Who's Afraid of Regina Young

🖋️ WHO’S AFRAID OF REGINA YOUNG

A screenplay treatment for House.Roc Entertainment & Star 86 Studios
Written by: Filipa R. Abreu in Association with ChatGPT Noir Division + Gemini Industries

🌟 Editor's Note

Please be advised this content is for mature audiences. Regina Young and “Young Realty” are figments of the authors imagination. This is a Human-AI Hybrid Creation. Stay Creative :)

As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a Realtor.

Being a Realtor was better than being CEO. Better than being famous.
Realtors always get invited in. You don’t knock. You don’t campaign.
They hand you the keys and tell you where they sleep.
You learn more from a walk-through than a wiretap.
And no one ever asks you to leave.

Not an agent. A Realtor. With Capital R.
The kind who keeps secrets in escrow and bodies in backup offers.
The kind who walks into a house and knows who’s cheating by the smell of the throw pillows.

I wanted to be THE REALTOR.
The kind who walks into a Broker’s Open like it’s a funeral she planned.
Wears white. Stays late. Million Dollar Listings. Billion Dollar Secrets.

You don’t get here by doing the right thing.
You get here by remembering who forgot to disclose the leak.
Who slept with the lender. Who borrowed escrow for “cosmetic enhancements” and who’s inviting new agents for threesomes.

In real estate, you don’t kick down the door. You compliment the Broker.

You infiltrate the hive. You smile. You pour them wine.
You laugh like you haven’t heard the joke before.
You tell them, “You’re crushing it this year,” and you watch them soften.

This foyer is perfect. I chose every inch of it.
The marble’s warm. Always is — I have a guy for that. I had it heated this morning. No one likes cold feet. It makes people too honest.

My Opens are performative… sexy music in the background, scented candles, smoke and lots of alcohol…

Kelly was first to arrive. She parked her black Mercedes right in front. She pretends she wants to be discreet but she loves the attention. She needs to know everything. She knows nothing at all.

Black dress, pearls, something Catholic in her eyes. She was a seasoned pro. She sold many homes in her hey day but after 4 failed marriages, a face lift gone wrong and too much gin, she lost her allure. In the world of women in business, there’s only one Sin: ugliness.

She kissed my cheek and tried to read the room. She always starts with a prayer and prosecco. I’d placed a single white orchid in the entry just for her. Same as the one from her mother's funeral. She didn’t recognize it, but she hasn’t stopped fidgeting since. She will be crying by the night’s end…

-“I’ve been praying for you,” she said, soft.
Like it was a warning.

I nodded.
“You pray for all your competitors?”

She blinked.
“No. Just the dangerous ones.”

I leaned in close.
Held her gaze a second too long.

“I don’t compete, Kelly. I close.”-

You are now reading L’Etranger - For Real Estate Lovers

Frank showed up late, on purpose. New girl on his arm, long legs and no license. He called her a “showing agent.” I’ve seen her name on at least three offers this month. She kept her sunglasses on inside, which was cute. She will be used and discarded by the end of the week… Cum stains on her clipboard.

The mirror I hung caught both of them — stretched just enough to distort the jawline. That’s how I get him. He hates not looking perfect. He stays fixing his pomade drenched hair. He colors his hair black trying to avoid looking older than his actual age. Pathetic.

The scent in the foyer was amber and tears. A candle I created myself. Custom scent. Makes people nostalgic and guilty at the same time. Tony once told me it reminded him of his wedding night. The night he caught his bride kissing the attorney from out of state, in the bathroom… her name was Amber. Cheap blonde. I repeat the candle scent over and over… His stomach churns, and I act oblivious, of course.

The Prosecco tray was sweating. I watched one of the assistants adjust the flutes — she added an extra row and took two for herself. I let her.

The powder room door clicked shut. Two voices. One man, one woman. Laughing low, water running. A sniff. I counted to thirty. They flushed. Didn’t wash their hands. I pretend I don’t see it. I walk in the bathroom right after… sweep the powder left with my finger and take it to my mouth. Cheap.

Someone lit a cigarette outside the window.

Steven didn’t come through the front. He never does. He entered through the side gate and pretended he’d been here all along. He took a flute of Prosecco, then a second. He doesn’t drink. 6 years sober. But quickly switched to Basil Haydens on the rocks…

The kitchen was humming. Cheese board untouched. Napkins folded. No one eats at these things. They talk, they flirt, they gather around the island like it means something.

Jessica asked if it was quartz or marble. I said “Original Sin.” She didn’t laugh. She was afraid I was gonna take her man, so she did not let go of his arm all night.

She has nothing to worry about.

I already had him. Here, there and everywhere. She can keep him.

I left a lighter by the stove — black, gold wheel, R engraved. One of the younger agents slipped it into his pocket when he thought no one was looking. It doesn’t work. I emptied the fuel two days ago.

In the living room, the couch had been fluffed and crossed just slightly — like someone left in a hurry. Kelly sat there first. She folded her hands like she was praying.

Frank poured too hard and spilled on the glass coffee table. His new girl wiped it with her dress. She’ll list her “first house” next week. It’ll fall out of escrow. She cannot suck dick. He told me so himself.

Tony asked if the listing was dual-agency. I told him no. I lied.

He leaned in like he thought we were alone. Same cologne. Same jacket.
I could smell the same lie coming before he even opened his mouth.

“You staging with Lucia again?” he asked.
Casual. Like he didn’t already know.

He smiled:
“She's better with you. You’ve got that touch.”

“Tony darling… You still forging your clients’ signatures,” I asked,
“or just your wife’s?”

He laughed too loud.
One of the interns flinched near the sink.

He lowered his voice.
“I miss you…”

This Newsletter is Brought to you by House.Roc Real Estate Entertainment - Where Home is You & The Secrets you Keep

And who’s afraid of Regina Young?
Every single one of them.

Thank your for your Attention. Keep scrolling for Tip Jar and the Opportunity to meet the Artist ✨ 

She gave the performance.
You watched in silence.

Tip the artist to see what she left unsaid —
and she just might speak to you
before the time runs out. 💋

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