I’m posting early again this week because I won’t have time to do it in the morning. This excerpt is from a book I began a while ago and will one day get back to, although with every passing day I question what I am doing more and more. This has been my worst month to date. Somehow I have become invisible. I’m choosing to delude myself that everyone is on vacation and will be back next month. At the moment however, I can’t sell a book to save my life, nor is anyone reading this blog. Perhaps Fall will re-inspire me, or perhaps I’ll just disappear completely. Only time will tell.
Chris looked up from his phone conversation and stared at me in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, you did what?”
“I know. Crazy right?” I asked shaking my head and disappearing into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face.
I had woken earlier than usual that morning and not wanting to disturb him, I had slipped out of bed, put on my workout clothes, (leggings, a t-shirt and running shoes) and embarked on one of my marathon walks. Climbing up into the hills above our Los Angeles neighborhood, I’d come across a vacant lot for sale, and needing to catch my breath, had sat down on the crumbling wall lining the driveway, to look up the listing. According to Zillow it was estimated to be worth five hundred and ten thousand dollars. I immediately called my realtor Natalie, and told her to put in a bid at five hundred thousand, but to be sure they understood that had to include closing costs. I said I’d pay the five hundred thousand but not a penny more.
She didn’t even question it. Natalie was becoming accustomed to the way I worked, thus the reason I had her cell number in my phone. She had told me after I had purchased the Bluebell Canyon property several weeks earlier with my partner Trevor, to call her anytime, day or night. She had made a very nice commission on that sale, since the twelve acres we had purchased had been in the multi millions. Today’s offer was coming strictly from me however, because knowing Trevor as I did and do, I knew he would still be sleeping and probably wouldn’t be up for buying another property so soon anyway. After all, we were still working out the zoning for what we planned to do with the Bluebell Canyon property. He, like Chris, would find this to be completely irrational.
“I’m going to have to call you back,” I heard Chris say, and a moment later I caught his reflection in the mirror as he stood in the bathroom doorway waiting for me to notice him. “Why would you put in an offer on another property when you are in over your head on Bluebell Canyon?” he asked.
“Who says I’m in over my head? I know exactly what I want to do with Bluebell Canyon.”
“And you are going to pay for it how?”
“Where there’s a will there’s a way.”
“Sure there is. And what is this place going to cost?”
“It’s a bargain at $500.000.” I told him.
His mouth dropped and he looked at me as if I were crazy. I don’t know what number he’d had in his mind but clearly I had exceeded it.
“Babe it’s a lot with views of both the valley and the city. You know what real estate costs around here. What did you think I’d say?” I laughed, walking over to kiss him.
“You don’t have that kind of money, do you?” he choked.
“I’ll have to move things around, that’s all,” I told him.
I leaned in for a kiss and we kissed for just a moment before his phone rang. Looking at the number, he groaned and answered with, “I told you I’d call you back!”
Chris manages two of L.A.’s most popular restaurants for his friend Ronnie, a chef, and the owner of both Tres Bien and Spectacle. There is always a crisis at one or the other of them, generally concerning any one of three things; paparazzi, celebrity reservations, or produce. It’s just the nature of the business, and what he’s stuck dealing with at least six days a week. This was early in the day for frantic phone calls, so I assumed it must be a produce issue.
I went downstairs to the kitchen in search of some breakfast, settling on my usual Almond Crunch cereal. I was craving something a little more delicious, such as waffles and bacon but I knew I could only afford so many indulgences per week, and therefore I generally saved the truly yummy delights for the weekend.
Once my cereal was poured, I pulled a legal pad out of our junk drawer, or to be more honest, one of our many junk drawers, and began sketching out the kind of house I imagined going up on this possible new lot of mine. I envisioned a Spanish/Mediterranean home with a turret and lots of windows to take in the incredible views. I wanted dark wood accents throughout, with tons of old world charm, combined with every modern convenience.
A few minutes later I heard Chris rushing downstairs. He hurried into the kitchen like a whirling dervish, as my grandmother would say, his head swiveling around until his eyes settled on me.
“I’ve got to go but we should talk. I’m getting concerned Kelly, you are acting weird,” he said giving me a quick peck on the cheek.
“What? I am not,” I laughed. “You’re weird. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Don’t do anything on that property until we talk. Just wait and hear me out,” he said, on his way through the side door that lead out to the driveway.
“I make no promises” I called after him.