He drove down there in his truck the second time. Didn't want to get anywhere near that snooty car of hers.
Why he needed a real estate agent was beyond him. Just wanted to pick up the '66 Airstream as cheap as possible. All he had left was a small chunk of change, now that Lydia and the kids were gone and they'd finally sold the run-down place they'd called home for fifteen years.
He lived there a year by himself afterward, tried like hell to make it his own private cave despite agents traipsing in and out until he finally unloaded it. The mortgage was too high anyway, once he sent Lydia her half and the child support. Mostly, though, he could no longer stand the poltergeists from his previous life, the kids knocking into walls, their piercing screams and laughter. Did they ever love him, or was he just the guy their mother married? Did they remember planting the tomatoes, the ice cream runs, the time he spent scrubbing the grease out from under his nails before attending their schools' open houses?
If he didn't have to buy the bitty piece of land this trailer sat on, he could have done it through the newspaper, no real estate agent, nothing personal.
“You hop right in,” Mrs. Seeger had said last week when she'd shown him the first place, a little dump he couldn't afford. What to make of a mature gal like this who made herself smell like flowers? His ex-wife, Lydia, would have rolled her eyes at the silly display of femininity.
Once the putrid new-car smell in her Chevy Impala had rushed him and he realized it was a 2008, he was careful about where to put his dusty work boots inside the luxury vehicle. His plaid shirt was probably leaving oil stains all over her leather-appointed seating. She must have had heaters in her bucket seats for his butt to sweat so. And then he spilled his Orange Crush all over everything.
“It's nothing,” Mrs. Seeger had told him, a girlish smile. “That's why I have these.” She produced some packets that said “Shout” from her glove box and, leaning close to him, completely erased the mark he'd left.
Like he seemed to have been erased from his family. They'd left him while he was at the shop one day. Got home and all but his corduroy easy chair, clothes, and high school football were gone. Food cabinets empty. Toilet paper missing.
“I want to show you what you like best,” Mrs. Seeger said today, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He was the one who saw the For Sale sign for the trailer, but the owner insisted it be handled through an agent.
“Cheapest is best, Mrs. S.”
“Eleanor,” she said softly. The arm holding her pocketbook was spotted with age, yet she'd taken the trouble to paint small flowers on her fingernails. Her feminine touches were a nice contrast to Lydia.
“What about your wife, Mr. Raymond? Won't she have an opinion?”
“I make my own decisions,” he said.
“I'm sure you do, Mr. Raymond. I appreciate that in a man.”
She giggled. The broad was at least his age, fifties. She ought to act it. Though why, he didn't know.
“My husband, may he rest in peace, never made a decision on his own. It used to bother me, but after you're by yourself a while, you wonder why such things ever mattered. I'm sure you know how lonely it becomes, after spending so much time with someone.”
“My wife left me,” he heard himself say.
“A horrible thing.”
Alarmed by the tears forming at the crooks of his eyes, he turned away.
The aluminum trailer looked like a spaceship squatting in a field of greenery, its shiny silverness alien. He should have just bought the place unseen. He didn't care what was on the inside anymore. Being an alien in a spaceship suited him fine.
He held out his hand to help Mrs. Seeger as she climbed the steps with a key for the lockbox. Her round bottom switched under a silk skirt, and she wore some kind of matching sweater getup, turquoise blue, cut to show her cleavage. Lydia would have called the woman a loser for caring about things matching. Still, the woman's hair was fresh-looking and cared for, a pretty auburn color. He supposed caring for herself wasn't so bad, no matter what Lydia would have said. Mrs. S was OK, except for being a real estate lady.
He'd never hurt Lydia. Didn't he get points for the births, Little League games, barbecuing? Since her leaving, he'd decided maybe comfortable wasn't enough. Maybe you had to get out of your cave now and then. Sometimes he'd wanted to ask Lydia what they would do once the children were gone. What did she think happened after this life? Was she happy? But there never seemed to be time.
He didn't know if he'd ever see Lydia and their children again. She'd whisked them to Alaska for a new life. There wasn't even another man. She was just that tired of him.
Inside the trailer, a soiled blue couch with cushions made into a bed. Matching soiled blue curtains. Worn linoleum bent to the contours of the walls. Bathroom wallpaper made to look like wood paneling. He needed nothing else.
Mrs. S sat on the bed as if she were home, then rose and said, “I'm going to powder my nose,” her eyes shimmering as she closed the cardboard-like door to the john. Imagine that, he thought, still caring enough to powder herself.
He stepped outside to buffer himself from her tinkling. When he returned, she'd already disrobed, her delicate clothes strewn over the dinette, her bobby pins scattered, her pantyhose set neatly on the soap indentation of the stainless steel sink.
