CeeCee, Finding the Perfect House for the Perfect Woman

By B.L Wilson

CeeCee Willis has always used her wealth she earned from her craft to buy what she wants. She sculpts, creating wonderfully simple but elegant modernistic stone shapes.

Some things and some people aren’t for sale, like Maya Brooks, a realtor CeeCee hires to find the dream house for her and her twin sons. The two women bump heads about scheduling issues. Maya seeks revenge when CeeCee keeps wasting her time, turning up late for appointments or cancelling them at the last minute and leaving Maya with no sense of the style of house CeeCee desires.

Eventually, the two women have a romantic encounter, but fate intervenes. Will a potential tragedy squash the blossoming relationship, making it impossible for Maya to find the perfect house for the perfect woman?

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.L Wilson
• Release date: Sep 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370811755

B.L Wilson

B.L. has always been in love with books and the words in them. She never thought she could create something with the words she knew. When she read ‘To Kill A Mocking Bird,’ she realized everyday experiences could be written about in a powerful, memorable way. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge so she kept on reading.Walter Mosley’s short stories about Easy Rawlins and his friends encouraged BL to start writing in earnest. She felt she had a story to tell...maybe several of them. She’d always kept a diary of some sort, scraps of paper, pocketsize, notepads, blank backs of agency forms, or in the margins of books. It was her habit to make these little notes to herself. She thought someday she’d make them into a book.She wrote a workplace memoir based on the people she met during her 20 years as a property manager of city-owned buildings. Writing the memoir, led her to consider writing books that were not job-related. Once again, she did...producing romance novels with African American lesbians as main characters. She wrote the novels because she couldn’t find stories that matched who she wanted to read about ...over forty, African American and female.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE … Find me a house

Harriet Smith, also known as Smithy to her friends, opened the local free newspaper, then folded it in half and pointed to a colorful half-page advertisement for homes. See, Boss Lady. It still looks pretty good, doesn’t it? An older Black woman with salt and pepper hair, Harriet sat at an oak-toned, antique desk where she could see the front door to Brooks & Brooks Realty.

Maya Brooks, owner of the real estate company, stared thoughtfully at the paper her office manager held up. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, then ran a toffee-colored hand over her scalp, liking the feel of the soft coils of a short haircut. She uncrossed long legs, stood up, and strode over for a closer look. Hmm, yeah, it’s good. We’re in the cyber age, Smithy. Who even reads papers today? Everything is online. There’s Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, Linked-In, Snapchat, Instagram, and a host of other social sites at something-something dot com or dot net. People want to see what their money can buy without leaving the comfort of their computers. I’m glad I hired that web designer for those virtual tours. I’d be surprised if this ad brings in traffic. I bet you a dinner it doesn’t, Smithy.

Harriet grinned. She loved a challenge. I’ll take that bet. You’re gonna owe me a dinner when the client of your dreams walks in here holding this paper.

Maya snorted. Humph, over Boyd’s dead body you’ll go out to dinner with me. She blew on her mug full of hot tea, then took another sip of her much needed morning liquid and grinned. Hmm, this is good, Smithy. What is it?

My old man does what I tell him, Maya. If you’re buying me a dinner, Boyd will just have to live with it. As for the tea, it’s Earl Grey, the same one you’ve been drinking for years.

No, more likely you’ll be the one living with an upset Boyd, Maya said, chuckling as an image of a solid-looking, sixty-one-year-old Black man, a former sanitation worker, popped into her head. What’s my schedule look like today? She unbuttoned her navy blue suit jacket, pulled a chair next to Harriet’s computer chair, and sat down to watch her manicured fingers fly over the keyboard. They reviewed Maya’s calendar together as they always did early mornings when there were no clients to see and no jobs to check on. She pointed to the screen. So 3040 Creek Road is ready to be inspected again?

Harriet nodded. Yes. According to the contractor, he cleaned out the debris in the basement so the plumber could reach the sewer line. The plumber called.

Maya groaned, then rubbed her chin. Okay, how much is he overcharging us this time?

Harriet smiled. Take it easy there, Maya. He’s giving us a deal.

Maya shook her head and rolled her eyes. As much as I’ve spent with him, he oughta do this one for free.

