Natalie eyed Gina’s glossy black hair with envy. Throwing a smile her way, she said, “The scarf looks even better on you. I wish I could get my hair to curl like that.”
“I just got it permed. I’m going to a new place in Huntington. It costs an arm and a leg, but like L’Oréal says, I’m worth it.” Gina jerked her chin, indicating the folder. “Have you peeked yet?”
Natalie wanted to examine her first listing without an audience, but the way Gina leaned forward made it clear she wasn’t going to focus on her own work until her curiosity was satisfied.
Sighing inwardly, Natalie opened the folder.
Inside was a grainy black-and-white photo of a ranch house she instantly recognized. Idle Day Drive was the next street over from where Natalie lived on Tidewater Terrace. Everyone in the neighborhood knew the couple on Idle Day because they owned three ancient cocker spaniels that barked around the clock. The McCreedys had no kids. They didn’t play bridge, attend block parties, or buy a single box of Girl Scout cookies. They turned out their porch light every Halloween and never put up Christmas decorations. They spent most of their timewalking their dogs and watching TV in the front room. They never planted flowers or trimmed their bushes. The lantern at the end of their walk was filled with the corpses of dead bugs. Their lawn was riddled with fungus.
Gina whistled. “It needs work, but at least it’s in the good part of town. If it’s totally nasty inside, you can still sell the school district.”
“Sure,” Natalie murmured absently.
“I see you got your business cards. What name did Sid put on them?”
Natalie blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Sid gives everyone nicknames. Except for me. He couldn’t think of a way to shorten Gina, so my cards have the name my parents gave me.” She tapped the name tag pinned to her blouse, making her left breast jiggle like jam with too little pectin.
Natalie opened the box Sid had given her and pulled out a business card. It was the crisp white of a new undershirt. The right corner featured a graphic of a yellow house. In the center, underGold Coast RealtyandWe Have the Golden Touch, was Natalie’s name, business phone number, and office address.
Only it wasn’t Natalie’s name.
“Guess you’re Nat now. Good luck with that listing,Agent Nat,” said Gina, quirking a pencil-line brow.
Natalie was seized by an urge to slap Gina. She could almost hear the satisfying smack and watch her handprint surface like a bright pink starfish on the younger woman’s cheek. She’d love to wipe away that smug expression, to see shock and a smidgen of fear appear there instead.
Glancing down at the business card, Natalie muttered, “I’m not going to get used to it. My brother used to call me Nat the Brat when we were kids, and I swore I’d never let anyoneuse that name again.” She shoved the box lid back on. “I’ll just have my own cards made.”
Gina shook her head. “Better not rock the boat. Not until you’re on the board.”
Natalie looked at the sales board affixed to the rear wall. All the spaces next to her name, Nat Scott, were blank. No open houses, no closings, no exclusive listings, and no sales.
She was perfectly aware that she was here on a trial basis and didn’t need Gina to remind her of that fact.
If Natalie didn’t make a sale in ninety days, she’d be gone.
And it’ll be another summer of laundry, vacuuming, cooking, grocery shopping, and swim meets.
Natalie pictured the blue rubber gloves she used for washing dishes, the Electrolux in the hall closet, the mop in the laundry room, and the trash can under the kitchen sink. If she were at home right now, she would’ve spent the past hour cleaning up after the kids’ breakfasts, feeding the dogs, and loading the dishwasher. After that, she would’ve refilled her coffee cup and sat down at the kitchen table to make her grocery list and sort through her coupons.
But she wasn’t sitting at her kitchen table right now. She was sitting at her desk. At work. In her office. She could get coffee from the staff room whenever she wanted. And the only lunch she’d made that day was her own.
She wasn’t wearing shorts and a T-shirt. She’d traded those for a pencil skirt and a silk blouse. The grubby sneakers she wore for yard work were sitting in the garage, and her narrow feet were encased in a sexy pair of heels.
I can leave my other self at home. I can be a different person.
Natalie could forget about her kids, her pets, and her house without feeling an ounce of guilt because she had Una.
Una would be waiting for the kids when they got offthe bus. She’d fix them a snack and tell them to play outside before starting their homework. When they came back in, she’d have a pitcher of homemade lemonade waiting. She’d listen to them talk about their day before sending them to their rooms to study or read. The dogs loved Una, too. They’d snooze at her feet while she ironed Jimmy’s shirts or flop on the kitchen floor to watch her chop vegetables or boil potatoes.
Without Una, Natalie could never have gone back to work. Una cooked, cleaned, and took care of the kids and the dogs. She was soft-spoken and thorough. Everyone on Tidewater Terrace wanted to hire Una, but her time was already taken by the Scotts and Natalie’s two best friends, Beth and Elaine.
Natalie never stopped to consider that Una might also want to be a different person—that she hadn’t immigrated from Iceland thirty years ago with dreams of becoming a housekeeper for an upper-middle-class family on Long Island. Natalie had no idea what Una dreamed about. She’d never thought to ask because she needed Una to stay exactly as she was. She needed Una to step into her place while she auditioned for a new part. Because Natalie Scott was ready to play the lead.
On the other side of the cubicle wall, Gina pushed her chair away from her desk. The wheel squeaked, snapping Natalie back to reality.
“I’m grabbing a coffee. Want one?”
