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insane?"
    "You keep asking me that," said Cindy. "But you're the one who decided to start changing the rules on commissions. So let's compromise and stick to the original agreement on my commission. What do you say?"
    "It's a good thing I'm a gentleman, or I'd tell you right to your face what I think of you."
    "When you get your check and you stop having to pay taxes on that empty house, then what you'll think of me is that I'm a damn good agent who finally did what
no
other agent has been able to do: get you free of that house. You may even realize that the main obstacle I had to overcome was a stubborn owner who has no idea what's going on in the real estate market in Greensboro."
    "How do I know the buyer isn't you? How do I know you aren't knocking down the price yourself to cheat me?"
    "I'll tell you how you know. Because when you start insulting me like that, I won't stick around to take it." And, once again, she hung up on him.
    At the next desk, Ryan Bagatti grinned at her. "I can't wait to see the motivational tape that taught you
that
technique. Sean Penn and Zsa Zsa Gabor star in the video
You Can Make Millions in Real Estate by Hanging Up on Clients!
"
    "Hey, I didn't slap him."
    "I'm not sure but what he has a bruise from the way you talked to him."
    Cindy tossed her hair nonchalantly. "What do I care about money and commissions? Poverty is good for the soul. Unemployment is capitalism's way of getting you to plant a garden."
    Her phone buzzed. The receptionist told her who it was. She cheerfully stuck her tongue out at Ryan and picked up the receiver. "Hey," she said.
    "Do whatever it takes but sell the damn house," said the owner.
    "Commission as per our agreement?" said Cindy.
    "Take the whole purchase price, just get it off my hands!"
    "I'll do my best, sir."
    "And don't you
dare
give me that 'sir' baloney. You are not a lady, young woman. I hope you realize that about yourself!"
    "I do now, sir, and thank you for helping me make another leap forward in my quest for self-discovery."
    "You just don't let up, do you?"
    "It's my most endearing trait," said Cindy. "After it grows on you."
    "I just better see results."
    "Have a nice day."
    This time the hanging up was peaceful, and she turned to grin at Ryan.
    "You only got away with that because you're a woman," said Ryan.
    "I only
had
to do it because I'm a woman," said Cindy. "If I'd been a man, he would have listened to my advice seriously without having to go through all the drama."
    "You're really pretty when you're on a feminist rant," said Ryan.
    "And you're really attractive when you remember that you're married," said Cindy.
    "Not to my wife I'm not."
    "Well, she'd know," said Cindy.
    She had a few hours to kill and the house intrigued her. The file said it was built in 1874 by a Dr. Calhoun Bellamy. Cindy always liked to tell her prospective buyers the history of a house, even if it was only a few years old. They liked knowing that a mansion was built by an executive with Jefferson-Pilot, for instance, or that a modest house was built by one of the textile mills as affordable housing for its employees. It gave them a sense of connection with the place, a story to tell their friends. Most important, it made them feel as though the house had some personality and that made them connect with it. No way of knowing whether that finally helped them decide to buy, but it couldn't hurt, could it?
    So she went to the county offices and spent a couple of hours hunting for the pertinent records and examining all the transactions. Not many buyers. Dr. Bellamy and his wife lived in the house until they both died in 1918—the flu epidemic? Their children tried to hold onto it, apparently, until 1920, but then they sold it for nine thousand dollars. A very good price in those days. After that the place was nonresidential for a while, whatever that meant, and by the mid-thirties it was just one landlord after another renting ever-smaller apartments to ever-poorer