Well, it’s nearly free. He’s hitting us with a service charge only. No stoppages or busted pipes, the stench was from a couple of dead rats and a dead cat. Our debris guy tagged ‘em and bagged ‘em. He said there was more debris in the yard, the rest of the basement, and maybe the first floor. He couldn’t tell how much more stuff was in there. The place smelled so bad, his men refused to do the debris removal until the plumber cleared what they thought was a sewer stoppage.

Amen to that. I’ll stop by today. I hope we can get the odor out of there. What’s next?

Want me to tell the debris guy to spray the place after they wash it down with disinfectant?

Maya frowned. Everything was going green. Just because the houses she sold were in Black and Brown neighborhoods, didn’t mean she could ignore that. As a realtor, she had to worry how repair jobs affected the ecosystem in the surrounding neighborhoods of the houses she sold. Hold off on the wash job. Check with our hardware store. See if they can recommend something that won’t hurt the environment in the house or outside in case the stuff finds its way into the grass or the street drains. What’s next?

Harriet made a note to call Three Brothers Home Supplies before the debris contractor went to the job site to finish the cleanup. Okay, the Pattersons’ house. The mortgage guy at the bank doesn’t think they’ll qualify for the loan.

Maya sighed. He doesn’t think they’ll qualify or he knows they won’t?

Gimme a minute and let me check. Harriet frowned, then searched through the files stacked on her desk to pull out the right one. She opened it. They started sorting through the paperwork to find the credit information.

Hmm, I’m not seeing red flags on the income questionnaire, assets, or debts fact sheets. The credit report looks good too. What about you, Maya? Are you seeing anything?

Is this information current?

Yes.

So call the mortgage guy. Maybe he knows something we don’t.

You got it, Boss Lady. Harriet made another note on her desk calendar to call the bank. She glanced at her watch and held up two fingers. Two more issues before you meet your new client.

What new client? Maya drew closer to the screen, squinting and then tapping it. I don’t see anything about a new client, Smithy. It’s not on my schedule.

Yes, I know. Her assistant called as I was leaving last night. I didn’t get the chance to input the information yet.

Okay, I’m game. Tell me about the client.

She’d seen our ad in the free paper. She thought we might be the right broker for her boss. Harriet grinned broadly, excited by the prospect of a wealthy client and a free dinner to boot. Aren’t you gonna ask me who her boss is?

Maya sat back in the chair, put her hands behind her head, and studied her assistant and friend. You’re too slick for me this morning, Smithy. I’ll just wait for you to fill me in.

Harriet gave Maya a gentle shove. You know me too well. I did a little research. I googled our new client. Here’s what I found on her family. Harriet handed Maya a half-inch-thick folder. Read it after we go over the last items on the list.

Maya took the folder, hefting it but not opening it. Okay, what’s next?

Chandler Street. Our carpenter said the cabinets were delivered yesterday. He wants you to see them before he installs them. He also wants you to look at the living room and dining room windows. And the ones on the second floor.

Why?

Harriet cleared her throat. He says the cabinets don’t fit in the kitchen. He thinks they’d look better in the house on Bay Avenue.

Maya nodded. He oughta know. He’s doing work in both places. Tell him to bring cabinets to Bay Avenue. We haven’t ordered yet for Bay Avenue, have we?

No. He’ll want a delivery fee.

Maya nodded. That’s okay. He’s worth it, Smithy. You mentioned windows. What’s wrong with them?

Harriet’s eyes twinkled and she grinned broadly at Maya.

Maya sighed as she eyed Harriet’s gleeful expression. Oh boy, am I gonna like this one?

He says they look great. He thinks you’re gonna love ‘em and want more.

Let him know I’ll stop by today at lunch time.

Humph! What time is that, Maya? You never stop to eat lunch.

Hey, Smithy, you’re looking at the next under-forty millionaire.

Harriet issued a tolerant sigh. You’ll be forty in eight months. I think you’d better get a move on, Boss Lady, and sell a lot more houses.

Speaking of selling, see anything interesting in the listings?

Harriet’s fingers flew over the keyboard. She pulled up current listings and pointed to ten houses. You should check these out between today and tomorrow. She scrolled down a list and ran her cursor over another group of addresses. These next fifteen are second level. Look at them after you’ve finished the first ten. There are about a dozen third level houses you ought to see too. I noticed a couple of rental units and some co-op apartments that looked interesting.

