Read Online With Friends Like These: A Novel by Sally Koslow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sally Koslow
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understanding
“Did you let the firm know you’ll be late tomorrow?” I asked as we drove to the inn.
“About that.” I could hear him thinking. “Turns out I shouldn’t take off. In fact, we’d better leave.”
I knew the finality in his voice, a tone as specific as an exclamation mark. To return to the city we took the parkway instead of back roads. About an hour outside of New York my phone rang. “Is anything wrong?” I said as soon as I heard Horton’s voice.
“Not necessarily, but it’s gotten complicated.” He paused. “There’s a second bidder.”
“So our bid wasn’t accepted,” I added, confused.
“This can happen with a red-hot property. I’m sorry.”
“Is it those people we saw?” Another couple had been waiting to see the apartment with Mrs. Shelbourne after she gave Jake and me our joint tour.
“They found it way too small….” Horton’s voice trailed off.
“What’s going on? What aren’t you saying?”
“Full disclosure—the other bidder’s an insider.”
“Define insider.”
“A resident. In the building.”
“Is there a posting or something that tells which apartments are for sale?” I pictured a memo slid into every mailbox.
Horton snorted. “If that were the system, how would working stiffs like me make a dime? The information brokers have is
privileged
.” He spoke the word as if it were his bank account’s PIN number. “In fact, as a result of your offer, Fran had decided not to do her usual all-points listing to alert other brokers. She wanted a fast deal, remember? She thought you and your husband were ideal.”
I sensed that Jake wanted to rip the phone out of my hand and talk directly to Horton, but I asked with considerable patience, “What happened, then?”
Horton picked up his pace. “What happened is that some guy who lives in the building harassed the doorman into telling him which apartment with a reservoir view was up for sale. This gentleman buttonholed Fran in the lobby and practically wrestled the poor thing to the ground till she gave him a walk-through.” Horton stopped to breathe. “He was accompanied by a wife or girlfriend—Fran wasn’t sure which, except that they were both too loud for her taste. Fran only let them stay a few minutes, but it was long enough for the pair to agitate Dr. Walter.” Everything that had felt right was going wrong. “The bottom line is that you and Jake need to think fast about whether you want to top the other bid.” He floated the number we’d need to surpass.
I gulped. “Okay,” I said. “We’ll call you tomorrow.”
I waited for Horton’s goodbye, but what he said was, “Quincy, there’s one last thing.” I could hear him breathing. “When you saw the apartment the first time, you mentioned you knew someone in the building.”
“Yes.” My stomach lurched. “My friend’s boyfriend, Arthur somebody.”
“Did you tell him you were bidding on an apartment?” Horton asked. “Because Arthur Weiner is your competition.”
CHAPTER 6
Jules
When Talia invites you to dinner, she’ll
shtup
you with an enigmatic vegan casserole. Chloe will serve exquisite morsels catered by whatever venue the privileged class has most recently anointed as noteworthy—last time, the entire menu was raw, for that special moment when you crave arctic char marinated in watermelon juice. Quincy’s cuisine, along with her creativity, fluctuates: depending on the time of the month, your meal could range from shrimp luxuriating in a sublime ricotta fondue to her mother’s hamburger hotdish. Not that I’d refuse, either, but when friends visit my home, nobody leaves hungry or with a prickle of cactus pear stuck between her molars. For tonight I’d whipped up pasta with lemon and pistachios, a Jules de Marco trademark with Marcella Hazan in a supporting role. We’d finish with olive oil cake, which tasted far better than it sounded. I might as well have put up a billboard saying that Rome
“Did you let the firm know you’ll be late tomorrow?” I asked as we drove to the inn.
“About that.” I could hear him thinking. “Turns out I shouldn’t take off. In fact, we’d better leave.”
I knew the finality in his voice, a tone as specific as an exclamation mark. To return to the city we took the parkway instead of back roads. About an hour outside of New York my phone rang. “Is anything wrong?” I said as soon as I heard Horton’s voice.
“Not necessarily, but it’s gotten complicated.” He paused. “There’s a second bidder.”
“So our bid wasn’t accepted,” I added, confused.
“This can happen with a red-hot property. I’m sorry.”
“Is it those people we saw?” Another couple had been waiting to see the apartment with Mrs. Shelbourne after she gave Jake and me our joint tour.
“They found it way too small….” Horton’s voice trailed off.
“What’s going on? What aren’t you saying?”
“Full disclosure—the other bidder’s an insider.”
“Define insider.”
“A resident. In the building.”
“Is there a posting or something that tells which apartments are for sale?” I pictured a memo slid into every mailbox.
Horton snorted. “If that were the system, how would working stiffs like me make a dime? The information brokers have is
privileged
.” He spoke the word as if it were his bank account’s PIN number. “In fact, as a result of your offer, Fran had decided not to do her usual all-points listing to alert other brokers. She wanted a fast deal, remember? She thought you and your husband were ideal.”
I sensed that Jake wanted to rip the phone out of my hand and talk directly to Horton, but I asked with considerable patience, “What happened, then?”
Horton picked up his pace. “What happened is that some guy who lives in the building harassed the doorman into telling him which apartment with a reservoir view was up for sale. This gentleman buttonholed Fran in the lobby and practically wrestled the poor thing to the ground till she gave him a walk-through.” Horton stopped to breathe. “He was accompanied by a wife or girlfriend—Fran wasn’t sure which, except that they were both too loud for her taste. Fran only let them stay a few minutes, but it was long enough for the pair to agitate Dr. Walter.” Everything that had felt right was going wrong. “The bottom line is that you and Jake need to think fast about whether you want to top the other bid.” He floated the number we’d need to surpass.
I gulped. “Okay,” I said. “We’ll call you tomorrow.”
I waited for Horton’s goodbye, but what he said was, “Quincy, there’s one last thing.” I could hear him breathing. “When you saw the apartment the first time, you mentioned you knew someone in the building.”
“Yes.” My stomach lurched. “My friend’s boyfriend, Arthur somebody.”
“Did you tell him you were bidding on an apartment?” Horton asked. “Because Arthur Weiner is your competition.”
CHAPTER 6
Jules
When Talia invites you to dinner, she’ll
shtup
you with an enigmatic vegan casserole. Chloe will serve exquisite morsels catered by whatever venue the privileged class has most recently anointed as noteworthy—last time, the entire menu was raw, for that special moment when you crave arctic char marinated in watermelon juice. Quincy’s cuisine, along with her creativity, fluctuates: depending on the time of the month, your meal could range from shrimp luxuriating in a sublime ricotta fondue to her mother’s hamburger hotdish. Not that I’d refuse, either, but when friends visit my home, nobody leaves hungry or with a prickle of cactus pear stuck between her molars. For tonight I’d whipped up pasta with lemon and pistachios, a Jules de Marco trademark with Marcella Hazan in a supporting role. We’d finish with olive oil cake, which tasted far better than it sounded. I might as well have put up a billboard saying that Rome
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