Boundaries in Business
When I was in my late thirties, I decided to become a realtor. During that same period, I was going through a rather painful divorce. I put my energy into hard work. I was comparatively good at what I did. I advertised my services in various venues. One of them was through the Persian newspapers.
Amongst the people who answered my Persian advertisement was a man who owned a fleet of taxis. He was interested in buying cooperative apartments, not one but several. He was a well-spoken person. He gave me all the information I required to find what he asked for. I was pleased. I pictured myself selling him several of the co-ops that he wished to purchase. I spent a long time studying the listings available that matched his requirements. For our first appointment, I made a list of five to show him.
I did not like to show more than three at a time. It tends to confuse buyers. In this case, however, matters were different. He was an investor. There were no emotional attachments involved. It was strictly business. I telephoned him and he came to my office. We chit-chatted a bit to get acquainted. He spoke of his wife, Fariba, and his college-aged children. Then we got into my car and drove to the various places I planned to show him. He mentioned that he had another realtor through whom he had purchased several properties. I absently wondered why he needed me if he was satisfied with the one he already had. After I finished showing him what I had, he asked me if I could show him others in an area he had not mentioned before. I prepared more listings and arranged another appointment. This time we did not sit down. I walked him straight to the car. As I drove, I suddenly felt his hand slither up my thighs. I was startled. I braked hard. The car let out a shrill, indignant screech and almost veered into the sidewalk. It stopped. I was shaking and furious. I turned to face him. “Mr. K, please get out of my car now!” “I am so sorry. I do not know why I did that,” he said.
“I am not interested in your excuses. I do not tolerate such behavior. Get out of my car! Now!” He swore upon his children’s lives this would not happen again. All the time I was addressing him as Mr. K, and he was addressing me as Khanom Tawfik. We were very formal with each other. Khanom is equivalent to Mrs. in Persian. All during that showing, I behaved very coldly towards him. I had no intention of showing this toad any more properties again. It did not work that way, however. The next week his wife called. She reiterated that she and her husband were interested in investment cooperatives. I made another appointment, this time with the two of them. Fariba Khanom was a very warm and sweet person. We hit it off, and a friendship began to form. She would call me just to chat every now and then. I relaxed and let my guard down. Sometimes she came to see the co-ops, sometimes she did not. We spoke as friends now. One day he came alone. “You know my other realtor, she accommodated me, and now she is very comfortably off.” He looked at me sideways. I gave him a cold, dirty stare. He lowered his glance and slithered back into his corner.
He and his wife had made a few offers, but somehow they always hesitated a bit too long and lost out on whatever they were interested in. One day he called to say that he was having trouble with his car. Would I mind very much if I picked them up from their house? He had started co-op searching in late summer. It was now almost Christmas. It was a cold day and snowing lightly. I dressed warmly, yet attractively. The company policy then was to wear dresses or suits, definitely no slacks, little heels, pumps or boots, and an overcoat. I was dressed accordingly. I drove to their house. They lived not too far from where I live, in an elegant Tudor house on a street lined with old trees. That day the snow limned the bare branches with silver. The snow had made a light frosting upon the sidewalk. The world looked