In the spirit of Earth Day 2013, it seems a fitting time to "recycle" one of my stories. And in light of the fact I'm now a card-carrying member of the real estate-agent brigade, this story spoke to me on a different level. It was originally posted on July 11, 2011 when this blog was in its infancy, so should be a "fresh" read for many of you. Enjoy!
I’d read Jameson Lee Clemmons’ purchaser profile with interest and painted a mental image of a gracefully aging southern gentleman who resembled Colonel Sanders. No marital status was required when purchasing a house with cash, but if he showed up for our two o’clock appointment with no spouse in tow, I’d fix him up with my Aunt Meg up for dinner tomorrow night. Maybe someday she’d return the favor.
I hit the PRINT button on my computer and the laser jet wheezed to life at the same time the bell over the front door jangled. “Just a minute,” I called. Grabbing the stack of printouts of suitable properties, I headed for the reception area. “Can I help...” My words were replaced by the sound of a girlish giggle that bubbled forth. From me! But what red-blooded woman of child-bearing years wouldn’t have a similar reaction upon coming face to face with this sun-bronzed surfer type? Aged mid- to late-thirties, if I were to hazard a guess. The perfect age for me!
“I have an appointment with Tara Quinlan.”
Even his voice had a sun-drenched tinge. “Jameson Lee Clemmons?” I squeaked.
“Just J.C. please.”
