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Authors: Paul Christopher
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he knew she wanted.
“Buy,” he said. The real estate agent brightened visibly, her eyes shining with the prospect of a fat commission. Holliday threw in the kicker. “Bill Tritt recommended you.”
“You know Mr. Tritt?” Mary Breau asked, her voice softening.
“Sure, known him for years. We’ve visited him a few times and we all love the place.”
“Any reason you’re buying now?” Mary asked, jotting the information down on a yellow pad.
Holliday nodded in Brennan’s direction. “Uncle Thomas has decided to step down from his chairmanship at the bank and put things into the hands of someone a little younger. Me.” Holliday beamed proudly.
“Bank?” Mary asked.
“Texas Oilman’s Trust,” said Holliday without a pause. “Mainly we finance wells and invest the profits.”
“Well,” said Mary, her chest heaving a little with excitement. “I’m sure we can find something to suit your needs.”
“A pool,” said Brennan. “We’ll want a pool, and perhaps some grounds. We’ll be giving some garden parties, I expect.”
“And a dock,” put in Peggy.
“Yes, a dock,” said Brennan. “We have a boat, you see.”
“How big?” Mary asked, jotting away on her pad.
“Sixty-two feet,” said Holliday.
“Nice,” said Mary, nodding approvingly.
“Maybe you could take us by Bill’s place. I’d like to drop in and tell him we’re going to be neighbors,” said Holliday.
“Is he there?” Mary asked. “He’s often gone on business.”
“I’m not sure,” said Holliday, shrugging as offhandedly as he could manage.
“Why don’t we call him?” Mary beamed. She pulled out a bulging Rolodex and began skimming through it.
“Let’s make it a surprise,” said Holliday. “We’re probably the last people he’d expect to drop in out of the blue.” True enough, he thought.
“All right.” She smiled. The cardinal rule of real estate: please the buyer when you’re with the buyer and the seller when you’re with the seller. “You’re car or mine?”
“We left our rental back at the hotel and walked,” said Peggy, playing her part in the little script. “Your office is only a few blocks from the Royal Bahamian.”
“Nothing’s very far from anything in Nassau,” Mary said with a laugh. She turned up the wattage on her smile even more. “I’ve got the Land Rover parked in the back. Why don’t you meet me out front?”
The Land Rover looked brand-new, silver paint gleaming. It projected confidence, success and good taste, and hinted at adventure and imagination. A surgeon driving a Mercedes usually elicited thoughts of greed and gouging, but a vehicle like Mary’s was a mark of her success.
The real estate agent wheeled the big car around, narrowly missing one of the little, privately owned jitney buses and headed west down Bay Street. At the corner of Charlotte Street they stopped for a horde of adults and children wearing Mickey Mouse ears and led by a tall, young, black man dressed as Captain Hook and looking terribly embarrassed about it.
The Mickey cluster was taking digital snapshots of everything they could see and clogging up the sidewalks. Nobody seemed to mind, which wasn’t surprising, since according to Mary a single cruise ship in harbor for twenty-four hours could leave behind as much as half a million dollars, not including docking fees.
They drove down Bay Street past the low, yellow building that housed the U.S. Embassy, then turned sharply and passed by the Royal Bahamian. After the big hotel the town quickly disappeared, replaced by dense, lush foliage on one side and the ocean on the other, the inshore water an impossible translucent green.
They continued past fish-fry shacks and scattered stucco residences, past low-rise condominiums, corner stores, gas stations and liquor outlets, Saunders Beach, one of the few public beaches for native Bahamians and finally reaching the “golden mile” of the major hotels on Cable Beach, just past
“Buy,” he said. The real estate agent brightened visibly, her eyes shining with the prospect of a fat commission. Holliday threw in the kicker. “Bill Tritt recommended you.”
“You know Mr. Tritt?” Mary Breau asked, her voice softening.
“Sure, known him for years. We’ve visited him a few times and we all love the place.”
“Any reason you’re buying now?” Mary asked, jotting the information down on a yellow pad.
Holliday nodded in Brennan’s direction. “Uncle Thomas has decided to step down from his chairmanship at the bank and put things into the hands of someone a little younger. Me.” Holliday beamed proudly.
“Bank?” Mary asked.
“Texas Oilman’s Trust,” said Holliday without a pause. “Mainly we finance wells and invest the profits.”
“Well,” said Mary, her chest heaving a little with excitement. “I’m sure we can find something to suit your needs.”
“A pool,” said Brennan. “We’ll want a pool, and perhaps some grounds. We’ll be giving some garden parties, I expect.”
“And a dock,” put in Peggy.
“Yes, a dock,” said Brennan. “We have a boat, you see.”
“How big?” Mary asked, jotting away on her pad.
“Sixty-two feet,” said Holliday.
“Nice,” said Mary, nodding approvingly.
“Maybe you could take us by Bill’s place. I’d like to drop in and tell him we’re going to be neighbors,” said Holliday.
“Is he there?” Mary asked. “He’s often gone on business.”
“I’m not sure,” said Holliday, shrugging as offhandedly as he could manage.
“Why don’t we call him?” Mary beamed. She pulled out a bulging Rolodex and began skimming through it.
“Let’s make it a surprise,” said Holliday. “We’re probably the last people he’d expect to drop in out of the blue.” True enough, he thought.
“All right.” She smiled. The cardinal rule of real estate: please the buyer when you’re with the buyer and the seller when you’re with the seller. “You’re car or mine?”
“We left our rental back at the hotel and walked,” said Peggy, playing her part in the little script. “Your office is only a few blocks from the Royal Bahamian.”
“Nothing’s very far from anything in Nassau,” Mary said with a laugh. She turned up the wattage on her smile even more. “I’ve got the Land Rover parked in the back. Why don’t you meet me out front?”
The Land Rover looked brand-new, silver paint gleaming. It projected confidence, success and good taste, and hinted at adventure and imagination. A surgeon driving a Mercedes usually elicited thoughts of greed and gouging, but a vehicle like Mary’s was a mark of her success.
The real estate agent wheeled the big car around, narrowly missing one of the little, privately owned jitney buses and headed west down Bay Street. At the corner of Charlotte Street they stopped for a horde of adults and children wearing Mickey Mouse ears and led by a tall, young, black man dressed as Captain Hook and looking terribly embarrassed about it.
The Mickey cluster was taking digital snapshots of everything they could see and clogging up the sidewalks. Nobody seemed to mind, which wasn’t surprising, since according to Mary a single cruise ship in harbor for twenty-four hours could leave behind as much as half a million dollars, not including docking fees.
They drove down Bay Street past the low, yellow building that housed the U.S. Embassy, then turned sharply and passed by the Royal Bahamian. After the big hotel the town quickly disappeared, replaced by dense, lush foliage on one side and the ocean on the other, the inshore water an impossible translucent green.
They continued past fish-fry shacks and scattered stucco residences, past low-rise condominiums, corner stores, gas stations and liquor outlets, Saunders Beach, one of the few public beaches for native Bahamians and finally reaching the “golden mile” of the major hotels on Cable Beach, just past
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