4573 Civil War Way
Unlike most of my clients, Jeff and Mary Cook were not selling their four bedroom, three and a half bath split level because they lost their jobs. Both of them were computer geeks who did whatever it was they did from home. If the late model BMW and Mercedes parked in their garage were any indication, they were thriving. At least financially.
Unfortunately, their seven-year marriage would never be described as blissful. Mary-Jeff verbal blowouts were the talk of the high-end Merryville social scene. People would invite them to parties just for the entertainment value. I was hesitant when they asked me to sell their home and split the proceeds. But that decision was made several months before Mark Seiman came into my life.
I chose the Cook house for the first showing of the day, hoping Mark would be shamed by his actions from the day before and simply sign the contract.
In my dreams.
There were two additional cars in the driveway when I arrived, just minutes before Mark. Jeff Cook was "mentoring" a twenty-year-old college coed and decided it would be smart to invite her to the showing for the experience. Not to be outdone, Mary brought her personal trainer along for moral support.
"You all selling a house or having a party?" Mark said as he walked in.
I quickly explained the circumstances in a tone I hoped the others couldn't hear.
Mark nodded and, without asking, went rummaging in the garage. We all followed.
"Are you looking for something in particular," Jeff said when Mark seemed unable to find what he wanted.
"Spray paint."
"Any particular color?"
"Red, if you got it."
Jeff opened a large bin and sorted through it.
"No red, but I've got some day glow orange. Will that do?"
"Perfect." Mark took the can of paint and led us all back into the house.
He paced off the great room and then paced it again until he stood about halfway in the middle of the far wall. And then, to the surprise and dismay of us all, he sprayed a line of orange paint right down the middle of the room. A line that bisected a couch and coffee table. He did it so deliberately, nobody tried to stop him until he was done.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" Jeff said after the damage was done.
"Since you two are splitting the profits from this sale, I thought it best to let you make separate deals. Jeff, you will be negotiating the price for the east side of the house. And you, Mary, will profit from the west side. Does everybody understand?"
He got head nods from husband and wife. Jeff's coed (Lena) seemed to also understand what was going on but, from the look on his face, Mary's personal trainer (Roco) didn't have a clue.
"If I'm not mistaken," Mark continue, "the asking price is three hundred twenty thousand. That's a hundred sixty per side. My opening offer to both of you is one hundred twenty."
"This is bullshit," Mary said. "That's eighty thousand below asking."
I was impressed. She did the mental math in less than a second.
"Nevertheless, that's my offer," Mark said. "But, as Miss Moorehead will attest, I am open to reasonable counteroffers if you include proper incentive."
"Just what in hell does that mean?" Mary demanded.
"As an example, I've been admiring your blouse. If you throw it in, I will raise the price on your side of the house a thousand dollars."
"A thousand dollars? For a thirty-dollar blouse? What's the catch?"
"No catch. You give me the blouse; I increase my bid by a thousand."
"Okay," Mary said. "I can agree to that. What else? The lawnmower? The pots and pans?"
"Possibly, but first you need to give me the blouse."
"Right now?"
"This very minute. I won't continue until I have it."
"Fine. Just give me time to go change."
"You apparently don't understand," Mark said. "You are to take off your blouse and continue our negotiations without it. If you refuse, we are back to my original offer."
Mary looked around the room. Nobody came to her rescue. She turned her back, removed her blouse and then faced us as she threw it on the couch.
She wasn't an overly busty woman, but far from flat chested. The letter B came to my mind. Just enough breast meat to form some cleavage, with the help of her push up bra.
"I'll gladly sell you my shirt for a thousand," Jeff volunteered.
"Trust me," Mary said. "Nobody's going to pay to see your scrawny chest."
"True," Mark said to Jeff. "But I'll double the deal I just made with your wife if you include your young protΓ©gΓ©'s blouse."