Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

Tonight would be her first late shift and she wanted to get a few things done before having to check in at the library by noon.

Over the past couple days she’d spent her spare time looking through the paper and online at condo listings hoping to find something small, affordable and now more than ever, safe! Blanche was quite pleased with the modest nest egg resting in her Georgia Trust Bank Account. Not enough for anything extravagant by any means but nonetheless would hold her over in an emergency or make a nice little down payment on a small home or condo. The idea of a condo was appealing, no maintenance, no yard to mow and neighbors close by. From prior experience Blanche had learned that having neighbors nearby could be a double-edged sword. There’s always the jerk with the music too loud, the parties too often, the shirts unbuttoned to the navel with the gold chains and beer gut.

Blanche had often thought to herself when confronted with these brutes, “Are there really women out there that find you attractive, and if there are then God help us.”

Her last residence in Arizona had been a condo unlike any other she’d lived in before. The people were respectful, hard working, quiet and for the most part stayed to themselves, but were always pleasant when opportunities for interaction arose. On the other hand, she had lived in units where everyone knew or wanted to know everyone else’s business with a peeping tom thrown in for good measure. The last thing she wanted to do here in Valdosta was buy something before knowing all the facts. Like she’d heard a hundred times, location, location, location and being new to town she needed some help.

On this particular morning she had made an appointment with Beverly Davis of Southern States Realty. Her ad had been prominently displayed along with many others in the local paper but there was something about her smile that prompted Blanche to phone her. A five-minute conversation left Blanche with the following observations; Beverly was Southern, through and through, with a thick accent and an immediate distrust of Yankees. She was quite pleased to see that her latest client was from the West and not a Northerner. The realtor was anything but soft spoken, their conversation could have been heard at least one county over and Ms. Davis’ laugh began at her toes and worked up volume as it traveled upward. Blanche was pleased to discover that Beverly was a seasoned professional, appeared to know the area well and had the time to show her the town.

The meeting was scheduled at 10:00 a.m. with the office located not far from the library. Blanche arrived a few minutes early to make a positive impression and sat in the waiting room while the receptionist called Ms. Davis.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if Harvey says that property line is wrong or not, we had a surveyor out there last week to confirm that he’s squatin’ on my client’s property and he better get his act together or we’ll move our litigation forward!” A woman’s voice echoed down the narrow hallway promptly followed by a phone being slammed down on a cradle.

“What is it?” again from the back room as the receptionist made contact with the unmistakable Beverly in the rear office.

“Your ten o'clock is here.”

Then a more subdued voice, “I’ll be right out."

A moment later a woman who appeared to be in her late forties, short and thick, came walking briskly down the hallway, black curly locks swaying from side to side and the distinct sound of nylon on nylon with each advancing step.

“Well I’ll be, lookie here, you must be Ms. Delaney all the way from Arizona,” she said, extending her warm little hand, taking Blanche’s in a wrestler’s grip and pumping it up and down. “If you aren’t the prettiest little thing I’ve seen in some time. Men back home must be havin’ fits, losin’ one of the good en’s.”

It didn’t take Blanche long to recognize that the picture from the paper must have been at least 15 years and 50 lbs ago but she couldn’t help but like Beverly.

Ms. Beverly Davis, formerly Mrs. Beverly Davis Newton Marshall, had married her high school sweetheart, then 18, resulting in two children now grown and on their own, both living in Atlanta or “Hotlanta” as they liked to tell her. A few years back, in an effort to reduce and simplify her life, she had dropped the Newton and Marshall from her name and went back to her maiden name, Davis. Beverly had never been much of the motherly type, and really not much of the ‘loving wife type’ either. Thus her first marriage ended in a mutual parting of the way with no money, assets or property to dispute. Both sides were quite sure they didn’t want exclusive custody so joint custody was easily negotiated and the next 13 years were spent bouncing the kids back and forth a few weeks at a time.

Beverly had tried her hand at marriage a second time a few years back. Married a wealthy landowner from Charleston, with a love of bacon and all things deep-fried, that suffered a massive heart attack two years into the marriage resulting in his death. The past eight years had been spent fighting his estranged son over the estate, and just recently had signed the final documents entitling her to 50 % of the assets after the complete liquidation of the estate. Her lawyer estimated this would come to a cool 36 million once the legal firm got their cut.

She had started this journey an attractive businesswoman, eager to advance her position and anxious to help the buyers who trusted her expertise. Her journey, now ten years after her second marriage, much heavier, cynical and untrusting of people in general but still eager to please and she put on a good show. It didn’t take long for Blanche to learn all this and more about Ms. Davis as they cruised the streets of Valdosta looking over the neighborhoods and condo complexes.

By the end of the two hours Blanche was no closer to being a homeowner than she was prior to their meeting, but she had forged almost an instant bond with a woman who was funny, insightful and as her dad would have said, “full of piss and vinegar.” Beverly pulled her BMW coupe in front of the library, dug through her purse for a business card, extracted one and handed it to her client.

“I’ll do some searching and let you know what I find. I think I have a pretty good idea of what you want and need. I have to tell you though, I had the best time today and I’m not just saying that. Didn’t know the gals from the Wild West were so fun.”

“I’ll take that as a complement,” Blanche said, offering her hand in a warm embrace while exiting the car.

“So should I just wait to hear from you or what?”

“I think we should get together again in the next few days, if not to look at condo’s, I’d like to trash talk men again for a few hours,” Beverly said, with a laugh that made her jiggle all over.

“Sounds good Beverly, I’ll wait for your call.”

Beverly didn’t pull away from the curb until she saw Blanche enter the building. “Now that woman has got a nice can,” she said, as she thumbed through her Day-Timer looking for what she might do to fill the balance of her day. “Nothing for a couple hours, Dunkin Donuts here we come,” she thought, cranking up the tunes and engaging the autopilot in her head that knew exactly how to get to the closest donut shop.

Working in a library requires a certain skill set that only few possess and even fewer excel at, Blanche was one of the latter. There were hours of mind numbing boredom followed by intermittent periods of hustle requiring organizational skills and the ability to compartmentalize the tasks at hand. The trick was being able to juggle the two components without losing your mind. Keeping your mind active and alert was the secret and Blanche was a professional at this game. She knew that when it got boring the tendency was to become complacent, lazy and unsatisfied with the work and the job.