From an early morning downtown merchants association meeting, and lunchtime Sea Island Rotary Club to dinner at the Golden Corral for a Beaufort Kennel Club meeting, Bass makes her presence in Beaufort known.

Behind the subtle guise of looking for a new assistant, she presents herself in front of hundreds of people at the different clubs throughout the day.

"Hi, I'm Rebecca Bass, branch manager of Sunshine Mortgage Corporation here in Beaufort," Bass repeats to the clubs' members. "I'm looking for a mortgage assistant: Someone with excellent phone skills, computer skills and a good sense of humor under stress."

After more than 20 years of transatlantic business trips as an attorney and business executive, Bass, settled in Beaufort with her husband of 28 years, Frank Vandegrift, to live a simpler life.

"It's a choice to be happy," Bass says.

And although her life might be slightly less chaotic than it used to be, by most standards, it's full.

Bass is responsible for starting up the Beaufort branch of Sunshine Mortgage, a full-service mortgage bank headquartered in Atlanta.

With more than 350 ways to finance the purchase of a new primary residence, second home or investment property, Bass says, her job is to match a client's needs with the best financing solution.

In a booming real estate market, that translates to having barely enough time to eat lunch between spending the day talking to clients on the phone to break good, or bad, news, crunching numbers on scraps of paper, meeting with a technology guy about connecting to the main network, faxing paperwork, entering data into a pocket PC and driving in to meet a client who is closing a deal on a house just before meeting with a new client to go over initial paperwork.

"It's been nice having the office to myself, but I'm ready to have someone help me," she says of her mortgage assistant quest.

Waterfront Sunrise

As the dawn creeps through the window, Bass rolls over to shut off her Doberman alarm clock.

She wakes to remember her husband is away on a business trip.

It's 6 a.m.: Time to get up out of bed and take CoCo Chienel, her rescued purebred Doberman, and Marigot, her rescued papillon mix, for a long walk on the beach behind her Harbor Island home.

"The sun rises in the east from the ocean; it's beautiful," she gloats leaning over a cup of freshly brewed Firehouse coffee before a merchants association meeting at the coffeehouse. "It's how we start every morning."

Fourteen hours after her morning walk with the dogs, Bass hasn't been back home.

She is sitting in Golden Corral's meeting room, watching a video projection on closed, white shutters about a dog show superintendent company during a weekly Beaufort Kennel Club meeting.

She is seemingly fascinated by the video, having competed with her Doberman for several advanced obedience and agility titles.

Bass makes her announcement about looking for an assistant and updates members on the club's new Web site, created by her during late nights after work.

Her designer silk scarf is still in place, tucked into her black pant suit, and her pinkish red lipstick and hair have been touched up in her car before the meeting.

At 9:30 p.m., she cuts out early.

"I think it's time to go home," she whispers.