Selling Murder House

Chapter 4 (Continued)

"You really have nothing to feel offended about," Heather was saying while we browsed the racks at some overpriced boutique. "Personally, I love your style. It's like, laid-back, comfortable, kind of edgy . . ."

I was shopping with Heather and Sofia, looking for clothes that might be more suitable to Leo's idea of a professional agent.

"Like, I would never wear those thick combat boots with those leggings, but on you it looks great," Heather continued.

Sofia shot Heather a piercing glance that she seemed to miss. Heather was well-meaning, even if she was slapping me back-handed about my personal style, and Sofia was sweet for trying to spare me from her tactless friend.

Apparently, everyone thought my foul mood was due to Leo's comment about my clothes.

"You just need some more basics, Mary," Heather droned on, scanning the racks with practiced, manicured fingers. "Like this! Mary, this would look so amazing on you."

She held up a zebra-print blazer that I actually thought was kind of cool, in a weird way.

"I could never pull this off," Heather said, then held it up to me, "My boobs in this would make me look like a cow. But on you . . ."

"Heather, we get it, you have giant tits. Let's move on," Sofia said in such a serious tone that I had to laugh.

That seemed to give Heather the hint she'd been missing, and her cheeks turned pink with the realization. When we sank easily back into conversation, I realized I liked them all the more for their comfortable bickering.

Honestly, I hadn't even had the mental bandwidth to feel insulted by Leo's comment about my wardrobe. I was still reeling from the thought that he might know something about my credit card activity. Maybe the credit card company had called him about some unusual activity, or maybe he'd been going through the statements for budgeting and saw those charges . . . It wasn't impossible, in fact, it was probable, I realized. How had I been so stupid to think I could slide thousands of dollars past him?

But if he knew about the charges, why hadn't he confronted me? Why hadn't he fired me?

Maybe he didn't know, but if he didn't, he would find out very, very soon if I couldn't pay it back. Leo had something against me, whether or not it had to do with the charges. He was setting me up to fail, fast and hard. I was an agent, with no market, no contacts, and essentially no hope.

And nothing to lose, I thought. The voice came from somewhere deep in the dark depths of my brain. The voice was angry, low but confident, reverberating with energy. It scared me.

Once we were done shopping, Sofia, Heather and I got lunch at a little corner cafe down the road. It was chilly and breezy, but the sun was shining so we sat outside on the patio. We ate salads with smoked salmon and poached eggs and drank rose wine. As I ate and drank and basked in the sun, I felt something shift somewhere deep within me. Leo had attacked me, Lilian had abandoned me, and now I owed them both a lot of money. But I was here, I realized then, I was fine. None of my problems, no matter how big they seemed, could destroy me. My mentality was adjusting to this new normal, this new baseline of stress and anxiety. Nothing to lose . . .

But everything to gain. I was an agent, certified and, according to the Real Estate Association, qualified. I had a brokerage behind me, at least for now, and I had friends with a ton of experience. I could do this if I tried. I could make everything right again. I wanted to try. I needed to.

Outside my thunderstorm of a brain, the energy was light and happy at the table. I pulled myself out of the darkness and into the light.

"So," I said between pink sips. "How did you guys get your start in the business? Any advice for a newbie like me?"

"Oh my god, it feels like forever ago," Sofia said, looking wistful. "God, you won't believe this Mary, but before I had any contacts I used to go door-to-door, like some kind of lawn care salesman."

"I did too!" Heather chimed in, brightening with nostalgia. "It's kind of a right of passage, I think. I swear someone actually hit me in the nose slamming their door on me once."

We laughed.

"You're lucky, Mary," Sofia said. "I'm sure you have a whole database on contacts already, from all your work in the industry. When we started, we were like newborn babies."

Sofia dropped me off at home (I was carrying way too many shopping bags to walk, Sofia insisted) and when I slumped on the couch my head was spinning. I couldn't figure out if it was because I was utterly exhausted, or whether I had so much excess energy I couldn't look in any one direction.

I forced myself to stand up and put on a new outfit. I couldn't sit idle, alone with my thoughts, not after the day I'd had, or the month I'd had. Plus, there was one dress Sofia had picked out that I was particularly excited to wear -- a black and white houndstooth dress, with long sleeves and a v-neck. The skirt of the dress hugged what little curves I had, accentuated them, made me look like a grown-up. I slipped on a new pair of black heels and stood in front of the mirror.

Before me stood a woman, not small, not boyish, not lanky. The dress made me look like a woman, like a woman who was going out to get shit done. It was like seeing myself through someone else's eyes, I realized, staring at my own reflection, someone who didn't know I was lost and young, and confused and so, so afraid.

I thought about what Sofia had said at lunch, about how she had started from the bottom and worked her way up. I'm sure you have a whole database on contacts, she had said, and had there been a hint of jealousy in her voice? Did Sofia really think I had contacts? I looked at myself in the mirror, and maybe, if I didn't look too hard, I could see why Sofia might assume I was ahead. I hadn't always felt so small, I remembered then, so meek and vulnerable. Just because Leo thought I was, didn't mean everyone did, and it didn't mean I had to agree.

I pulled the tags off the dress. Whoever that was in the mirror, she looked like she was more than qualified to make a few house calls.