A Message from Mitzi
Friday, May 22, 2009

FOR MAGGIE, LIFE WAS JUST GETTING BETTER AND BETTER. IN addition to her cooking classes, she was now taking driving lessons. Just as she was walking out the door this morning, headed for the office, the kitchen phone rang.

“Maggie? It’s Mitzi. Listen, honey, I’m just heartbroken to have to make this call, but poor David’s company has been so whipped around by this awful economy thing. He’s not going to get to retire when we thought.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yes, can you believe it? He’s going to have to stay in New York at least another three years and help them get it straightened out and try to make sure his clients don’t lose everything.”

“Oh, Mitzi, I am so sorry.”

“Well, me too, but the worst part is, honey … we can’t keep Crestview and our place here, and as much as we hate to, we’re going to have to just turn right around and sell it.”

Maggie’s heart dropped, and she sat down. “I see.”

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am. I know you think I’m silly, but I practically had the place furnished and was already planning the parties I was going to give and everything.”

After she hung up, she felt badly for poor Mitzi and also for Crestview. She was afraid she would never be able to find more perfect people than Mitzi and David.

Later, when Maggie walked into the office, Ethel looked up and greeted her with even worse news.

“Little Harry died,” Ethel said.

“Oh, no. When?”

“Sometime yesterday.”

“What happened? What was it?”

“They didn’t say; just old age, I guess. But we need to send flowers or something, don’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely. Oh, poor Little Harry. I’m surprised he lived as long as he did. You know he must have been so lonely without Hazel.”

“I’m sure he was.”

“Little Harry must have been what? Eighty? Eighty-five?”

Ethel shook her head. “No, Little Harry was not that old; he was at least ten years younger than Hazel. I don’t know if he knew or not, but he was. Anyhow, you know what this means, don’t you? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s curtains for Red Mountain Realty. I always said, ‘The minute Harry goes, his family will sell the company.’ ”

Maggie nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“I know I am. The lawyer just called ten minutes ago, asking to see the books.”

“Oh really, did he say why?”

“He said he wanted to look them over before he sent them to an interested party, and I’ll give you three guesses who the interested party is. Hint: she’s been circling over our heads like a buzzard for years.”

“Does Brenda know yet?”

“Oh yes, she was here when the lawyer called.”

“Was she upset?”

“Does a cat have a tail?”

“Where is she?”

“Back in her office, I guess.”

Maggie walked down the hall and called out, “Brenda. Where are you, honey?”

But at that moment, Brenda was already walking in the front door of the Krispy Kreme doughnut shop six blocks away. The idea of Babs Bingington taking over Hazel’s company made her sick. She needed a doughnut, and she needed it right now. Brenda sat down at the counter, looked the waitress in the eye, and said, “I want a dozen glazed, a dozen assorted, and four cinnamon buns to go, and bring me a coffee and two jelly doughnuts for here.” Her cell phone started ringing, but she ignored it. It might be her Overeaters Anonymous sponsor; she had not called this morning, but Brenda was in no mood to be saved from herself.

Ten minutes later, just as she was about to bite into another jelly doughnut, she heard a familiar voice behind her saying, “Okay, Brenda, step away from the counter!”

Brenda froze in her seat. It was Ja’ronda Jones, her Overeaters Anonymous sponsor!

“You heard me. Step away from the doughnuts; put the doughnut down now!”

Brenda knew you didn’t fool with Ja’ronda; she was a six-foot-one retired policewoman and could do you some real harm if she wanted to. Brenda slowly placed what was left of her doughnut back on the plate, and before she knew it, Ja’ronda had snatched up her purse and had her by the arm, walking her out the front door. The girl called out, “Don’t you want your to-go order?”

“No, she doesn’t,” said Ja’ronda.

Not only was Brenda losing her job, she had just been ratted out by a fellow member of Overeaters Anonymous, who’d happened to be driving by and had seen Brenda’s car, with the Red Mountain Realty sign on the door, parked in front of the doughnut shop. It was that damn car’s fault! Some days, it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.

Maggie sat at her desk and continued to dial Brenda’s cell phone number, feeling pretty low herself. After all of her hard work, Babs Bingington would wind up with the listing on Crestview after all. What had ever made her think things were looking up?

THE VERY NEXT day, their worst fears had come true. The sale happened so fast, one couldn’t help but wonder if the lawyer and Babs hadn’t had everything in place before Little Harry died. Four days later, the lawyer came to the office to explain the transition to the staff of Red Mountain Realty. The terms were simple. They were to be out of the office in two weeks, and at that time, all their existing properties under contract were to be absorbed into the parent company, and they were to turn in their leased cars on the last day.

Ethel said, “I don’t suppose we can expect any sort of severance pay.”

The lawyer shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, the new owner feels that two weeks’ notice is sufficient.”

Ethel said, “So after fifty-six years with the company, it’s ‘Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry’? If I were a drinking woman, I’d buy a bottle of champagne—and hit her over the head with it.”

The lawyer smiled. “I understand how you feel, Ms. Clipp,” he said while pulling out yet another set of papers. “However, I wouldn’t let it bother me too much if I were you. The previous owner, Hazel Whisenknott, made certain arrangements that I think will more than make up for it.”