Fannie Flagg - I Still Dream About You

An hour later, Hazel walked into her office at Red Mountain, and Maggie was waiting for her in tears. “Hi, sweetie,” Hazel said as she threw her purse on the desk and jumped up into her chair.

“Oh, Hazel, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault; I should have checked everything before I left. The Caldwells are coming back tomorrow, and I’ve ruined their house.”

Hazel dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Oh, don’t be silly. You haven’t ruined anything; it’s just water. Don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing; these things happen. What time are they coming back?”

“Around noon.”

Just then, Ethel walked in, still in her purple church outfit, and sat down at her desk with a wave to Hazel. Hazel smiled at Maggie. “You just relax; we’ll take care of it,” she said as she flipped open her overstuffed Rolodex. Hazel’s desk had a row of large black phones, each with five lines that lit up. Maggie had heard that Hazel was a master at working the phones, but she had never really seen her in action before. She watched in amazement as Hazel began dialing and punching from line to line, with the ease and finesse of a concert piano player:

Punch . “John! Hazel. Hey, doll, I’m sorry to bother you at home on a Sunday, but how fast can you get some fans up to Crest Road? We have a little flooding problem. I know it is, but can I count on you, honey? I surely would appreciate it if you could. Ah, thanks, John. You’re my hero. Ethel will call you back with all the details.”

Punch . “Hey, is Al there? Tell him it’s Hazel. I’ll hold.”

Punch . “Danny? Hazel. Listen, hon. I’m gonna need a cleaning crew A.S.A.P. I know it’s short notice, but I really do need you to do me this favor, okay? You know I’ll make it up to you… Aww… Thanks, Danny. Ethel will be calling you back with the details.”

Punch . “Pete. Hazel. Hey, doll, I need to have some floors waxed and polished by ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Can you do that for me? Ten? I knew I could count on you… Hold for Ethel.”

Punch . “June? Hazel. Darling, I need a big favor; I need some curtains dry-cleaned by the morning. You know I’ll make it up to you… Uh-huh, by around ten? Oh thanks, hon, I’ll dance at your wedding for this one… And you tell that good-looking husband of yours I said hello. All right. Hold on for Ethel.”

Punch . “Hello? Oh yeah, I think six fans ought to do it… Okay, doll.”

Punch . “Al… It’s Hazel. We have a little emergency, and I sure could use a big favor. If I get some rugs over to you this afternoon, can we get them cleaned, by in the morning? Hold on, hon…”

Punch . “Mrs. Wilmer… It’s Hazel Whisenknott. Could you have Tom call me A.S.A.P. here at the office? I’m gonna need him to take down some curtains for me and get them over to June and bring some rugs downtown to Al. Right… And how’s your granddaughter? Good, well, I’m glad she enjoyed it. Hold for Ethel, and she’ll give you the details.”

Punch . “Al, thanks for holding. Listen, hon, I’m waiting for a call back from Tom, but as soon as I hear, I’ll have him call you, and you tell him where he can drop them off. Well, thank you , and you’re a sweetheart for doing it for me on such short notice.”

Hazel looked over and smiled at Maggie. “ See , honey, everything’s going to be fine. This is nothing. I’ll speak to the Caldwells and explain what happened, so don’t you worry about a thing, sweetie. You just go home, have a drink, and relax, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then she called out, “Ethel… get me a Coca-Cola when you have a minute, will you?” Punch . “Hey, Tom. Did you get my message? That’s right, first to Al, then to June… Okay? Hold for Ethel.”

By ten o’clock the next morning, every rug and every curtain was back in place, cleaned and dried; every floor waxed and shined; and fresh flowers sat on the entrance hall table, waiting to greet the Caldwells when they returned home at noon. When Maggie walked into the office, she looked at Hazel in awe. “How did you do it?”

“What?”

“Get the house cleaned up.”

“Oh, that… that was nothing. I told you, you don’t ever have to worry about a thing. If it can be done, I’ll get it done.”

Dear God, was it any wonder they all missed her?

HAZEL WAS RIGHT about Maggie. After her initial flooding disaster, Maggie had been very good at selling real estate from the start, and she had been especially skilled at staging a home. Hazel always said, “Good taste doesn’t cost a dime, but if you don’t have it, you can’t buy it for a million dollars,” and Maggie certainly had good taste. Brenda and Ethel were still amazed at her ability to deal with even the most difficult clients in such a lovely and graceful way.

How do you suggest (in a nice way) that it would be best for the home owners to remove most of what they own from the house, particularly the family photos? Ethel, who had no patience with people, would have said right off the bat, “The photos of the ugly jug-eared grandchildren have to go,” but Maggie always managed to do it without hurting anyone’s feelings. As she once said to a couple in West End, “It’s not that the gold shag rugs in every room aren’t nice, it’s just that too much of anything tends to be unattractive.”

But as much as Maggie loved and appreciated houses, she had never owned one of her own. However, where she lived had still been very important to her. She had never understood people who blew into town and bought the first house they saw. Or those who said that location didn’t matter, they could “just live anywhere.” Not Maggie. When she had moved back to Birmingham from Dallas, she had spent months looking for just the right location, and the minute she’d walked into Avon Terrace, she’d known it was the perfect spot for her. From her back terrace, she could look up and see Crestview standing on top of Red Mountain.

T HEY SAY ENVY IS A COAL THAT COMES HOT AND HISSING STRAIGHT from hell. If so, it had been burning a hole in Babs Bingington from the moment Hazel Whisenknott had introduced Maggie as her new agent. Babs had hated Maggie at first sight. This has-been beauty queen with all her phony manners, just waltzing into the business on her good looks and her “over the mountain” contacts. It made her sick to see how all the male agents in town acted like fools around her, fawning and preening like idiots. It was bad enough that she had to compete with that damn midget; now this.

Three weeks later, when she found out that Maggie had gotten the Caldwell listing, she was livid. The Caldwell house was on a view lot that the people she dealt with at the construction company wanted. Babs had contacted the Caldwells a month before, and they had told her that they were not selling. And now, that beauty-queen bitch had gone behind her back and stolen her listing. And to make matters worse, she had driven by the Caldwell house on Monday afternoon, expecting to see cleanup trucks everywhere, but there had been absolutely no signs that the house had been flooded. The kid she had hired to go upstairs, plug up the tub, and leave the water running had obviously screwed up. The little shit. She had been hoping to get the bimbo fired and take over the listing. And what had made her twice as furious was that before she had enough time to come up with another scheme, the house had sold.

Nothing had ever come easy for Babs. She had never been a natural beauty, and it had cost her a fortune. She had been through two face-lifts, a nose job, a chin implant, and had her hairline moved up before she was forty. People had always been out to get her from the start. A disgruntled employee had done her in in Newark. After she lost her real estate license in New Jersey, Babs had changed her name and moved to Birmingham, where her son was studying medicine at UAB. And that had not been easy, either. She’d had to push and shove every inch of the way to get into the real estate market here. Those southern girls were so clannish; they were nice to her face, but she knew they all thought they were better than she was. Only she would get her revenge on that phony Miss Goody Two-Shoes, Margaret Fortenberry. For now, she was just biding her time.