"Hi, I'm Rebecca Bass, branch manger 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, 54,
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.
A few weeks ago, her former assistant threw
in the towel to work somewhere else.
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.
