New York real estate is more drama than anyone knew and I often found myself stuck smack dab in the epicenter of whatever kind of mess these potential buyers drug up into my hot properties. It was funny that when I'd tell a few of my girlfriends about my front row seats to a few of the catfights, domestic disputes and some spectacular smack downs that could've been mistaken for professional wrestling matches, they all thought it was because of the neighborhood. They figured Oh, it's probably because she was in Brooklyn or the Bronx. But these things seemed to happen everywhere I'd go. The real estate company was my own and I made sure not to discriminate against sellers in different areas. After all, money was money. I was in no position to turn down money. Not that my business wasn't doing well for itself, because it had certainly made me a hefty profit over the four years that it had been in business and I wasn't about to turn down anything.
I was living comfortably on Manhattan's Upper East Side with a penthouse, two cars, and a lucrative business. There wasn't a care in the world for me at that point. And considering where I'd come from, I was doing pretty damn well for myself. Making over a hundred thousand dollars a year, I was almost ready to stop going out into the market myself. I mean, if you're the head honcho, running things as smoothly as I was, there was no need for me to continue doing the work I could easily hire out for. So, I thought it was time for me to concentrate on the major aspects of my business, and leave the grunt work to my employees. That was, until I met this adorable couple looking to buy a condo in Manhattan's Tribeca neighborhood.
She was a financial consultant. He was an architect. They made an incredibly stylish, young couple and I immediately fell in love with helping them find their dream condo. I usually liked to get a feel for my clients, get a little background information on them before I helped them look for a house. It helped me feel out their styles, likes, dislikes, and their utmost desires. It was just how I worked. I put my all into my business, with was most likely the reason I saw such great ROI. My clients and I would sit down, before we even took a look at any new leads on the market and talk about them. They wouldn't tell me their life stories or anything too personal, but we often got into detail about their personalities.
The only difference with this couple from previous couples I'd worked for was the fact that they seemed completely out of sync. She was not only a financial consultant, but an heiress to a profitable oil fortune. She was kind of a spoiled brat, and that seemed to get on his nerves a little, though he wouldn't let on. He wouldn't say a word. He just took it.
We were out to lunch one day, waiting for his fiancé to show up so that we could discuss a few things about the condo they were interested in buying.
"Travis, you and your wife are a really nice couple," I told him, as we sat diagonally across from each other. I picked at my chicken calamari and tried to strike up a few ideas in my head. This was not your typical lunch date and I was a mess inside.
"Thank you," he replied. Oh, he was a tough one. Not a big talker.
"How long have you two been a couple?"
"Not long. Maybe a year." Maybe a year? I thought. This man was not as in love with his fiancé as he portrayed when she was around. With her, he portrayed an air of confidence, an aura of mystery and a sexiness that couldn't be denied. But without her, he shriveled up and kept his mouth shut.
"Is everything okay between you two?" He shook his head without saying another word. He remained silent for about two minutes and the awkwardness only grew from there. "Do you wanna tell me about it?" I knew I was prying, but this main's pain was much too strong, and much too evident for me to just ignore. Nothing. But as I stared at his paling face, I noticed it was also getting red. He was upset about something, clearly.
"She's just so controlling. She thinks she can control everything in our relationship, every decision we make, every financial decision, every life situation and it's exhausting," he declared, pounding his fists on the table. He must've realized he was being a little unruly and sat up straight in the Armani suit he was wearing. He fixed up his clothes and sighed deeply, as if this problem just couldn't be fixed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Miss. I shouldn't be telling you all this..." He laughed, almost cynically. "Probably think I'm crazy."
"No, I don't think you're crazy. I think you're hurt," I told him, leaning in to get his trust. I felt so comfortable with him, I almost leaned across the table and grabbed his hand to comfort him. "And you can tell me what's going on. I can help you."
"No you can't. No one can. Not this time. She's gone too far this time."
"What did she do, Travis?" I was starting to surprise myself. I sounded like his therapist or something. He shook his head in response to my question. I wasn't getting any answers that easily. "Travis, I'm not going to say anything to her. I just want you to get it out, take a load off. You know? Get rid of some of that frustration and negative energy."
"What are you, a therapist on the side?" he joked, which made me laugh.
"No, but I'm actually pretty good at it, huh? Maybe I should change careers," I went along with his joke. He cracked a smile, but it quickly disappeared when his next thought came to mind.
"She killed my baby," he blurted out. I gasped. "Just because she wasn't ready to be a mother, doesn't mean I wasn't ready to be a father. How could she do something like this? How could she do this without even asking me, without even telling me she was pregnant? I can barely look at her, but at least I know now why she's been acting like a bitch lately." I was beyond shocked and almost wished I hadn't opened up this can of worms. I was in too deep now. He was confiding in me, a private, shocking detail of his relationship. There was no turning back now.
"Have you told her that this is how you feel about it?"
"Of course not. She'll go crazy if I tell her how I feel."
"But how can you have a relationship with her and not communicate? How can you be honest with each other?"
"Somehow, we make it work," he said, taking a sip of the drink he ordered. He almost made it sound as if he were trapped with no means of escape. "I'm going to go call her. She's always late. Excuse me." He got up from the table and walked a few yards before dialing her number. But she never showed up. She never even called him back.
Later that night, as I was finishing up my dinner, my doorbell rang. Who could it be at such an hour? I wondered. All of my family lived in Dallas, so there was no way it was any of them. My best friend, Nikki was out of town on business, so it couldn't have been her, unless she was back early.
I got up from my sofa, sat my drink on a coaster on the coffee table and went to get the door.
"Who is it?" I called through the door.
"It's Travis." Astounded that he had somehow figured out where I lived, I picked up the baseball bat I kept near the door, just in case someone tried something with me.
"Travis who?"
"Travis, your client," he nearly whispered. I peered through the peephole and sure enough, it was Travis, my client with the psychotic, control freak fiancé. I cracked the door just slightly.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry to bother you at this hour," he apologized. "But I...I just got so comfortable talking to you today, I just needed somebody to listen. You're the only one that's ever listened to me like that. I kind of needed that. I'm sorry if this sounds strange, but I just really needed to get some things off my chest and you really seemed like you cared--like you wanted to help me and I just thought that maybe we could talk. You don't have to say yes. I completely understand if you think this is too weird or stalkerish, but I...I don't have anyone else to turn to." He was right. This was too weird for me, but for some reason I felt compelled to help him. My heart was outweighing my mind at this point. So, I stepped aside, pulled the door open and let him in.