Christ, Smithy! Who do you think I am? Superwoman?

To paraphrase Donna Summer: under-forty millionaires gotta work hard for the money.

Yeah, don’t I know it? Maya rose, grabbed the new client folder, and strode to her office to read it. How much time do I have to look at this?

Harriet shrugged. About ten minutes.

Maya turned around to eye Harriet and then waved the folder at her. You must think I am Superwoman.

No, I think you should quit complaining to me and read the darned folder, Harriet remarked playfully as she smiled at Maya. One more thing, Maya, pack your boots if you’re going into that basement at Chandler. Bring a packet of masks and some gloves too.

Maya nodded. Will do. She held the folder up. Ten minutes, right?

Harriet glanced at her watch and shook her head. Nope, it’s nine o’clock. I hope you’re a speed reader.

Dawn Martin stood at the kitchen window sipping coffee and watching two little boys with closely cropped afros trudging up the long driveway. Hurry up, guys, she urged, forgetting they couldn’t hear her through the closed windows. Get up there before the bus does. I’m not driving you little tricksters to school again.

The boys dropped their book bags on the driveway and stopped to look at something in the wide expanse of lawn. She knocked on the kitchen window, hoping to draw their attention. Either they were deliberately ignoring her or they couldn’t hear her. Boys, you can see whatever is in the grass when you come home tonight.

She tapped on the pane harder, making a loud sound this time. Two identical milk chocolate faces looked up at her and waved. She motioned for them to get to the bus stop. The boys shrugged their book bags back on their shoulders and continued their slow journey up the driveway as the yellow mini bus rolled down the street. She watched the bus stop, flashing lights, and a school bus aide prevented traffic from moving in either direction until the twins climbed aboard the bus.

That’s two down and one to go, Dawn murmured, pouring another cup of coffee. As was her routine, Dawn sat down to read the morning paper while she ate a boiled egg, toast, and orange juice. She rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. Not enough to run it, she decided. She glanced at her watch and then the kitchen doorway. It looked as though CeeCee wasn’t coming down to breakfast without some help from her.

She poured a cup of coffee in a mug, then set it on the tray next to napkins, silverware, a bowl of cold cereal, soy milk, and four packets of sugar. She marched down the hallway, passing the dining room and the living room and up a flight of stairs to the master bedroom on the second floor. CeeCee, wake up, she called from the second floor hallway, balancing the tray in her hands. There was no answer. She bumped the door open with a shove of her hip and walked over to the large lump on the bed, setting the tray on the dresser to the left of the bed.

Sweetie, it’s time to rise and shine. You don’t wanna be late for your first appointment, do you?

The lump on the bed moved, then groaned when Dawn opened the heavy light-blocking brocade curtains. Close the goddamned curtains, Dawn! I need to sleep.

Dawn moved over to the end of the bed and leaned over to pinch a foot. No, you need to get up.

I have a migraine, Dawn. CeeCee slammed another pillow over her head to shut out the light. Ouch! That hurts. She yanked the pillow off, sat up, and peered at the blurry hands of a clock on the end table. What time is it?

Eight fifteen.

CeeCee frowned and then fluffed thick red-brown dreadlocks. What time is my appointment?

Nine o’clock.

With the doctor, right?

No.

It’s a board meeting, right? I’m safe. They never start those meetings before ten anyway.

Dawn crossed her arms over her chest as she studied CeeCee from the foot of the bed. That’s because the chairperson, who will remain nameless, never arrives before ten. But no, it’s not a board meeting. You have one this week and another next Friday. How’s the work going? You have gallery showing in six weeks. Are you gonna be ready?

Christ, it’s too early in the morning for the 64,000-dollar question, Dawn. Just tell me who I’m supposed to meet today.

Dawn grinned. Nice dodge, but we’ll get back to the question of your work later. Your dream house, remember?

CeeCee’s eyes felt like sandpaper and her head throbbed. What in God’s name was Dawn muttering about this morning? Christ, who got up before ten anyway? She was a night owl. That was all there was to it. She did her best work when she could rattle around her studio late at night when everything was dark and quiet. Could you hand me a cup of that coffee I smell … please.

Dawn nodded, dumped in four packets of sugar, and brought the mug to her.

