gail blushed, again, her face getting hot and she knew it was redder than usual. When she looked up at Howard, he was grinning. "Oh alright, I don't care either," she finally admitted. He took one more step forward and put his arms around her at the same time she put her hands on his chest and tilted her face up to his.

After Howard released her mouth and brushed her hair behind one ear, they both turned to the sidewalk when a man hollered, "Hey, Howard, you gonna let us kiss your wife, too?"

Howard raised his voice, "Don't think so, Pepper, she's spoke for," Howard said as he put him arm around Gail and walked beside her to the passenger door and then turned again to tell his boss, "Besides, your wife wouldn't like it."

When Howard was finally inside the truck, Gail asked, "You want to tell me what that was all about?"

Howard cleared his throat, "Almost every person I've spoken to today has congratulated me on getting married."

Gail put her head in her hands and groaned, "Oh my lord." Then she looked up, "I was telling you I have a job. I worked almost all day for Atwood Abstract. Atwood said the same thing. "Oh, you're Howard Pleas' wife, aren't you?" or some words to that effect."

"What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. If I say, 'No I'm not, ' people will ask me why I'm living with you. I don't want to talk about the hospital putting your last name on ... I just don't want to talk about that. If I say, 'Yes, ' and then move into an apartment, they will think I'm leaving you and want to know what happened.