He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd done a little dance for him, but she seemed to sense his trepidation and instead lay on the thin cushions and patted the space beside her. Her thighs were those of a woman's, her waist still curved where it was supposed to, her face was pretty, and he found she was incredibly soft when he reached out and touched her neck.
As he lay beside her after removing his clothes, she palmed what little hair he had left and said, “You're going to be okay, Tony.”
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This story originally appeared in SmokeLong Quarterly.
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Great story, Bonnie.
Thank you, Sam!
Good tale - you weave the action, observations and reminiscences very well.
Yeah, those real estate agents!
Thanks for your kind words, Walter.
Jerry: Wish they were all like that!
I love your story, Bonnie, and I love this real estate lady. While reading, I related to the guy in the story and empathized with his circumstance. I like the way you compared and contrasted his ex-wife with the real estate lady. I made a list of things on which to comment but its much too long and I'm sure you already know everything I could possibly tell you about your story or writing in general. I'm looking forward to reading more of your work.
Thanks for your comments, J!
Do you or does anybody else know whether I should be thanking people on their walls, or is here okay? I'm new to all this. Thanks!
Like you, I'm also new. Just learning how. Your story is the best I've read so far. I did comment on a poet, also.
By the by, Bonnie - I answered your question at zoe.
Thank you both, J and Sam. I appreciate it!
Sam, did you get my zmail? Only when you get a chance. I did the fictionaut thingy. Thanks!
That last paragraph is really very sweet and comforting. Enjoyed this, Bonnie!
I love this one to death - it is SO great to love it here again!!
Thank you Carol and Meg!
This was my first Bonnie Z story and I've never looked back.
This is fabulous Bonnie. So much real life in a short piece. Congrats on a very cool piece.
Love the linking between the Shout packets that erased his stains and the "erasure" from his family. Says so much in so little words.
Thanks David, Gay, and David. Such nice things to say.
I first read this morning and couldn't wait to get home to read again. So much great writing, not to mention one helluva story. Instead of listing the lines I liked best, I'll just list my favorite: “My wife left me,” he heard himself say.
He heard himself say. That said so much.
Love your comment, Foster! Look forward to read something else of yours soon.
Thanks for your comments on Wild Dreams of Reality, Bonnie!
Ah, the lonely heart. Mr. Raymond is a lost man, who's losing more and more: His wife, kids, house and now, hair. Mrs. Seegar seems to renew his interest in life and she gives him much-needed reassurance in the closing sentence. She knows he's a gentleman with, ". . . to buffer himself from her tinkling."
Great story, complete with beginning, middle and end.
Wow, thanks for your great comments, Ramon!
So happy to have another chance to read this Bonnie. I love the way his wife's voice haunts him, and how he is freeing himself of it." The broad was at least his age, fifties. She ought to act it. Though why, he didn't know." A touching small victory for poor Mr. Raymond.
Thanks for your nice comments, Jeanne!
I can think of a few people in that same situation. You got it right on the mark.
Great read. So true
Many thanks for your kind words, Estelle!
This real estate lady must really want a sale. What an interesting character, and a great contrast to Lydia.
' Mostly, though, he could no longer stand the poltergeists from his previous life...' - that's brilliant. Loved the contrasts and the delicate inevitability in the story.
Thank you, Jay! Yes, hopefully at least she'll get the sale ; )
Ajay: The word "poltergeists" was very fun to use. It's doubtful I'll ever use it again. Thank you!
I can't even find the words to tell you how much I love this story. Both characters are so well-drawn, the entire thing is brilliant. You brought me to tears.
Thanks so much for your comments on "Real Estate," Lou. You've made my day!
What a gentle, beautiful story.
Thank you so much, Beate!
Such a good story!
Thank you, Linera!
"There wasn't even another man. She was just that tired of him." Ha. Lordie.
Love the way shell-shocked Tony, "alarmed by the tears," slides softly into unexpected intimacy. Deft, delicate touch, Bonnie. Sweet.
Thanks so much, Barry!
Bonnie, nice story here! I like how you found ways to include Lydia throughout the piece. It works well!
Hi, Bonnie. Good to see your work again. Most of the real estate brokers I know are on the reptilian side. So, it was fun to read about a warm-blooded one.
Dirk
Came here after reading The Writer as Rapist. I do like how you burrow in to Tony Raymond, to be a stepfather, and up and left for no new man at all, and to Alaska, which bills itself as the state with floes' worth of unmarried men looking for women... and that he leaves while she tinkles and comes back, and throughout, while we think Lydia was his great love, he can see what Eleanor offers. An incredibly empathetic piece of writing.
This is gorgeous, Bonnie.