CeeCee sipped the steaming dark liquid and smiled immediately. Hmm, this is good. I knew I kept you around for a reason, Dawn. She raised the mug. This must be it. Did the twins get off to school okay? Or did they miss the bus so you’d have to drive them again?

Oh, they made it to the bus but barely. You’d better have another time management discussion with them.

CeeCee giggled as she eyed Dawn over the rim of her mug. Wouldn’t that be like the pot calling the kettle black, Dawn? They know I don’t have a great sense of timing myself. I’m always late for anything that starts before noon. I doubt if they’d listen to a thing I said. You’re a lot better at that stuff than I am. You talk to them, okay?

Dawn frowned. Christ, CeeCee, when are you gonna take some responsibility for the twin demons? You can’t expect me to …

Do everything for them until after my show. CeeCee finished the sentence for Dawn. Yeah, I can. That’s what personal assistants do.

Dawn sighed as she looked at her best friend. No. That’s what your personal assistant does. Most personal assistants I know draw the line where my job starts.

CeeCee grinned. I know you’re special, Dawn. Your paycheck shows it too.

Dawn’s eyes narrowed and her hands went to her hips. She was in argument mode. This was never about the money, CeeCee, and you know it. She patted her chest. Goddamn it, I love those boys as much as you do! For you to suggest that I do what I do for the money. She shook a finger at CeeCee. I ought to just quit and stop speaking to you, she remarked, storming to the door.

CeeCee set the empty cup on the end table next to the bed. She rose quickly and tugged on Dawn’s arm, catching her before she reached the hallway. Aw, come on, Dawn. Sweetie. Don’t go away pissed. I’ll spend more time with the boys after my show. She raised a hand and placed it on her chest. I swear on a stack of bibles, I’ll be a better mother. I’ll get up early to fix their breakfast and send them off to school. I’ll listen to their school adventures when they come home in the evening. I’ll help with their homework. I’ll be there for baths at bedtime. I’ll go to bed at a decent hour too.

Dawn pulled away from CeeCee’s grasp. She turned around and faced her. She studied her best friend’s guilty face, then sighed as her anger drained away. CeeCee, this is the time when they need you the most. If you miss this time in their lives, they may grow up to resent you a great deal. And that would be too bad.

CeeCee fluffed her dreadlocks, then nervously played with the buttons on her nightgown. I know. God, Joan would have been so much better at this motherhood business than I am. We made a pact. I’d get pregnant, carry them to term, and she’d raise them to be sensitive, caring Black men.

Dawn nodded sadly as she looked into dark eyes turning gloomy much like her own did when she thought about her kid sister. She heard Joan’s excuses about her plan to quit smoking a million times but suffered the consequences only once. That was all it took to end a life. I know, CeeCee, but our Joanie isn’t here anymore.

I miss her, Dawn. Why did she have to leave us like that?

I don’t know, CeeCee. Dawn sighed. I miss her too.

The two women hugged.

Dawn released CeeCee first, squeezing her arm. You have an appointment to meet with a realtor today. You’d better get a move on if you want to keep it. I understand she’s pretty busy.

CeeCee looked surprised. Oh shit! She started opening drawers and throwing underwear on the bed. Why didn’t you say that before, Dawn?

Dawn moved away from the whirling dervish that was CeeCee Willis. She leaned against the door, watching her with an amused expression. I did. Weren’t you listening?

Oh, shut up, Ms. Smarty-Pants, and help me find something to wear. What does one wear to meet her broker? CeeCee opened the door to a walk-in closet, shoving hangers with blouses on them to the right, then to the left. I don’t like that one, she muttered to herself. She grabbed several dresses, tugging the hems into the closet’s ceiling light, then pushing them back in the closet. Those make me look fat.

Like I’d know, CeeCee. I rent. I don’t own.

CeeCee rummaged through the pile of colorful underwear on the bed and selected a black bra with matching panties. It’s not like you don’t have the money to buy a place, Dawn. I pay you pretty well. I happen to know you park most of your salary in mutual funds and T-bills.

I don’t plan on being Homeless Hortense at sixty-five who sleeps in a cardboard box and begs for change. Dawn took the underwear of out CeeCee’s hand and pushed her toward the bathroom with a gentle shove. I got this. Go shower. I think you ought to wear something nice—not too casual but not too expensive-looking. And don’t take too long either.

