No one was going to judge him; he owned the company. He felt leading by example was the best approach to running a business, so instead of going completely casual, he wore some dress loafers with his jeans, and a crisp, button-down oxford with a blazer, sans tie. He looked at himself in the mirror, pointed to his reflection, and smiled.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Back in the kitchen, his tabby, Trixie, reminded him to replenish her food dispenser.
“Hey, sweet girl. Here’s some grub. Your favorite.”
He snagged his Denali keys off the table in the foyer and headed out the front door. Starbucks was on his way and he hit the drive-thru for a quick bagel and some coffee—cream, no sugar—before heading into DC via Route 50. As he waited for his order, his face smiled at him from a billboard across the street:
Relax, let REALTY-MAN RALPH sell your home!
When he crossed the Potomac and saw the Kennedy Center, he thought again of beautiful, tattooed Alton. He would be rehearsing there later this evening, weather pending.
Weather? It’s beautiful, the sun high and bright. What bad weather?
He cut through Georgetown and Foggy Bottom, up to Dupont. Traffic was abnormally light, which was a little odd, considering Thanksgiving was behind them. But Ralph was fine with it. Light traffic was a rare blessing in the nation’s capital.
He parked in the office garage on Massachusetts Avenue and waved to Cal, the morning attendant, as he strolled to the elevator. When the stainless-steel doors opened, he entered, turned, and pressed the button for the 4th floor.
Inside the elevator was a glass case with various business advertisements, including his own, also bearing his smiling face:
REALTY-MAN RALPH
Let’s close a deal!
Ralph Forrester Properties
Offices on the 4th floor.
He exited the elevator, walked to the hall’s end, and continued through double doors of frosted glass,Ralph Forrester Propertiesetched on both.
Shirley wasn’t at the front desk, so he continued through the lobby and down another hall to his office. He glanced in other rooms as he passed. Carrie was out. So were Yolanda and April.
Where is everyone?
As he was putting his satchel on his desk, he heard the front door open.
His office had clear vantage with the door open. It was Shirley.
“Hi, Shirl, where is everyone?”
“Hey, Ralph, didn’t see you come in.” She continued down the hall toward him. “Aretha is showing the Allister property in Bethesda. But she’s headed home after, she said. She’s worried about the storm. Opal was here earlier but said she had something going on tonight and might be back depending on—guess what—the storm. I haven’t heard from Yolanda or Carrie, but I suspect, like everyone else, they’re using the weather as an excuse for a long weekend.”
Ralph chuckled, sitting at his desk. “That’s fine. It’s been a good week. We all deserve a little rest—weatheror not.”
“Ha, ha. Oh, speaking of which—” she began. She left and returned with some papers, which she placed on the desk in front of him.
“What’s this?” he said, donning his reading glasses.
“It’s an offer on the Casper house in Tenleytown. Nine hundred fifty thousand smackeroos. Cash.”
Ralph looked over the rims at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Shirley smiled. She had her hair up in a bun with a pencil in it and little cat-eye glasses balanced on the tip of her nose. She played the sexy librarian part very well, Ralph noticed. He may be gay, but he still admired her choices.
“You look very nice today, Shirley.”
“You’d say that to anyone who just put a million-dollar cash offer on your desk.”
