the people I see in a year. But frankly, do you expect to find another house that you like this well? Where there are only two things you want to add or change? Most buyers I see intend to gut the place they are moving into. You are paying top dollar here, but the fact is you will have very little to do. Some people pay top dollar and then top it off with many many more dollars to make it the way they want it.”
Linda Burns wasn’t looking at me, but Marcus was smiling and nodding.
“I don’t know, this may be your second or third house, but I’ve sold lots of houses and I think this is a good match, a very good match. Gottfried is the best builder around. Besides that, I don’t think anyone will be happy if this deal falls through.” The title officer nodded and then raised her eyebrows, just subtly, as if to say, How many times do we have to go through this?
“I can’t get over it,” said Linda Burns.
I spoke soothingly. “What can’t you get over?”
“Well, I can get over the tile, but I can’t get over the fence. I just can’t. I think it should be included.”
I said, “Fine. We’ll make a separate agreement, leaving Gottfried out of it, and I will see to it that the fence is put in.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” said Linda Burns.
“Well, actually, I agree with you, but Gottfried asked me what I get paid for, and I suppose helping the deal go through is it.”
She sniffed. After a few quiet moments, the closing officer began sliding the documents across the table to each of the parties, and then, after another moment, they began to sign. I figured the fence would cost eight hundred bucks. Maybe I would split the cost with Bobby.
The room was quiet for a while. All parties acted chastened and reluctant, but they did sign. And when they were through signing, one by one, they sighed deep relieved sighs, and the whole deal started to look inevitable, the way done deals do.
I got up and went to the bathroom. On my way back, Marcus Burns met me in the hallway and clapped me on the shoulder. He was all smiles. He said, “Hey, man! That was great! I couldn’t believe it. I thought she had him, and we were going to be traipsing around to open houses for another six months. And you know, I’ll tell you something. At every open house she would have said, ‘I’m sorry we missed that other house.’” He shook his head, but affectionately, kindly. “She’s just this way. Once the whole thing is over, she loves it and can’t even remember what the problems were, but getting there puts her in a panic. Her mom’s the same way. Anyway, thanks, man. I owe you.”
I thought I’d done a good job too. As I was driving away, I ruminated pleasantly on my special talents as a Realtor: no, I wasn’t passionate about houses; and, no, I wasn’t quick and instinctive; and, no, I wasn’t a natural salesman like, say, Jack Dorfman at the Century 21 office. Jack had been a linebacker for the Pittsburgh Steelers long long ago. He had gotten out of football and into real estate before turning thirty, but he was rich and also a legend. If a buyer showed the least little interest in a house, he—or she—was guaranteed to have bought it already. Jack Dorfman just put that looker on a train and sent him down the track—next stop, closing. I never knew if it was an instinct for who could buy or subtle bullying, but he never let them off the hook and frequently pointed out at Realtors’ gatherings that if they changed their minds later, there was a whole other sale to be taken care of.
Anyway, I wasn’t like that, but, I told myself as I drove away that afternoon, I was good at shifting the balance when things began to go sour. I was even—well, you might say, eloquent. In short, I was so good at my job, I decided to take the afternoon off. I drove down to the city, where there was good food and music playing that night in about six different bars. I didn’t tell anyone where I was
Linda Burns wasn’t looking at me, but Marcus was smiling and nodding.
“I don’t know, this may be your second or third house, but I’ve sold lots of houses and I think this is a good match, a very good match. Gottfried is the best builder around. Besides that, I don’t think anyone will be happy if this deal falls through.” The title officer nodded and then raised her eyebrows, just subtly, as if to say, How many times do we have to go through this?
“I can’t get over it,” said Linda Burns.
I spoke soothingly. “What can’t you get over?”
“Well, I can get over the tile, but I can’t get over the fence. I just can’t. I think it should be included.”
I said, “Fine. We’ll make a separate agreement, leaving Gottfried out of it, and I will see to it that the fence is put in.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” said Linda Burns.
“Well, actually, I agree with you, but Gottfried asked me what I get paid for, and I suppose helping the deal go through is it.”
She sniffed. After a few quiet moments, the closing officer began sliding the documents across the table to each of the parties, and then, after another moment, they began to sign. I figured the fence would cost eight hundred bucks. Maybe I would split the cost with Bobby.
The room was quiet for a while. All parties acted chastened and reluctant, but they did sign. And when they were through signing, one by one, they sighed deep relieved sighs, and the whole deal started to look inevitable, the way done deals do.
I got up and went to the bathroom. On my way back, Marcus Burns met me in the hallway and clapped me on the shoulder. He was all smiles. He said, “Hey, man! That was great! I couldn’t believe it. I thought she had him, and we were going to be traipsing around to open houses for another six months. And you know, I’ll tell you something. At every open house she would have said, ‘I’m sorry we missed that other house.’” He shook his head, but affectionately, kindly. “She’s just this way. Once the whole thing is over, she loves it and can’t even remember what the problems were, but getting there puts her in a panic. Her mom’s the same way. Anyway, thanks, man. I owe you.”
I thought I’d done a good job too. As I was driving away, I ruminated pleasantly on my special talents as a Realtor: no, I wasn’t passionate about houses; and, no, I wasn’t quick and instinctive; and, no, I wasn’t a natural salesman like, say, Jack Dorfman at the Century 21 office. Jack had been a linebacker for the Pittsburgh Steelers long long ago. He had gotten out of football and into real estate before turning thirty, but he was rich and also a legend. If a buyer showed the least little interest in a house, he—or she—was guaranteed to have bought it already. Jack Dorfman just put that looker on a train and sent him down the track—next stop, closing. I never knew if it was an instinct for who could buy or subtle bullying, but he never let them off the hook and frequently pointed out at Realtors’ gatherings that if they changed their minds later, there was a whole other sale to be taken care of.
Anyway, I wasn’t like that, but, I told myself as I drove away that afternoon, I was good at shifting the balance when things began to go sour. I was even—well, you might say, eloquent. In short, I was so good at my job, I decided to take the afternoon off. I drove down to the city, where there was good food and music playing that night in about six different bars. I didn’t tell anyone where I was
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