Fifty minutes later, CeeCee Willis parked her BMW in the back lot while Dawn went inside Brooks & Brooks Realty to speak with the pleasant woman she’d spoken with yesterday.

Maya paced back and forth in front of her desk, glancing at her wristwatch, then rubbing her neck. She hated this crap. Waiting for late clients always put her in a bad mood. Are you sure she said today, Smithy? Call that number again. Maybe a live person will answer this time. I could have been checking out those listings before O’Malley, Torres, or Nelson Houses see the homes.

Smithy walked back to Maya’s office. Sit down and calm yourself, Maya. You know how you can work yourself into a tizzy over nothing.

Nothing, huh? Since when is an hour late nothing? Time is money, Smithy.

Harriet watched Maya sit down at her desk and grab several paperclips to bend them backwards, then forwards until they snapped. She noted a small pile of broken paperclips in front of the desk phone. Her assistant said she was coming and I believe…

The sound of a doorbell interrupted the rest of Harriet’s sentence. She scrambled to reach the front door before the second ring. She held the door open and smiled brightly at the woman who entered. She was surprised. The woman looked closer to fifty, a little younger than she was. No doubt the woman in front of her was attractive in her conservative gray business suit, but she didn’t fit the image of an artist. From her bio on the internet, Harriet assumed CeeCee Willis to be near Maya’s age of thirty-nine. She pictured CeeCee Willis wearing the new boyfriend jacket over the ever popular baggy jeans or the new form-fitting skinny jeans, and a white T-shirt and black boots finished the outfit in her mind.

Hello, Ms. Willis, I’m Harriet Smith—Ms. Brooks’ office manager. Won’t you please have a seat while I tell Ms. Brooks you’re here? Would you like tea or coffee or a soda?

They shook hands.

I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.

Oh?

I’m Ms. Willis’ personal assistant, Dawn Martin.

Harriet glanced at her watch and frowned. Oh my, does that mean Ms. Willis isn’t coming today?

No, no. She’s parking the car in your lot.

Maya overheard the conversation between Smithy and Dawn Martin. Christ! Who does this Willis woman think she is? She’s already an hour late. She has the nerve to send her assistant in to check out my office before she sets foot in it. I should cancel this crap before it goes further.

Maya strode out to the waiting area and thrust a hand in the assistant’s face. Hello, Ms. Martin. I’m Maya Brooks. As much as I’d like to meet your boss, I’m afraid I have an appointment with a contractor today. Please feel free to enjoy our hospitality. Smithy, would you set up another appointment for Ms. Willis?

Dawn’s eyes widened as she took in the tall, annoyed Black woman in the navy blue business suit who nearly poked out her eye with a handshake. Yes, I …er, I mean... Sure, well, yes, we could come back another day.

The doorbell rang. Maya excused herself and marched over to open it. She frowned at the shorter Black woman standing impatiently in front of her, then growled. Ms. Willis, I presume? Do you always arrive an hour late for your appointments?

CeeCee stretched up to her full height, which was several inches shorter than Maya Brooks, and returned the woman’s angry glare. You must be one of the owners of Brooks & Brooks Realty. I would hate to think your company would hire someone as rude as you are as an agent. Are you always this rude to your clients? she retorted.

You aren’t a client, Ms. Willis. And I don’t think you want to be one.

Oh, and why is that, Ms. Brooks? It is Ms. Brooks, isn’t it? Please enlighten me with your vast knowledge of human nature.

"All my clients understand the old saying ‘time is money.’ My time is just as valuable as yours is, Ms. Willis. Rather than wasting time waiting for you to arrive, I could have been viewing several potential listings or visiting one of my contractors or inspecting a job at another house I’m trying to sell. So you see, you just cost me

Reviews for CeeCee, Finding the Perfect House for the Perfect Woman

[LanasiaMartin · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I thought this book was okay. It had a lot of potential but a lackluster storyline. I loved Maya’s character. She was feisty but had a big heart. Ceecee’s character was annoying. I even favored Lisa and Helen’s minor roles over hers. I didn’t even like her personality, it was giving adolescence mean girl. I did enjoy seeing Maya bond with the twins.