Are you okay, Sara? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.

Oh, I’m fine, but could you bring me a glass of water, please? Sometimes the ‘glamourous and high-paying world of New Mexico real estate’ can be overwhelming.

Who was that on the phone? Was it the Placitas house again? It seems to me that couple is out of control. Here’s your water.

Thanks, Emma. You know, they really are nice people, but after forty showings they still haven’t had any offers, and the husband has his own ideas of how to do business. I told him I thought it was time to consider lowering the price, but he . . . are you ready for this? He said on the phone he wants to raise the asking price by ten thousand.

What? Raise the asking price? You’re kidding.

I wish. Actually, he first suggested we change the listing to show an increase of twenty-five thousand. I thought he might be joking with me, but then he laid down a whole song and dance about how he wants to be appealing to a different demographic.

How is raising the price supposed to help anything?

He said he wants to deal with the big spenders. He thinks that if they ask for more money, they won’t have to do as many showings. I tried to tell him that it doesn’t work that way, but I might as well have been talking to a tree. My guess is that they are tired of showing altogether. He said, “Think about it, Sara. We’ve had nothing but positive feedback from the agents. They mostly comment that the property shows really well, and after all the work we put into getting ready to list, I agree completely. It’s a hell of a nice house. I suspect that we’ve been dealing with shoppers interested in a lower price point, trying to get a deal. Let’s try marketing to the group that is able to spend whatever it takes to get what they want. It’s a little like playing hard to get. All of a sudden, raise the price and you’re irresistible. Besides, there’s a word for people who keep doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.”

Is this man out of his mind?

He just wants to sell the house, that’s all, and trust me, there’s nothing I’d enjoy more.

Harpeth Rivers is a writer, musician and happy homeowner still living and working in New Mexico

I bumped into Elvis the other day as he was coming out of the Double Dee Diner. He was loaded down with two big bags of carry-out. I don’t want to say he was looking stuffed but I’ve seen him looking better.

The King…great to see you. Everyone always jokes that you’ve left the building and here you are…leaving the building.

Treat Me Nice

Hey, I’m being nice. We just wonder if you will ever record again.

It’s Over

Too bad. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?

Cross My Heart, Hope to Die

There are so many rumors about you being sighted here or there and then there are the doubters who say you’re dead.

Suspicious Minds

That seems to be the price of celebrity nowdays. They say if you want a true friend get a…

Hound Dog

Right, man’s best friend. So where are you staying?

Heartbreak Hotel

Really? That seems a little low end for a big star like yourself.

Don’t Be Cruel

Sorry, but back in the day when you played the big venues you lived the good life.

Viva Las Vegas

When you listen to some of the popular singers and rappers today you must be just a little nostalgic for those days or no?

I’m All Shook Up

What do they have that you didn’t have?

Money Honey

What? You were, you ARE the King!

I Got Lucky

Come on. It was more than luck. They called you the King of rock and roll. What do you think was the secret to your success?

Can’t Help Falling in Love

You did sing a lot of love songs – you talked the talk.

A Little Less Conversation

Sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up and now your food is getting cold. I guess you want to get back to the Heartbreak.

It’s Now or Never

Really good seeing you.

Love Me Tender

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle. You can also visit his author page here.

Janet was moving to New Mexico and starting work on a new project at Netflix. We had a quick close and she was scheduled to take possession on Tuesday. I was sweeping out the garage when she pulled into the driveway.

“Hi. You must be Rivers. I’m Janet Stahl, the new owner. I know I’m a little early, but I couldn’t wait to get here. I love what you’ve done with the house.”

“Well, hello, . . . Janet . . . and thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person after all the paperwork . . .  I’m just finishing up here, but you’re welcome to come in if you’d like. Tomorrow I guess this little jewel is all yours. Welcome to the Land of Enchantment.”

“Oh boy, I have to say it’s a different world after New York. Let me ask you something: I saw the instruments when I first looked at the property. Who’s the musician?”

“That’s me. I just finished recording a collection of instrumentals featuring resophonic guitars, if you know what that is.”

“Are you kidding? That’s like a ‘dobro’ isn’t it?”

“Exactly.”

“Talk about a small world; we’re hoping to get Jerry Douglas as music producer for this project. He’s married to my cousin Janine.”

“No kidding? I heard about your movie from our real estate agent. She said it’s a western?”

“With Robert Duval co-producing. He plays an aging rancher who is losing touch with reality and about to move into an assisted living facility. We start shooting in August.”

