Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

All week, Lori had been in a great mood. She felt like a little kid, eager for the first day of school.

Or, she thought with a laugh, an older kid, eager for the last day of school.

Either way, the moment was finally here: she was starting her work on Dorothy Burrows' amazing house today.

On the drive out to Dorothy's house, she rolled down her car windows, not even caring about the way the wind was likely messing up her hair. She had a comb in her purse, and there was nothing like the summer ocean breeze perfuming the air and some upbeat tunes keeping her company as she drove along the coastline. She felt unstoppable.

When she arrived at Dorothy's property, it took her breath away, even though she'd seen it before. It was just such a gorgeous house, such a gorgeous location. Finding someone who wanted to live in such a beautiful place would be a breeze, just like the one floating pleasantly off the Atlantic Ocean, visible behind the house.

Just like the last time Lori had been here, Dorothy greeted her as soon as Lori exited her car. And, just like the last time Lori had been here, Dorothy was wearing an outfit . Today, the elderly woman sported a long, tailored shirt dress in a patterned blue and white linen. It was belted at the waist, and Dorothy had hung from that belt what resembled an old-fashioned chatelaine of keys, except the ring sported dangling beads rather than actual keys. It was almost like a windchime, but for one's clothes, Lori thought as the beads tinkled merrily against one another where they hung against Dorothy's hip.

The rest of Dorothy's jewelry was simple, but abundant. She wore at least a dozen chains, in all different metals draped around her neck. They were varying lengths, many disappearing inside the front collar of her dress. Dorothy's coral lipstick was a vibrant pop of color.

Lori, remembering Dorothy's previous style, had chosen one of her own favorite outfits. She was wearing a sage green dress that fit her perfectly and complemented her red hair, which she'd pulled back into a businesslike high ponytail, since the first steps to staging a house often involved some moving of furniture. She'd borrowed a wide enameled bracelet from Darla, which was done up in dainty pink and white flowers, something her daughter had said would provide visual interest without feeling incongruous with Lori's style. Lori trusted Darla's artist's eye. She was also slightly tempted to ‘forget' to return the bracelet until she'd gotten to wear it a few more times, since it really did fit Lori's style perfectly.

No matter how cute she looked and felt, however, Lori couldn't help but find her own outfit a little… boring in comparison to Dorothy's.

Then she shook her head at herself. She might have been feeling like an excited kid earlier, but she was still a bit too old to be worrying that the cool girl wasn't going to like her clothes.

Certainly not when there was business to accomplish.

"Lori, darling !" Dorothy greeted her effusively, offering those two air kisses that seemed so popular among the very wealthy. If Lori hadn't known from Dorothy's house that the elderly woman was well off, the air kissing would have told her just as clearly.

"Dorothy," Lori returned. "Good to see you."

"And you. Come in, come in."

Inside, the house looked just as full and complete as it had on Lori's first visit which was… not unexpected, but not ideal. She'd been down the road before where clients had to be, ahem, gently encouraged to actually start to pack up and begin the process of moving.

Which brought Lori to her first thought.

"So, Dorothy," she said as they settled out on the back porch, which had two white wicker chairs and a little table between them. The table already sported a pitcher of ice water and some glasses, and there was just enough room remaining for Lori to rest her notepad. Maybe it was a little archaic, but she still preferred to take notes on paper when she was speaking with a client. She'd never perfected the skill of typing without looking at her fingers every now and again and it felt rude to constantly be breaking eye contact with the person she was speaking with. She could scribble notes on paper without looking, however, even if that did occasionally result in one or two hard to read phrases.

"Tell me," Lori said, flipping to a blank page in her notebook. "Do you plan to live in the house while we're selling, or would you prefer to live offsite? I know some people have various reasons, including financial constraints, that mean they prefer to stay in house until they sell, but I find the process is often smoother, both for you and for potential buyers, if you are willing to stay elsewhere."

Lori was fairly certain that the issue of willingness was more important for Dorothy's case than the issue of financial constraints , but she preferred to be thorough.

Dorothy, however, waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh, darling, I'm already out of the house. I've gotten a little place closer to downtown. Can't you tell?"

Lori worked very hard not to reveal any emotion. She could not tell. The house still looked occupied. Beautiful, yes. But occupied.

