Emidio sits across from Joe, swirling a half-empty cup of coffee, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
“Joe, I’m tellin’ you—Alec Baldwin is the greatest film actor in the world. Nobody touches him. The presence, the voice, the command—he walks into a room, and everyone listens.”
Joe smirks, knowing exactly where this is going.
“It’s the brass balls, Joe. The confidence. That’s what I need. Selling real estate isn’t just about contracts and square footage—it’s improvisation. It’s knowing when to push, when to pull back. And who’s better at that than actors? They can read a room, shift gears, make you believe anything. That’s what Baldwin did in Glengarry Glen Ross—he made them believe.”
Emidio leans forward, intensity burning in his eyes.
“I need that kind of power, Joe. I need Baldwin-level balls of brass. I can’t just be another guy pushing papers—I gotta close. Because you know what they say: ‘Always Be Closing.’”
Joe claps a hand on Emidio’s shoulder, steady and firm.
“You can do it, Emidio. You will do it. You’re already halfway there—now go out there and close. You want brass in your pocket? Earn it. You wanna be Baldwin? Then step onto the stage and own it.”
Emidio exhales, nods, and stands up a little taller.
“Damn right, Joe. It’s my time. No more second place—I’m making the sale.”
Alec Baldwin himself, the real closer, drops a comment on Emidio’s website, his words dripping with that signature Baldwin intensity:
“GET MAD, YOU SONS OF BITCHES. GET MAD! You wanna sell? You wanna make the deal? Then wake the hell up and close!”
He doesn’t stop there.
“You’re sitting on gold, Emidio. The ghost house leads. People scared to sell, afraid to buy, homes haunted by their own damn hesitation. You gotta turn that fear into fire. You take those ghost house leads and you sell them a dream. You walk in like you own the place, and you make them believe it’s theirs. The moment they see it, they’ll sign. Because deep down, everybody’s looking for a way out of the dark.”
A pause. A moment of cold, brutal truth.
“No one’s gonna hand you success, Emidio. You either take it or you watch somebody else walk away with your commission. You wanna sit back and wait? Fine. But closers? Closers act. So tell me, Emidio—are you just another loser, or are you gonna get up and close?”
The message ends, sharp and final.
“Always. Be. Closing.”
Emidio slumps in his chair, staring at the screen where Alec Baldwin’s words burn like commandments from the real estate gods. Get mad. Close. Use the ghost house leads. It all sounds so simple—so ruthless—but there’s one problem.
“How do I convince them they’re friendly ghosts… and not poltergeists?” he mutters, rubbing his temples.
Joe leans back, smirking. “That’s the game, Emidio. Perception. You don’t sell a haunted house—you sell a home with character. A place with history. A place where energy lingers, sure, but who wouldn’t want a little spirit in their life?”
Emidio exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah, but what if the doors slam shut on their own? What if they hear whispers in the night?”
Joe laughs. “Then you tell them it’s just the house settling, just the charm of an older build. People don’t fear ghosts, Emidio—they fear bad deals. You gotta make them see the value. A friendly ghost is a feature, not a flaw. It’s a guardian spirit, watching over the home. Hell, throw in some sage and a prayer if it helps.”
Emidio nods slowly, the gears turning in his head. “So… I don’t deny the ghosts. I rebrand them.”
Joe grins. “Exactly. You don’t run from the story—you own it. Now get back out there and sell those haunted dreams, Emidio. Baldwin’s watching.”
Alec Baldwin drops another fiery comment on Emidio’s website, this time with a lesson in priorities.
“Emidio, listen up. You want the ghostbuster avatars? You want to close these deals? Then FIRST—buy Joe some food and a drink. Jesus Christ, show some gratitude. You don’t get something for nothing in this world. Feed the man who’s got your back, and THEN you’ll get what you need.”
He pauses, then launches into a tirade.
“Now, about these ghost house leads. You think buyers don’t have questions? You think they’re just gonna sign on the dotted line without knowing who the hell is haunting their new home? You need Ghostbusters on the payroll, Emidio! You need people—closers, actors, psychics, whatever the hell it takes—to make these buyers believe they’re getting a guardian angel, not some vengeful poltergeist that’s gonna chuck their kids down the stairs!”
Baldwin’s voice practically shakes the screen.
“You tell these families that the friendly spirits are PROTECTING their damn kids. Stopping them from sticking forks in the light sockets, from drinking poison under the sink, from running straight into traffic! These ghosts? They’re practically nannies from the other side! They’re assets, not liabilities!”
He takes a breath, his fury momentarily cooling.
“And if you can’t sell that, Emidio, then I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe real estate ain’t for you. Maybe you should go sell hot dogs in front of the goddamn Home Depot. But if you’re serious—if you REALLY want to close—then IMPROVISE, Emidio! Goddammit!”
okay Joe come to Cafe serra after Church and i will buy you sardines and a drink. It will give you the strength to build the ghostbuster avatars.
Joe reads Emidio’s message and smirks. Finally, the guy gets it.
He types back:
“Alright, Emidio. After church, I’ll meet you at Café Serra. Sardines and a drink? Sounds good. Omega-3s for the brain, something strong for the spirit—yeah, that’ll do.”
He pauses, then adds:
“Once I’m fueled up, I’ll build the Ghostbuster Avatars. We’ll get those ghosts talking, answering buyers’ questions, making sure they know their ‘haunted house’ is actually a damn safe house for their kids. Friendly spirits on guard duty—guardian angels with unfinished business. If Baldwin wants closers, then fine—we’ll close.”
Joe leans back, cracking his knuckles. “Emidio finally learned the first rule of real business—you feed your people first. Now, let’s get to work.”
Pope John Paul III’s Message to Emidio:
The Pope stands before Emidio, his presence calm yet commanding. He clasps his hands together, his voice steady and filled with conviction.
Pope John Paul III:
“Emidio, you must understand—when people dismiss children who say they see ghosts, they forget the most famous ghost story in history. And it’s not some legend, not some forgotten tale—it’s Our Lady of Fatima.”
He takes a step forward, his eyes filled with certainty.
Pope John Paul III:
“Three shepherd children saw her, clear as day. They weren’t mystics, they weren’t scholars, they weren’t seeking fame. And yet, they bore witness to a presence so powerful, so undeniable, that the world could not ignore it. Even the sun moved in the sky as a sign of her visitations. Thousands saw it. But it was the children who saw her first.”
He looks at Emidio with deep sincerity.
Pope John Paul III:
“So when they tell you that children don’t see spirits, that ghosts aren’t real, remind them—Our Lady of Fatima appeared not to kings, nor to popes, nor to the learned men of the Church. She came to the pure of heart, the innocent, the ones who could see beyond this world.”
He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle.
Pope John Paul III:
“You have truth on your side, Emidio. And more importantly, you have her on your side.”