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Authors: Celia T. Franklin
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“Bank it. Like I’ve been banking every extra bit. Then, one day, hopefully soon, I can retire and get out of this craziness,” Margo teased. If only she could retire. The mortgage industry wore her out. She knew talking about retiring caused Dan anxiety since she was his big kahuna, his cash cow. No one in midtown Manhattan produced as much as she did at D.C. Mutual, despite the fierce competition. He couldn’t afford to make her unhappy, especially with the competing banks and brokers constantly trying to get her to work for them.
“I’ll have a talk with Bertha, okay?” He stood and walked toward the door. “You know the processors get bonused on the closings. The center wants to close everything possible before year-end.”
“Yes, my pipeline and everyone else’s. That’s not the point. I need Bertha to cooperate and schedule the closings when I say and not when she gets around to it.” She clicked madly on her laptop working on a loan that was in process.
“Don’t you ever relax and have fun? Your husband must forget what you look like. Why don’t you guys go out and celebrate tonight?”
“We’ll celebrate. I’m going to the Jaguar dealer and getting the new XX50.”
Margo detected the flash of jealousy in his eyes. Good. At least she had some sort of satisfaction. He was such a pain in the ass sometimes.
“The convertible? Are you serious?”
“The very same.” She glanced at her eighteen-carat-gold wristwatch. It was already six. “I am going to take Timmy to dinner and then buy the Jag.”
“Good luck picking it out. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay too late.” He turned and left her office.
She called Timmy, but he didn’t answer his cell phone. Lately he’d been letting her calls go to voice mail, and it irritated her.
She left a message: “Timmy, I did it! I closed freakin’ forty-one loans for October. Let’s go out and celebrate. I want to get that Jag.”
A few minutes passed. Where the hell was he? It was a quarter to seven, and the dealership closed at nine. She tried his cell again with no luck.
****
Timothy Hopkins had always pictured himself in the academic world. At Drexel University, he earned a teacher’s assistant job by the end of his junior year. His driving goal had been to go to Tate University, and attend Manhattan’s world-renowned International Economics program for his graduate and postgraduate degree. After grad school, he worked his way up to associate professor and planned to achieve full professorship with eventual tenure in the next few years. Everything had worked according to his plan.
Tonight, he’d been working late with his teacher’s assistant, Lorraine Leary. Lorraine assisted him with his class load, grading, and preparing exams. Usually, he left the university after class and worked from home. But what was the sense of going home early or for dinner when he’d dine alone? Margo was never there.
It was after six. Timothy and Lorraine were working late on a curriculum proposal for the dean.
“I think we’ve arrived at our conclusion.” He tapped the summary report and looked at Lorraine. “All we have to do is pull together the presentation for the dean’s office.”
Lorraine turned her swivel chair from her makeshift desk at his credenza. “Gotcha. How about if I stay to finish the presentation? You go ahead home.” She rolled up her sleeves and started clicking on her laptop.
He heard his cell phone but ignored it.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Lorraine asked.
“Nah, it’s probably a solicitor calling. I’m sure Margo’s working late at the office.” He rolled his chair next to Lorraine to peer at her computer screen. “I’d like to go over the layout with you before I sign off for the evening.”
“It’s really not due till the end of the week. We could continue tomorrow after your last class. Four o’clock, right?”
“Yup. But I don’t want the responsibility on your shoulders. We
“Bank it. Like I’ve been banking every extra bit. Then, one day, hopefully soon, I can retire and get out of this craziness,” Margo teased. If only she could retire. The mortgage industry wore her out. She knew talking about retiring caused Dan anxiety since she was his big kahuna, his cash cow. No one in midtown Manhattan produced as much as she did at D.C. Mutual, despite the fierce competition. He couldn’t afford to make her unhappy, especially with the competing banks and brokers constantly trying to get her to work for them.
“I’ll have a talk with Bertha, okay?” He stood and walked toward the door. “You know the processors get bonused on the closings. The center wants to close everything possible before year-end.”
“Yes, my pipeline and everyone else’s. That’s not the point. I need Bertha to cooperate and schedule the closings when I say and not when she gets around to it.” She clicked madly on her laptop working on a loan that was in process.
“Don’t you ever relax and have fun? Your husband must forget what you look like. Why don’t you guys go out and celebrate tonight?”
“We’ll celebrate. I’m going to the Jaguar dealer and getting the new XX50.”
Margo detected the flash of jealousy in his eyes. Good. At least she had some sort of satisfaction. He was such a pain in the ass sometimes.
“The convertible? Are you serious?”
“The very same.” She glanced at her eighteen-carat-gold wristwatch. It was already six. “I am going to take Timmy to dinner and then buy the Jag.”
“Good luck picking it out. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay too late.” He turned and left her office.
She called Timmy, but he didn’t answer his cell phone. Lately he’d been letting her calls go to voice mail, and it irritated her.
She left a message: “Timmy, I did it! I closed freakin’ forty-one loans for October. Let’s go out and celebrate. I want to get that Jag.”
A few minutes passed. Where the hell was he? It was a quarter to seven, and the dealership closed at nine. She tried his cell again with no luck.
****
Timothy Hopkins had always pictured himself in the academic world. At Drexel University, he earned a teacher’s assistant job by the end of his junior year. His driving goal had been to go to Tate University, and attend Manhattan’s world-renowned International Economics program for his graduate and postgraduate degree. After grad school, he worked his way up to associate professor and planned to achieve full professorship with eventual tenure in the next few years. Everything had worked according to his plan.
Tonight, he’d been working late with his teacher’s assistant, Lorraine Leary. Lorraine assisted him with his class load, grading, and preparing exams. Usually, he left the university after class and worked from home. But what was the sense of going home early or for dinner when he’d dine alone? Margo was never there.
It was after six. Timothy and Lorraine were working late on a curriculum proposal for the dean.
“I think we’ve arrived at our conclusion.” He tapped the summary report and looked at Lorraine. “All we have to do is pull together the presentation for the dean’s office.”
Lorraine turned her swivel chair from her makeshift desk at his credenza. “Gotcha. How about if I stay to finish the presentation? You go ahead home.” She rolled up her sleeves and started clicking on her laptop.
He heard his cell phone but ignored it.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Lorraine asked.
“Nah, it’s probably a solicitor calling. I’m sure Margo’s working late at the office.” He rolled his chair next to Lorraine to peer at her computer screen. “I’d like to go over the layout with you before I sign off for the evening.”
“It’s really not due till the end of the week. We could continue tomorrow after your last class. Four o’clock, right?”
“Yup. But I don’t want the responsibility on your shoulders. We
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