I Still Dream About You

The Beast

BABS (THE BEAST OF BIRMINGHAM) HAD BLOWN INTO TOWN YEARS ago from New Jersey and by her second year there, was already a member of the Diamond Club and had been the city’s top producer of sales for six years in a row. A dynamo in business, yes, but it would be more than generous to say that Babs wasn’t a nice person. She didn’t even have the courtesy to fake being nice-unless, of course, she was with a client. Babs not only had two faces, she had two voices as well. When dealing with her employees or with other agents, she snapped orders in a loud, nasal tone that could crack ice, but with clients, she always used some fake oozy, syrupy voice, her attempt at a southern drawl that Brenda said was enough to gag a maggot. They say that eventually, everyone gets the face they deserve, and in her case, it was true. Someone (Ethel) once said that Babs looked exactly like a well-dressed wharf rat, a terribly cruel thing to say, but accurate. With her tight little beady eyes, tight little face, and long sharp nose, there was definitely a rodent vibe going on somewhere. Once, at a Women in Real Estate cocktail party, when Babs had been across the room nibbling on a piece of cheese, Ethel had poked Brenda and said, “See, I told you she was a rat.” But Brenda said she thought Babs looked more like a whippet wearing a pair of bad earrings.

And it wasn’t just her looks that Ethel objected to: it was the harsh way she conducted business and her loud and crass advertising style. Babs’s company used ads written in big bold headlines that screamed at you:

HURRY! HURRY! HURRY!

WON’T LAST LONG!

RUN, DON’T WALK!

BRING YOUR TOOTHBRUSH!

Whereas Maggie’s ads used more subtle terms like “Prepare to fall in love,” “Elegance of the past,” “A house to build a dream on,” or “Your lovely new home awaits you.” When Maggie wrote ads for less expensive homes, she said, “A rare opportunity for the discriminating buyer,” “Adorable and affordable,” or “Perfect for the first-time buyer and those wishing to scale down.” Babs’s ads for the same homes screamed at you:

CHEAP! CHEAP! CHEAP!

A REAL STEAL!

GRAB IT WHILE YOU CAN!

A LOT OF BANG FOR YOUR BUCK!

Maggie’s ads for the high-end, upper-market, “over the mountain” homes and estates were especially discreet and simply stated, “Price upon request.” Babs’s idea of selling an expensive home was:

IF YOU HAVE TO ASK, YOU CAN’T AFFORD IT!

If Maggie’s ad said, “A large spacious home, perfect for the collector and gracious entertaining,” Babs’s said:

GOT ART? WALLS GALORE!

PLENTY OF ROOM TO PARTY!

Ethel said Babs was about as subtle and discreet as a Mack truck, but as the years went by and Babs Bingington’s office started outselling Red Mountain Realty’s office three to one, it was obvious that much of the public was responding, and it made Ethel so mad she could spit bullets.

By now, everybody in the business knew that Babs was taking kickbacks from some of the new real estate developers in town. When they saw a house on a lot they liked, usually one of the beautiful older homes, Babs would approach the owners and talk them into selling to the nice young couple she hired to pretend to be the buyers. And then, after it was sold and escrow closed, the next day, the developers would move in and bulldoze the existing house down to the ground and, almost overnight, throw up a cheaply built, brand-new six- or seven-thousand-square-foot, bright orange, fake Mediterranean-style mega-mansion that looked to Maggie like a giant Taco Bell. And, as Ethel often said, “What the hell does Mediterranean style have to do with Birmingham anyway?”