"That will make things much easier," she said, ducking the question for now. Better to ease into these things. She pulled out the little packet she'd assembled during her research. "Now, I've put together some ideas about staging your house—"

"Oh, my dear, great minds must really think alike," Dorothy interrupted. "Because I also have ideas, just loads of them."

And then she pulled out a much larger and much more haphazard pile of papers. The older woman had clearly been jotting down notes for a while, evidently on whatever scrap of paper had been at hand when inspiration had struck. Lori kept her smile fixed in place. This too, was not unusual. Clients often had thoughts about how their houses would be best featured. They were even right, sometimes, their experience living in the building offering insight that even Lori's trained eye didn't immediately pick up on.

But this was, just as Dorothy had said, loads of ideas.

Which meant that trimming those ideas would be an exercise in diplomacy.

"Those will be very helpful," she said delicately, which probably wasn't even a lie. "Though I really think—"

But Dorothy was off again. She rifled through the papers until she pulled out what appeared to be several pages that had been torn from magazines.

"I like this," she said, pointing to a photo. "And this." Another picture, this one with a wildly different style. "I think I'd like to see these influences in the final staging."

"Well," Lori hedged, buying herself a moment to think by stretching out the word. "These houses are really more Southern styles." She was almost entirely certain that the pictures were, in fact, from Southern Living magazine. "Whereas your house is more classic New England, so I really think we want to emphasize that—"

And then Dorothy interrupted her again .

"Yes, yes, of course," she said, sounding impatient. "But one of the great things about this house is the space. Which means we can stage the different spaces differently, show the different possibilities . That's what really attracts a buyer, isn't it? The possibility ? And how are they to know what might be if they don't see it?"

Lori had several responses to this, varying from the tactful to the honest. She could, for example, argue in favor of presenting a simplistic slate that allowed potential buyers to mentally project their own possibility. She could argue for cohesion making a house seem friendlier, more like a place where one might like to make a life.

But she was really hung up on the sheer number of times Dorothy had said the word "different." It did not bode well.

Rather than address the overarching issue, however, she decided to start with practical matters.

"Why don't you tell me what you're thinking," she said, rationalizing that she could address the problems one by one.

This was, as it happened, wildly optimistic.

Because Dorothy's suggestions, above all else, were not practical in the least.

One of her notes read, simply and yet oh so beguilingly, Something missing in the solarium ????

As the house did not technically have a solarium, this first meant figuring out what room Dorothy meant. Once Lori had determined they were discussing the little breakfast nook, there was the matter of determining what this missing ‘something' might be.

"Oh, you know," Dorothy said, fluttering her hands. Lori very much did not know. "Something that would improve the aura ."

It took fifteen minutes to determine that what Dorothy wanted was a hanging fern.

The situation did not improve from there. Dorothy also wanted her collection of antique teacups displayed, which meant they needed to be organized first, which meant Dorothy produced a pile of paperwork cataloguing them.

Paperwork. For teacups.

Lori's fixed smile had long since started to make her cheeks hurt.

"And the library shall have to be reorganized, I'm afraid," Dorothy said with a sigh, like this was not a chore entirely of her own making. "By genre, obviously. And then by publication year? One does so like to see how the fashions have changed in books as time goes on."

"Of course," Lori agreed pleasantly.

The other requests were, fortunately, considerably smaller, but Lori noted a thoughtful gleam in Dorothy's eye that suggested that she was unlikely to have another pile of notes ready for their next meeting.

This was, Lori felt, enough for today, however, and she closed her portfolio with a cheerful and decisive thwap before Dorothy could have any more ideas.

"Well, this sounds like we're off to a great start," she said. Despite the very, very long list that Dorothy had given her, she really meant it. Lori was the best realtor in Whale Harbor for a reason, after all. She knew how to get things done.

"I'll get moving on all of this," she continued, patting the portfolio, "and touch base with you when it's time to schedule our first open houses and appointments with prospective clients. You've picked the right person to sell your house, Dorothy. You won't be disappointed."

"I never thought it for a moment, darling," Dorothy assured her, giving her another set of air kisses as she escorted Lori back to her car.

That evening, posted up at her kitchen counter with her trusty red wine and popcorn, she looked over her notes, only the tiniest bit of trepidation trickling through her excitement. Yes, maybe this job was going to require more effort than she'd ever anticipated and, yes, she would be kept hopping over the next few weeks, to be certain.

But she was fortified with snacks and optimism, and they fueled her as she buckled down and got to work.