Bob at the Plaza (20 page)

Unfortunately, my luck didn’t hold. Who should bounce out of the elevator I’d summoned to take me to my room but Charli. Of course. Looking fit, energetic, and sporting well-used running clothes. Of course. The one person on the Knobox team who didn’t like me.

“Well, good morning, Roz.” She gave my very wrinkled appearance a long, slow once-over. “Looks like you decided to continue the party last night,” she said, with just the merest bit of snide. “That’s the advantage of freelancing. You don’t have to get back to the office today.”

“You’re right on that one,” I said in a pleasant tone. “I met up with some old friends and we painted the town. I don’t get to see them very often.” Too tired to risk an extended conversation with Charli, I kept my remarks short and a smile on my face. I couldn’t chance saying something unfortunate that might get back to Tess or Tom. Better to be pleasant and quiet. “You have a good trip back, Charli. It was a pleasure meeting you and everyone else on the Knobox team,” I said in a bland voice, waving as I walked into the elevator.

She watched me through slit eyes, studying me as the elevator doors drew closed. I’d have to be careful around that one.

After using my last bit of my energy to pack, I crashed into bed for a couple of hours of sleep before checking out at the last possible moment. I took the drive back to the Finger Lakes in slow stages, with lots of coffee breaks.

Chapter 17

A Future Chock Full of Possibilities

I slept a solid ten hours that night after my long drive west, and woke up at six the next morning. Coffee in hand, I went out to the deck to make sure the shale I’d spent laborious hours shoveling still covered my orange sandbags, making a decent-looking lakefront again. While there, I took a few minutes to savor the morning view.

Now that I’d committed to selling, of course the lake chose to be its most beautiful self. The sun rose scarlet in the sky, illuminating puffs of cumulus like a Renaissance oil. Below the deck, demure waves chattered to each other as they played with the shore. Trees had set their buds, and forsythia leapt from the earth dressed in a brilliant yellow that slashed through the drab remnants of winter like a
Star Wars
lightsaber. Birds chirped, and a fish jumped out of the early morning water chasing a low-flying bug. The Great Egret that graced my home occasionally loped across the lakefront with its stiff, awkward legs. Just when I decide I have to leave this place, this isolated Brigadoon secluded from much of the fuss, bother, and traffic of the big world, it sheds its veils and turns its seductive charms on me. I felt like Eve being kicked out of Paradise, except I was the person forcing the issue. Why? To make money. Talk about a sell-out.

A stubbornly loud, shrill phone shattered my early morning reverie. Penny Mae, according to caller ID. Must be something big if she was calling me at this hour. I grabbed the phone.

“Well, hey, Penny Mae. What’s up?”

“The newlyweds I mentioned a few days ago loved your house. I’ve got a signed offer right here on my desk, along with their binder check.”

“Oh.” A confusing mixture of emotions churned through me.

“There’s just one thing, though,” Penny Mae said, apparently hesitant to bring up the issue. “You know how we discussed how low you’d go with your price?”

“Yes, I remember very well. Why?”

“Keep in mind, Roz, that these two people are newlyweds. You know, money is tight.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Penny Mae? Just say it,” I bit out, my impatience probably out of proportion to the situation. But ever since Bev had phoned me about Penny Mae’s goo-goo eyes for David at the last rehearsal, I’d found my never-too-abundant patience becoming less plentiful than ever. From what Bev had told me, it sounded like Penny Mae practically stalked the poor guy. But, I kept reminding myself, David was a big boy, and I’m sure he’d have no problem getting her to cool her jets if he wanted to. Which meant—a fact that made me even shorter-tempered—that her attentions weren’t particularly unwelcome.

“Their offer comes in about twenty-percent lower than the lowest amount you wanted,” Penny Mae blurted out. “But I thought, since we’re talking about newlyweds here, that you might have a little bit of a soft spot for their situation.”

I counted to ten before answering. “Penny Mae, I should warn you, I don’t have too many soft spots when it comes to financial things.” I cleared my throat and continued, “But since this is the only offer we’ve been able to land, I guess I’ll have to give it some thought. What about some back and forth negotiating? I’m sure they don’t expect me to accept their first offer.”

“It’s true, we can dicker some,” Penny Mae countered, “but usually negotiations tend to wind up somewhere in the middle, so that would still leave you about ten percent short of your lowest selling price. I’m just trying to be up front with you in all of this.”

I paced the deck for another minute, now oblivious to the gorgeous morning. “I need to run the numbers again and give this some thought, Penny Mae. I’m not sure it makes sense to sell if I just wind up in the same financial hole in a new location. I’ll call you in a few hours.” I shook my head as I hung up. I still needed a nest egg to carry me over for a few months once I’d paid off the mortgage. If I gave these newlyweds the bargain of their dreams, that nest egg would vanish in the mist and I could be flipping burgers in a strange city while I hunted for work. I didn’t like even thinking about such a grim scenario. But maybe Knobox? I knew I couldn’t count on it yet. And jeepers, young, romantic newlyweds . . . Who didn’t have a soft spot for such a couple?

