Backstory by Pat Dunlap Evans

Author:Pat Dunlap Evans [Evans, Pat Dunlap]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780996882279
Publisher: Pat Dunlap Evans

You can bet that Dear Pluppy Brandon is another person who won’t hear a word until my screenplay is produced. In fact, DPB won’t hear from me for a while. That’s because the fucker bought a house from somebody else.

In my last account, I told you he had called and said he wanted to surprise Deanna with the new house. Well, I scheduled an appointment to show them properties I had gleaned from the confusing MLS computer system, but Brandon called at the last minute and shouted, “Merry, guess what! We just bought a house!”

Can you believe this? Turns out Brandon couldn’t keep a secret from Deanna. After he spilled the beans, the two went looking in a development near Austin Country Club. Within hours, they had signed a contract on a new build for $525,000, without considering that if I were their agent, I could’ve made one and a half percent on the sale.

“That’s $7,875.00 I really could have used right now.”

“Having you there would make the house cost more,” Brandon said.

“It wouldn’t cost you a dime. And I could have had my broker guide you through the process and probably save you a lot of cash. But you just had to show off to Deanna and screw your sister out of a fat commission.”

Then I hung up. I haven’t spoken to him since. The old me would’ve felt alienated losing touch, but I have a few friends now—Pamela, Victor, Phillip, Toni, and Turtle at The Cypress Door. (I’ll tell you more about Toni and Turtle later.) A motley group, and a bit tenuous, but even if I didn’t have a friend in the world, would I need Brandon?

I did talk to Deanna, however. She came to see me last Sunday, fresh from her service, still in her fucking white-satin robes. I had just returned from an afternoon stint inside a B. J. Hathaway booth at the mall, which I must say reminded me of my days selling auto insurance.

Picture me in my red-and-yellow striped polyester knit blazer and red-polyester skirt seated in a red-and-yellow-striped booth in front of a huge picture of B. J. Hathaway, while his slogan “The Search Is Over!” blares from loud speakers, and his TV ad runs in endless loops on the VCR. It had been my role all afternoon to tell the souls who chanced by what a wonderful man B. J. Hathaway is, and how, if they’ll buy a house from me, I will make sure B. J. visits them at closing.

After hours of that, I was ready for home, so I was in my kitchen when I heard, “Hellooooooo. Anybody here?”

Deanna had walked right in my front door.

Well, darn if I was going to let her see me in my red-and-yellow striped blazer, so I peeled off my outfit and threw it in the freezer. Then I tiptoed in my bra and panties to my bedroom and pulled out my black-and-gold silk kimono, the one Merry’s One Iron brought me from Tokyo when he made the cut in the Japanese Open (Doug was good for a few things).

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