“Wow, talk about art imitating life. What’s the film called?”

“The working title is ‘Dogie,’ you know, like an orphaned calf? Listen, I’d really like to talk to you sometime about who the hot local players are out here. There are a few scenes in the movie that will need live music playing, if you know anybody I should contact.”

“Well, sure. I could give you some names. How about lunch tomorrow. There’s a café about a mile from here.”

“I saw it when I drove over. The R n’R, isn’t it?”

“That’s the place. How’s noon.”

“Earlier would be better. Maybe breakfast?”

“9 A.M. okay?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised. Miracles were a big part of the stories I heard as a child: fat man down the chimney, rabbit with candy, storks and siblings, and ‘it’s all going to work out just fine.’

Harpeth Rivers is a true believer based in New Mexico

Our real estate agent showed the house yesterday to a couple from Marin County. She called us last night with a follow-up report.

“They are shopping for another vacation home and have just started looking in New Mexico, but they loved your house, especially the furnishings. Plus, they are making a cash offer if you are willing to close before the end of the year.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. What kind of offer?”

“They are willing to meet your asking price, and they’d like to make a bid on the furnishings.”

“What? You mean the appliances?”

“Well yes, and everything else that you’re willing to include with the sale. They admired the antiques, the art work, everything. In fact, they asked specifically about the piano and the tools in the garage.”

“Jeez, I don’t know. Our bedroom set came from my grandmother’s house, and a lot of the art work is from Annie’s studio. Wait a minute. Are you pulling my leg? Is this for real?”

“Well, yes. This is clearly not the only property they own, and the idea of moving in to a beautifully furnished home that needs a minimum of changes has an appeal for them. As I said, they were charmed by the ramada in the back yard and the other improvements you’ve made. Maybe you could decide what you’re willing to let go of and list anything you want to keep?”

“This is too good to be true. We wouldn’t have to pack or move anything, just hand over the keys, then go rent an R.V. until we decide where we’re headed next. The problem is, I can tell you right now, Annie won’t be happy with doing a clean slate kind of thing. I mean, she’s a nester. This would be like starting all over, almost as if you are erasing your entire history, but I don’t know if that is such a bad thing? Sooner or later we have to let go of it all anyway. I mean when we die. Do they want the dog, too, because that would be a deal breaker. We’ve only had her a year or so, but Tashi is family.”

“Well, it’s your house, your stuff, your art work, your dog. You can do as you please. Why don’t you sleep on it, and I’ll just say we’ll get back to them in the morning.”

Harpeth Rivers is busy packing when he’s not playing guitar or telling tall tales.

It took a while for her to understand that bringing  together a group of musicians, writing and rehearsing some decent songs, playing a handful of local gigs, developing a website mailing list, buying gear and then more gear, firing and re-hiring the guitar player before performing in the music video that went viral and raised $2,000,000 for UNICEF, getting an agent and doing a bunch of auditions most of which were bogus- that was the price you had to pay in order to book that cameo appearance in that film that wins that Oscar for that “Best Song” and gets you that Rolling Stone Interview that finishes your career, and that all of it was a lot easier to write about than to live through.

She stares down at her boots and tells herself she’s not going to miss the endless packing, unpacking, loading in, tearing down of gear, or saying “Cheese” and making nice with the backstage circus. She wants to replace her dreams of being a performer with sentences describing the thrill of standing in the wings the night they made the “Toast” video, and the way she felt hearing the Mayor introduce the band and express his appreciation for her song that was making international news and bringing all the positive attention to Albuquerque.

Then the stage manager touches her right arm, somebody cues the band, and the lights come up. Jodie runs her hand over the wrinkles on her sleeve which probably nobody will notice, puts on a smile designed to brighten the balcony seats, and walks to the microphone center stage. The band is vamping and smiling back at her winding down the intro with a fermata, and she launches into the song that got us to this gig.

I’m gon-na get me a judge

Gon-na get me a ju-ry

Get me a law-yer, get me a mis-trial

I’ll be the toast of the town, dammit

I’ll be the toast of the town.

The audience is screaming and already singing along because they know the words from youTube, and on stage during the guitar solo Jodie is laughing and wondering where did all these people come from and the whole idea of adults who never grew up being such a large percentage of the population.

As a writer she could also tell how the only time she is ever comfortable anymore is holding a guitar.

Anne Animas lives, writes and hides out in Southern Colorado.