Page 4 of Out of the Shadow

It was pure good luck that our dream house ended up being next door to Aunt Teresa’s extended family, the Russos. Dante’s family. Shutting down those thoughts, I move on to the next item on my Bucket List.

Get Broker’s License and buy an office in Aroostook, Long Island.Check.

“I did it, Dante,” I whisper. We were so in love with this town that we didn’t even think of setting up shop anywhere else.

The next item is the last one I’ll ever tackle.Become the #1 real estate agency in the Hamptons.It’s so big, so ambitious, it might take me the rest of my life to get there.

I sigh. Although we were young when we created this list, we weren’t totally naïve. We knew this would be the hardest one, which will make my ultimate success all the more satisfying.

But if I want that particular crown, I’ll have to steal it from Poppy Mayflower. Seriously, that’s her real name. To make matters worse, she’s the picture-perfect Hamptons socialite—tall, skinny, blonde, and immaculately groomed. She’s been the top realtor here in the Hamptons for ten years, ever since she took over the business from her mother, Regina.

At forty, Poppy is ten years my senior and always lords her success over me. But she shouldn’t count me out yet. How was I supposed to know my first-ever client here had already signed with her? I was told she was unhappy with her realtor and we hit it off. She hired me fair and square, and I found her a wonderful single-family house. Ever since, Poppy’s had it out for me. She’s made it a habit of talking shit about me behind my back, claiming I lack class and sophistication because I’m from Brooklyn. My dad’s first-generation Italian, and to her that means I’m “not worthy.”

I may be vertically challenged and my last name didn’t come over with the pilgrims, but I’m damn good at what I do. Or, rather, I would be if Poppy would back off. A few months ago, she lured away my only agent. And last week, she managed to steal my new listing away from me by bragging to the owners about her contacts. She convinced the Lloyds she could sell the house in half the time it would take me.

Truth is, she may not be wrong.

But it still makes me mad.

It was my first million-dollar listing, and I’d worked hard for it. I sigh, putting my anger away. Won’t do me any good.

What I need is good news from that television show. It’s not a conventional way to gain attention—I’m sure Poppy wouldn’t dream of it—but I want to bring in more clients and make Russo Real Estate a household name. Not just in the Hamptons, either. I’ll show Poppy what it means to be from Brooklyn!

I kiss the notebook paper and fold it back into its little square, returning it to my purse. I really need to remember to leave it in my bedroom. Absently, I rub my left wrist.

The pile of bills neatly stacked on the corner of my desk mocks me. If anything else goes wrong, I don’t know what I’ll do. I already had to let my receptionist go to save on her salary. Thank God for cousin Marlene, who volunteered to step in—free—until I get my feet under me. That was a year ago. Whenever I do a closing, I make sure to give her a piece. Thankfully her husband’s a lawyer, so she doesn’t need the money.

This will be the week you grab a new listing, or sell a home. This week.

It has to be. If something doesn’t change soon, I’m not going to be the top real estate agent in the Hamptons. I’m not going to be a real estate agent at all.

I’m standing by my desk, gathering up my things, when my cell phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. I need to leave if I’m going to make it to my family’s house for our weekly dinner—one they grudgingly changed to Saturdays to accommodate my Sunday Open Houses—but I’m waiting for a call, so I fish my phone out of my purse. My heart pounds when I see the name on the screen. Blaine Evans, the TV producer. “Hi, Blaine,” I say, accepting the call.

“Angela, so glad I caught you!”

I tug my hair. “It’s Angie.”

“Not a problem, Angie. I wanted to let you know that we’ve made a decision.”

I suck in my breath. I sent in my audition video as soon as I heard about the show, and Kaitlyn Jeffries came by a few weeks later. With her long red hair streaked with purple, she looked more like a fairy than a director, but I think I convinced her the agency is a good fit for the show. I hope so.

“Congratulations, your agency has moved on to the next round.”

I barely restrain myself from making a victory lap around the reception area. “Really? Oh, wow.” I clear my throat. “I mean, I’m very excited to hear this.”

He chuckles. “We’d like to do screen tests next week with you and your potential co-stars, see how everything gels.”

My heartrate speeds up with every word he utters. If I get this gig, it will put Russo Real Estate on the map. Finally, a piece of good news. “Next week is perfect.”

After hanging up with Blaine, I collapse down onto my chair and exhale. This is my big break. I kiss my wrist.

We’re going to make it, Dante. I know it.

“ANGIE, YOU DON’Thave any meatballs on your plate. Francesco, pass her the meatballs.” Next to him, his wife mediates a fight over pasta between their two little girls.

“Thanks, Mama.” Accepting the platter from my brother, I put two meatballs over my pasta.

“So, tell us all about this fancy television show you’ve gotten yourself onto,” my sister, Juliana, says as she passes me the grated Parmigiana Reggiano. Her son’s Pee Wee soccer team had an away game today, so her husband is representing them while she’s at our family dinner.

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