Fannie Flagg - I Still Dream About You

Still, she hoped Brenda wouldn’t leave real estate before Maggie could retire and get all her benefits. She worried about Maggie; she was clearly no match for Babs Bingington, and in this dog-eat-dog world, good guys usually finished last. Look what “the Beast” had done to Hazel.

A BOUT SIX MONTHS AFTER BABS BINGINGTON HAD OPENED HER office, she’d found out that Red Mountain Realty was getting the huge contract from the new insurance company moving to town. Babs knew getting that contract could make or break any office. Relocating a big company’s corporate office from Philadelphia meant finding houses for hundreds of people, and Babs wasn’t about to let some half-pint, hire-the-handicapped office knock her out of that business. She flew to Philadelphia and called the president of the insurance company and asked for a meeting. She informed his secretary that she was in town representing the Birmingham Board of Realtors and she told him that it was of vital importance to his company that she speak with him in person as soon as possible. When the secretary handed him the message, the president figured it was yet another public relations meeting. By this time, he had almost been glad-handed to death by the entire city of Birmingham, but he wanted to keep everything on a positive note and so he agreed to meet with her.

The next morning, Babs was escorted into the president’s office. In her best fake southern accent, she started by saying, “Oh, Mr. Jackson, thank you for seeing me. You just don’t know how hard this is for me; I’m a nervous wreck, but we… all of us… are so thrilled and proud that your company is moving to Birmingham, and it would just kill us if something were to go wrong.”

Mr. Jackson was suddenly interested. “Oh?”

“I’m afraid the real estate firm you hired is… May I speak confidentially?”

“Of course.”

“We feel you need to know that Red Mountain Realty is not a company you should be associated with at this time.”

He looked at her. “Really? And why is that?”

Babs affected a pained expression. “Well, you see, Mr. Jackson… I have been chosen as a member of the real estate board to warn you that we have privileged information that Hazel Whisenknott is about to be brought up on embezzlement and fraud charges by a federal grand jury, and when it happens… well, we feel that you might want to consider the ramifications for your company. I know your reputation means a lot.”

Babs reached into her purse and pulled out a lace handkerchief, blinked a few times, and managed to look teary. “Oh, I do wish I hadn’t been the one chosen to tell you, but all of us in Birmingham care so very much that you be well represented. We would just die if anything went wrong. In fact, I’d consider it a privilege to handle your account personally and charge only a five percent fee, as a courtesy. That’s how highly we think of your company, Mr. Jackson,” she said as she slipped her card across his desk. “Of course, it’s entirely up to you. You do what you want to do, but at least now you have the information.”

After Babs left his office, Mr. Jackson thought about what she had said. He had liked the other little real estate lady, but she was right. Even if the charges were dropped, she was sure to be tied up in civil court. He didn’t want to try to do business in the middle of that mess, and he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot in a new city. So why take the chance? He would have someone call and say they had changed their minds.

He picked up Babs’s card and looked at it. It must have taken a lot of guts for her to fly all the way here and warn him, and he also liked the 1 percent cut in commission she had offered.

Babs was a master at faking sincerity, and since she was usually dealing with men who could easily be fooled by a woman who could cry on cue, she was successful more often than not.

Hazel, who usually thought the best of everyone, couldn’t understand why her office suddenly began losing so many big contracts to Babs’s company. But all Hazel ever said was “Well, my hat’s off to her; she’s a darn good saleslady.”

T HE FIRST THING FRIDAY MORNING, MAGGIE HAD TO RUN DOWNTOWN to the main branch of Alabama Bank & Loan to close out her account and withdraw what little money she had left. She hoped closing her account so abruptly wouldn’t arouse suspicion, but it couldn’t be helped. When she drove past the empty lot where the old Melba Theatre used to be, she noticed the big white sign: RAZED IN THE NAME OF PROGRESS.

Driving around the block looking for a parking space she could manage, she had to see it over and over again. She hated that sign. It had stood on so many lots where buildings she had loved had once stood. Of course, the new revitalized downtown, with its tall, sleek, modern buildings was beautiful, but still, Maggie couldn’t help but miss the old downtown of her youth. In the late sixties, people had begun leaving the downtown area and moving out to the suburbs. Slowly, one by one, the great department stores had started to close. Gone forever were the gleaming silver escalators leading up to eight and nine floors full of beautiful clothes and the second-floor mezzanine tearooms, where delicate little finger sandwiches of chicken salad, cucumber, and cream cheese were served on soft white bread baked that morning. Gone was the glamour of downtown; no more nighttime window-shopping, no more grand window displays at Christmas. By the seventies, even Santa had moved out to the mall.

For Maggie, it had been like watching a good friend die. Each time she had come home, she could see more places she had known as a child shut down; all the elegant deco buildings with the elaborate facades, deserted and standing empty. Nothing left but empty shells and boarded-up windows; the sparkle in the cement now covered over with dirt and grime. “Urban blight” they called it. “It’s happening everywhere,” they said. Still, it was hard to see all the places you loved crumble before your very eyes. But when they demolished the beautiful old downtown train station terminal and knocked down the big electrical WELCOME TO BIRMINGHAM sign, it broke her heart. She had loved that train station, with the big glass dome and all the excitement and hustle and bustle of people coming and going. It was there, on Platform 19, where she’d left for New York on her way to try to become famous. And that was the last time she ever saw Charles.

FINALLY, AFTER MAGGIE’S sixth time around the block, two spaces opened up, and she was able to park and go into the bank. Twenty minutes later, after she was almost finished withdrawing all her money and was ready to leave, the teller must have pushed a button, because the manager came out looking very concerned.

“Miss Fortenberry, is there something about our service you’re not happy with? We hate to lose your business. Is there anything we can do?”

“Oh no, I’ve been extremely happy with everything. It’s just that I’m moving…”

“I see. Well, we would still be more than happy to handle your account online.”

Oh, dear. She had to think fast.

“Oh thank you, but I really don’t know how to do that, but I can assure you, it’s nothing personal.”

She almost ran out of the bank. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings. But she hadn’t lied. She was moving, and she really didn’t have a clue how to bank online.