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Unreserved Pursuit (fm:one-on-one, 3701 words) [1/2] show all parts

Author: Littletommyd Picture in profile
Added: Sep 08 2018Views / Reads: 1721 / 1461 [85%]Part vote: 9.36 (22 votes)
Gary transfers offices and the office Manager pursues him
 


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Unreserved Pursuit

In February of this year, the Brokerage Company of which I am a partner, made the decision that an upper management person, preferably a Partner, needed to domicile in our New Orleans Branch office. The growth of the office, both in numbers of clients and dollars under management, now required direct on-site supervision by an employee who held all necessary licenses and other decision-making qualifications. At our partners meeting in April, all eyes at the table fell on me as the one to fill that slot. I am the only single, childless Partner in the firm; therefore, I am the candidate with the least disruptive move. I owned no home, had no local family ties, and no hindrances to a move. I answered the eyes by volunteering to research what all a move would entail. I would then deliver a report at the next meeting in June. I promised it would include the physical cost of my move; any adjustment needed to compensate housing cost differential, legal expenses encountered, and then signify my willingness to transfer. The Partners immediately authorized a Two Thousands dollar expense voucher to cover my investigative four-day trip to do the research.

I notified the New Orleans branch manager, Britt Bellevue, of my plans. She offered to meet the plane and transport me to the nearby Sheraton Four Points hotel where a rental car would be available for my use during the four days. I agreed that her offer was acceptable and that I would send her my itinerary to give her the details of what I envisioned during the visit. I emphasized that this wasn't an office inspection or review and that I would agree to spend two hours or less meeting with her staff if she desired. I had met Bellevue briefly when she was in Dallas for her job interview. I recalled that she had sharp, point-on answers, appropriate financial background credentials, management experience as well as being somewhat of a beauty as a bonus.

The following week, in the lobby of the Sheraton, we sat drinking Chicory coffee (that will take an adjustment) as she detailed the information she had collected for me to use in the research. A detailed easy to follow map of the area, a listing of properties—houses and apartments—for rent, her personal thoughts on living in Metairie in lieu of New Orleans, requirements of auto registration, driver's license, insurance, and other legal factors that I would have to face. She volunteered to accompany me and stood ready to assist in any way I needed. I thanked her and indicated that I would try it alone to start because that was the best way to learn the nuances of the cities. We emptied our cups, she handed me the rental car keys and directed me to the parking slot. She shook my hand and said, "Call with any questions or if you get lost. I'm usually at the office until seven, so if you want, drop by and we can talk about your day." She waved and walked out to Bourbon Street and turned toward the branch office on Canal where she had parked earlier.

I fired the engine and cautiously exited the garage onto Iberville. I followed the GPS to an intriguing ad at an address in Metairie, lakeside off Clearview. I parked in front of the property and sat in the car examining the exterior. It was newly painted, was on a zero lot line, had two bedrooms, two baths, eat-in kitchen, living room, enclosed garage, wired for TV, Wi-Fi, two phone lines, storage shed in the back, and to me, coming from apartment living, was a dream home. I called the number on the listing and it was answered by what sounded like an elderly woman. She informed me that her son was in charge of the house and that she would have him come over immediately to meet with me. She said, "His office is less than two blocks from the house. You wait right there." She hung up. Rather than sit in the car, I sat in the metal rocker on the porch while I waited. Sure enough, right at ten minutes later, a red Mustang pulled up behind my car and a well-dressed, thirty something, fair-haired fellow jumped out and came up the walk. He had his hand out as he stepped upon the porch and said, "Tim Boudreaux. My mom called about your interest in the house." I handed him my card and replied, "Tim, Gary Haller. Your mom was right. I do have an interest. How about a tour."

He unlocked the door and guided me through the rooms, pattered about the colors, the wiring, the furnished kitchen, the enclosed garage, and all the other features that I was looking for in a place. We sat at the table and he studied my card before he asked, "Well! You've seen it all. Any questions for me?"

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