Requiem for a Realtor Read Online Free PDF Page A

time he actually lost some weight, but inevitably he would fall off his diet and balloon up again. Then he would resume his visits to the Rendezvous with Stanley, slopping up single malt scotch and gorging on cholesterol. It was George’s crush on the singer there that got Stanley interested in her. Wanda Janski had a voice, no doubt of that, and in the dim lights of the bar, singing her heart out, she looked beautiful. The sentimental lyrics and the scotch made George forget his wife and yearn for the plush solace of Wanda. But when she joined them, it was clear to Stanley that it was himself she was interested in. At first Stanley’s attentiveness to Wanda had been just an effort to annoy George, but the atmosphere of the Rendezvous worked its magic on him as well. When George mentioned their agency she said she was looking for a new apartment.
    â€œTell me what you’d like, and I’ll find it,” Stanley said, putting his hand on hers. Wanda drank only spritzers while she worked, just enough to keep a buzz on that did not interfere with her performance. “How many are there?”
    â€œHow many?” She looked at him.
    â€œHusband, kids.”
    Her laugh seemed to draw on the human kindness of her ample breasts. “I’m single. In my work, I only meet guys like you.”
    â€œI wish I met gals like you in mine.”
    â€œSo find me an apartment.”
    â€œI handle commercial property,” George said despondently. “Apartments, houses, that’s Stanley’s side.”
    Stanley gave her a card, not really expecting to hear from her. Conversations in bars never really count.
    â€œWhat a woman,” George sighed when she left them.
    â€œI think she likes you, George.”
    â€œGo to hell.”
    â€œYou’re just saying that because I’m worth so much to you dead.”
    â€œWhat a thing to say.”
    â€œIt’s true, isn’t it?”
    â€œI could say the same to you.”
    George turned his attention to Wanda, who had rejoined her accompanist at the piano. Later, when she sang “Danny Boy,” George wept openly. Well, after all, he was married to Susan. Stanley was never bothered by thoughts of Phyllis on such occasions. Anyway, both their wives thought they were at a reunion in Milwaukee.
    When Wanda called it took Stanley a minute before he remembered who she was. Shirley had been a little starchy when she said there was a woman on the phone. Young as she was, the office manager had the manner of a den mother and was always urging Stanley to carry his share of the business. She had come to suspect that when a woman called it was not a client.
    â€œHave you found me an apartment?”
    â€œAmazing that you should ask,” Stanley said, playing for time. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “I was just about to call you.”
    She was free now, if he was.
    â€œBut I don’t know where you live.”
    She told him.
    â€œThat’s in your own name?”
    Her laugh brought back memories of the singer at the Rendezvous. “Wanda, I’ll be there before you can say Jack Robinson. Or sing ‘Danny Boy.’”
    When he got there, he couldn’t see why she would want another apartment. But he looked the place over, professionally, and he noticed the plaited palm stuck behind a picture, a memento of Palm Sunday. In the kitchen was a religious calendar, St. Hilary’s.
    â€œI grew up there,” he said.
    â€œSo did I.”
    In business, any hook on which you could hang a sale would do, but in minutes they were sipping Chablis and talking about the old parish. She had gone to the parish school, too.
    â€œWhat year?”
    She had been a couple years behind him. “My parents shipped me off to military school.”
    Why did that always interest women? Somehow it did. Stanley told her all about it, and went on to the years at Marquette.
    â€œI see you’re