Split Second

Delores punched some buttons, and the machine whizzed to life with a soft, almost comforting, hum. Then she looked at Tess, hands on her ample hips.

“They had to reschedule, so I’m catching up on some paperwork. And please don’t tell Verna. She’ll scream at me for messing with her precious baby.” The machine beeped as if on cue.

“Holy Toledo! What did I do now?” Delores turned and began punching buttons again.

Tess laughed. The truth was, Delores owned the machine just like she owned every last chair and paper clip. Delores Heston started Heston Realty nearly ten years ago and had made quite a name for herself in Newburgh Heights and the surrounding area. Quite an accomplishment for a black woman who had grown up poor. Tess admired her mentor who, at six o’clock in the evening after a full day of work, still looked impeccable in her deep purple custom-made suit. Delores’s silky, black hair was swept up into a compact bun, not a strand out of place. The only indication that she was finished for the day were her stocking feet.

In contrast, Tess’s suit was wrinkled from too many hours of sitting. Her thick, wavy hair frizzled from the humidity, strands breaking free from the clasp she used to tie it back. She was probably the only woman alive who dyed her naturally blond hair a nondescript brown in order to buy herself more credibility and to avoid sexual advances. Even the eyeglasses, which dangled from a designer cord around her neck, were a prop. Tess wore contact lenses, but didn’t young, attractive women always look more intelligent when they wore glasses?

Finally, the machine stopped beeping and started spitting out copies. Delores turned to Tess and rolled her eyes.

“Verna’s smart not to let me touch this thing.”

“Looks like you’ve got it under control.”

“So, girl, what are you doing here so late? Don’t you have a handsome man you should be home snuggling with on a Friday evening?”

“Just wanted to finish all the paperwork on the Saunders’ house.”

“That’s right. I forgot you closed this week. Excellent job, by the way. I know the Saunderses were in a hell of a hurry to sell. How much of a beating did we take?”

“Actually, it turned out quite well for everyone involved. Plus, we beat their two-week deadline, so on top of our commission we’ll also be receiving the selling bonus they tacked on.”

“Ooooh, I do so love to hear that. There’s no better advertising than surpassing a customer’s expectations. But that selling bonus is all yours, dearie.”

Tess wasn’t sure she heard her boss correctly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re keeping that selling bonus for yourself. You deserve it.”

For a minute Tess didn’t know what to say. The bonus was almost ten thousand dollars. That was almost six months’ pay back when she had been bartending. Her look of surprise sent Delores into gales of laughter.

“Girl, I wish you could see the look on your face.”

Tess waited quietly. She managed a weak smile. She was embarrassed to ask if her boss was joking. It would be a cruel joke. But then, it wouldn’t be the first time Tess had experienced such cruelty. In fact, she expected it, accepted it, almost more readily than kindness.

Delores was staring at her again, with a look of concern.

“Tess, I am serious. I want you to have the selling bonus. You worked your ass off to move that property in two weeks. I know it’s a beautiful house and the asking price was a steal, but with all the paperwork and hedging and negotiating—selling anything right now that quickly, and especially in that price range, is nothing less than a miracle.”

“It’s…well, it’s just an awful lot of money. Are you sure you want to—”

“Absolutely. I know what I’m doing, girlfriend. I’m investing in you, Tess. I want you to stick around. Don’t need you going out on your own and becoming my competition. Besides, I’m making a nice piece of change off that property, as it is. Now go home and celebrate with that handsome man of yours.”

On the way home Tess wondered if it was possible, the part about celebrating with her “handsome man.” Daniel had been so angry with her last week when she’d refused to move in with him. She wasn’t sure she blamed him. Why was it that every time a man wanted to get close to her, she pushed him away?

Jesus, she wasn’t a kid anymore. In a couple of weeks she’d be thirty-five. She was becoming a successful and respected businesswoman. So why couldn’t she get her personal life right? Was she destined to fail at every damn relationship she attempted? No matter what she did, the past seemed to follow her around, sucking her back into its old, comfortable, but destructive, cocoon.

The last five years had been a constant battle, but finally she was making progress. And this last sale had proven that she was actually good at this. She could make a living without co

Tess found herself pulling her leased Miata into the back-alley parking lot of Louie’s Bar and Grill. She decided to pick up a bottle of wine. Then she’d call Daniel, apologize for last week and invite him over for a late di

She sat back in the leather seat and tried to remember why she felt she needed to apologize to him again. Oh well. It didn’t matter, as long as they put it behind them and moved forward. She was getting good at putting things in the past. Yet, if that were true, what was she doing back here at Louie’s? Shep’s Liquor Mart was only three blocks down the street and on her way home. What in the world did she need to prove to anyone? Or rather, what was it she still needed to prove to herself?

She reached for the key in the ignition and was just about to start the car and leave when the back door swung open, startling her. A stocky, middle-aged man came out, his hands filled with trash bags, his apron grimy and his balding head glistening with sweat. A cigarette hung from his lips. Without removing it, he heaved the bags into the Dumpster and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. As he turned to go back in, he saw her, and then it was too late.

He grabbed the cigarette—one last puff—and tossed it to the ground without stomping it out. He strolled up to the car, carrying his bulk with a swagger Tess knew he imitated from the professional wrestlers he idolized. He thought he looked cool. When, in fact, he simply looked like a pathetic, overweight, balding, middle-aged man. Despite all that, she found him endearing, the closest thing she had to an old friend.

“Tessy,” he said, then waited as the window hummed opened. “What the hell you doin’ here?”

She noticed the begi

“Hi, Louie.” She got out of the car.

“Fuckin’ nice ride ya got here, Tessy,” he said, checking out the shiny black Miata.

She let him examine and admire it, neglecting to tell him it was a company car and not her own. One of Delores’s mottoes was that to be successful you must first look successful.

Finally, Louie turned his sights on Tess. She felt his eyes slide down her designer suit and his whistle made her blush. She should have felt proud. Instead, his attention made her feel like a fraud for a second time in the same day.

“So whatcha doin’ here? Slummin’?”