Suzanne Beecher

Dear Reader,

I was dusting my bookshelves the other day when I saw the book, "An Invisible Sign of My Own" by Aimee Bender. I decided to sit down and reread the prologue, and you know, it was just as great as the first time around. That prologue is one of my all-time favorites. I remember when I first got the book, I was reading the opening to everyone in the office because I thought it was such a hoot.

Not everyone agreed with me. I clearly remember one reader emailing me--when I first featured the book years ago--asking, "Suzanne, what were you thinking?"

Read it for yourself, here.

I hope you have as much fun with it as I did.

* Congratulations to Laini P. and Fatima V., the winners of the Silicone Muffin Cup Giveaway.

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@firstlookbookclub.com

P. S. This week we're giving away 10 copies of the book The Second Ending: A Novel by Michelle Hoffman. Click here to enter for your chance to win. 

(continued from Thursday)

CHAPTER FOUR

Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover

The morning Stuart flew out of Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport for London's Heathrow, Bobby Wheeler was in Redwood City, California, wondering how he was going to come up with the money he owed his former employer. Bobby Wheeler had worked his way up to Regional Mechanic for the Northern California District for Vantage Car Rental, which meant he got to visit all eight shops from San Francisco to Monterey, overseeing maintenance and repairs of the vehicles. He had his pick of the fleet, too. Usually a tricked-out Chevy Camaro or a badass, cherry-red Dodge Challenger. It was the best job he ever had, and he had screwed it all up. Nobody would hire him now. Not after he ran up $88,642 for what he told his bosses were "travel expenses and invoices for car parts." Not after all the papers ran the story, with variations of the headline: redwood city man target  of  online scam, employer pays the price.

Vantage Car Rental had no interest in prosecuting, not if they could get their money back. So they made a deal. A payment plan, actually. If Bobby Wheeler made each and every payment in full and on time, he would avoid jail time. But to make the payments Bobby needed a job. Since he couldn't get a job, he would have to sell his Redwood City townhouse. He was fifty years old and finding another place to live was going to be tough on his jobless, debtburdened budget. He already bought his groceries at Dollar Tree.

It wasn't fair. That's what Bobby was thinking when the doorbell rang.

"Mr. Wheeler?" said a petite woman in a blue suit. Her voice was as warm and inviting as a bath.

"Yes?"

"Allison Lin, Zephyr Real Estate. You contacted me about selling your home?"

She shook his hand and gave a bit of a squeeze. Bobby Wheeler felt something inside of him stir.

He stepped aside. "Come in, please. Call me Bobby."

Allison Lin looked around, then turned her attention back to Bobby. It was more than attention, it was focus, and it made him feel special.

"How many bedrooms, Bobby?"

"Two."

"Bathrooms?"

"Two and a half."

"Bobby, you mind if I look around?"

"Be my guest." Bobby liked the way she said his name. She was pretty. She smelled good.

Allison Lin strode through the front room and into the kitchen and down the hallway and into the bedrooms. She opened cupboards, looked into closets, and peeked under beds.

"How much do you want to sell this for, Bobby?"

"A billion dollars."

She gave him a crooked smile.

"Nah, kidding, kidding," he said. "What do you think?"

"Market value on this place should be about $800,000. You're not going to get that, though."

"Why not?"

"There's a lot that needs to be repaired and replaced. The broken light fixture in the bathroom. Those warped cupboards in the kitchen. Potential buyers will think you haven't taken care of this place."

"Okay."

"You're going to have to put some money into this place to sell it."

He hadn't counted on that. "Really?"

"You'll get it all back and then some, trust me. Possibly even multiple bids."

"Multiple bids?"

"That really drives the price up. Listen, this is the most expensive area in the world. The 'world,' Bobby. You could make some good money here."

"I could?"

"Just sold a condo in Foster City that went twenty thousand over asking. Another in Belmont—a house—went 'fifty' over list in a bidding war."

"No!"

"You're going to need to declutter, though. You've got boxes everywhere and to potential buyers, it makes them think there's not enough storage."

Bobby Wheeler scratched the back of his neck. "I like my stuff."

"You want buyers to be able to imagine themselves in your home, Bobby."

Bobby Wheeler could never imagine people in his home. What a nice thought.

"I've got some great ideas on how to stage it," Allison Lin said. "Stage it?"

"Sure. We'll put in some furniture that's better suited for the space. Your recliner is great, but it really shouldn't be placed in the middle of the room in front of the television. You want it to feel warm and welcoming."

He sure did.

"What about all my stuff? Get rid of it?"

"What you don't want to get rid of, you can put in a storage unit.

There's a great company off El Camino—Mike's Attic. Tell him Allison Lin sent you."

He liked this woman. She was exactly what he needed in his life— someone who'd get rid of his mess and fix everything broken. "Was just waiting for you, darling."

She rewarded him with a weak smile.

Allison Lin studied her new client. He was a strange one. "I can get you a number for a handyman. In the meantime, start cleaning. I'll run some comps in your area and get back to you. You on board?"

Bobby Wheeler snapped off a salute and said, "Bobby Wheeler reporting for duty, ma'am."

For the first time in months, Bobby Wheeler felt happy. Things were moving in the right direction. He turned on some Van Halen and bounced around the house.

By three o'clock the next day, the closets were empty and the front room full. There were beat-up suitcases and mismatched chairs and dented lampshades. There were plastic crates filled with obsolete computer cords and back issues of 'Car and Driver.' A box from that damn ex-wife of his. Of course, he got stuck with her junk. He was always holding on to other people's junk.

At a quarter after three, his phone rang.

He turned down REO Speedwagon. "Y'ello!"

"Mr. Wheeler?" It was Allison Lin.

"Heyyyy, you," he said as if they had already made a date. Like to a Giants game or something. Tickets behind home plate."Thought I told you to call me Bobby."

"Uh, Bobby . . ."

"Got this place practically emptied out. Ready for tile guys, painters, you name it."

He waited for her praise.

"We're going to have to put a hold on that." He stopped chewing his gum. "Why's that?"

"Mr. Wheeler, you've got a lien on your house."

"A lien," he repeated.

"As in, you owe someone money and they have possession of your house until you pay it off." He could hear the beep of a key fob unlocking a car door.

"Yeah, that. I was going to sell the house to pay them."

"It doesn't work that way. Legally, they have the right to sell the house."

"And reap the profits from multiple bids?"

Bobby did not like this Allison Lin. She lacked the enthusiasm of her counterpart the day before. "That's 'if' we get multiple bids. For the time being, my hands are tied."

"How do I get this lien taken off my house?"

"Pay off whoever put it on in the first place."

"Then would I be able to sell my house and get multiple offers?"

Again, a pause. "Sure, Mr. Wheeler . . . look, when you get the lien paid off, give me a call."

Bobby felt the familiar stab of rejection followed by the tight grip of failure. It was a pattern.

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