While I wandered the deck I noticed Stan out early, shoveling shale into his decrepit wheelbarrow. Once it had been green, but decades of heavy use had stripped virtually all the paint off. Postponing my rendezvous with the calculator, I walked over to visit and finalize arrangements for our trip to the Community Chorus’ final concert in a few days.

As usual, Stan’s placid acceptance of life calmed me down. He kept shoveling while we discussed time frames for the concert.  After agreeing that he’d be over at my place at six, Stan slowed down his shoveling, studied my face for a minute, and then said, “What’s on your mind this morning, Roz? Something’s bothering you.” Gradually I found myself telling him about the offer I’d just received on the house.  Stan folded his arms and rested them on the handle of his now-quiet shovel. He gave me a rare sharp look.

“What are the names of those newlyweds who want this nice big fat wedding present from you?” he questioned me with more interest than I’d usually seen from him.

“I don’t know their names,” I stuttered, surprised. “Why do you ask? Do you know some newlyweds who are house-hunting on the lake?”

“Newlyweds? Hah! Ray Chapman and Irene have lived together for years. He’s been married four times, she’s on her third, but I did hear they just made it official a couple of weeks ago. They’re my age, for cripe’s sake. I wouldn’t put it past the old coot to be crying ‘poor’ so he could save some money on a lake house. He’s richer than Roosevelt, but it would be just like him to play the newlywed card to try to get a bargain offa someone. You go back to this Penny Mae lady and find out the names of the newlyweds. I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts Ray’s trying to pull the wool over your eyes.”

“I’d be surprised if Penny Mae fell for their tricks,” I said, puzzled. “She’s pretty savvy.”

“She’s one of them reelatoors, ain’t she? Usually they’ll do just about anything to get a sale is what I’ve heard,” Stan replied in a brusque tone. “If that was Ray and Irene, your reelatoor played you like a fish when she said they were poor newlyweds looking for a good price. I’m not sure I’d trust that young lady as far as I could throw her. And”—he picked up his shovel and returned to filling sandbags, motions abrupt with anger—“I sure as heck would not be very happy if Jacob and his chippy moved in just down the road from me. Nosey sorts, I hear, and I like to keep my private business private,” he said in the huffiest tone I’d ever heard from him.

I waved goodbye and returned home to rerun my finances. Regardless of the drama behind the offer, it was an offer nonetheless, and there weren’t a lot of them being made on lake houses during this Great Recession. Shuffling through my mortgage statements, I came to the reluctant decision that, even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t accept the offer. Either the buyers came up with more money, or they’d have to move on. Sure, if I accepted their offer I could pay off my mortgage, but there’d be no nest egg left for me to live on for a few months while I settled into a new job.

After dialing Penny Mae’s number, I settled in for a long talk.

“Hi, Roz,” she answered perkily on the second ring. “Have you had a chance to make up your mind on the offer? I told the other real estate agent that we’d be back to them by the end of the day.”

“Before I give you my decision, Penny Mae, I’m curious about these buyers. You called them newlyweds, right?”

“They sure are. Why, they’ve only been married a couple of weeks. About as newly-wed as they come.” Penny Mae chuckled throatily, as if she and I shared a secret.

“Are they a local couple?” I continued my interrogation relentlessly, and I could visualize Penny Mae starting to squirm on the other end.

“Umm, yeah, they are, although I’m not sure what difference that would make one way or another. After all, a newlywed is a newlywed,” Penny Mae chirped.

“Their name wouldn’t happen to be Chapman, would it?”

Now the silence on the other end was complete. “Why do you ask?” a subdued voice questioned.

“Well, a friend mentioned a newly married couple he knew named Chapman who might play off their newly married status to get some unsuspecting lake-owner to take a big hit on their asking price on a lake cottage. But I said you’d never go along with any such shenanigans. I knew you couldn’t be that desperate to make a sale. Correct?” I said sharply.

A gasp from the other end, then Penny Mae said, a little snippily I thought, “Well, Roz, I guess my attitude differs from yours. I always think a genuine offer is a genuine offer, and the background story for the buyers doesn’t really matter. The critical issue is whether the buyers have the money in the bank to back up their purchase and these people do. You said you focused on numbers. Maybe you should forget how these buyers described themselves.”

“They didn’t describe themselves to me at all, Penny Mae―you did,” I said in a firm voice. “You’re the one who brought me an offer twenty percent lower than the lowest number I told you I could accept and then described them as newlyweds so that I wouldn’t turn it down out of hand. Frankly, it makes me wonder if I can trust you.”

“Don’t get carried away, Roz. I figured you would want to make a counteroffer that would bring the price up a considerable amount. Most people do. These folks probably expect you to. So instead of getting upset, why don’t we talk about where you’d fall on a counteroffer?”

Sure, I’d considered the counteroffer possibility. But mostly the trust issue worried me. I felt like Penny Mae was trying to manipulate me, and I didn’t like the feeling one bit. So I put my concerns on the table.

“Penny Mae, I feel like you’re trying to manage me, and it’s not my favorite feeling in the world.”

“Roz,” Penny Mae said, an edge of frustration in her voice, “I’m not trying to manage anything except the sale of a lake house in the middle of a recession where no houses, especially not optional second homes, are moving on the market. When you hired me, you told me you needed to sell. I’ve brought you an offer. It’s as simple as that,” Penny maintained in her dogged, professional voice.

Simple is definitely what it was not. I began to suspect, though, that my frustrations had as much to do with Penny Mae’s pursuit of David as they did with a low-ball offer on the house. Who needed that kind of complication? Since I had no right to get involved in David’s personal life any more I tried to clear my mind and focus only on the financial matter at hand.

“Penny Mae, I’ve run the numbers again, and I won’t sell the house for less than . . .” I named the figure circled in red on the mortgage papers in front of me. “If I can’t get that number I’ll take the house off the market and figure out a way to pay my mortgage until the real estate market picks up in a few years. I’m not going to sell my home to bottom-feeders.”

“Fine, Roz. I’ll call the purchasers’ real estate agent and let them know your bottom line. We’ll see what they say. I’ll tell him I need to have an answer tonight by eight. Can I call you at home then?”

“No, I’ll be at the last Community Chorus performance then. You can leave a message on my cell and I’ll call you as soon as I’m done there.”

“Oh, that’s right―I forgot,” she said, “I guess I’ll just see you there and catch you in person at the concert. After sitting in on the chorus rehearsal the other day, I’m going to join in the fall. I’ve always loved singing and it sounds like you folks have so much fun. Your Carnegie Hall concert with a weekend in Manhattan must have been a blast.”

“Yes, we did have a good time,” I replied in a wooden tone. I knew perfectly well why Penny Mae had such a sudden, avid interest in the Community Chorus, and it had nothing to do with singing or trips to Manhattan. It had to do with a certain good-looking dark-haired grape grower. Darn it. “Okay, then I’ll see you this evening and we’ll discuss where we are with this offer.”

“See you then,” Penny Mae signed off cheerfully, unruffled by any part of our conversation.

Oh, how I wished I could have that Teflon skin. I’d be chewing over our words for hours.

Later that afternoon, after a sweaty hill walk and a soothing hot shower, I sat down on the bed in the middle of the outfits I’d been trying on for the concert. Even though Stacey restricted us to black bottoms and white tops for our performances, I still wanted to explore my options. Tight, short black skirt, maybe? It’s hard to decide what to wear to a concert when you know your ex-boyfriend is going to come under assault by a diminutive but determined Marilyn Monroe. Penny Mae would be gorgeous, I knew, even though she leaned toward very casual dress in her off-hours, Daisy Dukes and visible thongs her typical outfit of choice. I didn’t think the Daisy Dukes would be present tonight but even if she wore a gunny sack she’d still be stunning. How do you compete with that? Simple―you don’t. Thank goodness.

As I modeled a black A-line skirt in the mirror, a drop of water fell on my hand. Puzzled, I searched for its origins. I wasn’t sweating, and my hair was mostly dry after my shower. No drips from the ceiling that I could see. Where the heck had that water come from? The shriek of the phone distracted me, both from the drip and from my wardrobe musings. It was Tess.

For a few minutes Tess burbled about our visit in Manhattan and the kudos she’d been accumulating. She read me the ‘attagirl’ letter she’d received from Dick, and promised to send me a copy of the letter from the President for my portfolio, with a letter from her clarifying my role in the win. “We’re having a great time promoting this award in the community,” Tess continued. “Dick is so pleased with the recognition we’re receiving from many of our clients and vendors. It’s been a win-win all around. And,” she continued enthusiastically, “it doesn’t stop there, Roz.

“You impressed Tom so much in New York that he said he’d be willing to fly you out here to interview for our new position. I shouldn’t say this, but he really liked you. He thought some of the ideas you mentioned in our meeting could be very effective in next year’s campaign. Oh, I have a good feeling about this!” she trilled, then hastened to dampen her enthusiasm. “Of course, there are no guarantees here and we’ll have to post the position for any internal candidates who might be interested but,” she continued gleefully, “Tom’s interest is a good sign, Roz. A
very
good sign! Could you fly out sometime next week?”