Chapter 2: Moving Out and Moving On

My last two weeks at the office seemed to drag on forever. I had long since finished the paperwork and it was now up to the legal department to cross all the t's and dot all the i's. The formal signing date was coming the next week, ten am on Tuesday. I was looking forward to seeing the last of this project.

Felicia had already shown the apartment to three different people and thought we could expect an offer, although she worried it might be a low-ball one. She was a pleasure to deal with and I left the matter in her hands, willing to listen to her advice. Mr. Koenig had called to find out if I was going to list with him and when I told him I had chosen someone else he began to give me an earful of complaint so I hung up on him. He had the good sense not to call back.

The signing of the merger agreement went off without a hitch. I had to admit I was holding my breath considering the open hostility that had been evident on occasion during the negotiations. Instead, it was almost a meeting of friends with plenty of smiles and congratulations all around. I saw Brant blanch when one of the Dollard executives singled me out for praise on how I had kept the process moving despite some strongly held differences of opinion. I thanked him but assured him that our team had carried much of the load and I was just the spokesman. I don't think he bought it but he didn't add anything further.

When I packed up that afternoon it wasn't with any sense of loss, more one of relief. I'd made my decision and I wasn't having any second thoughts. I may never have a job that would earn me as much as this one did but I'd come to the realization that money wasn't everything. Perhaps I had to be in my position to be able to understand it. I'd have laughed if someone said that to me ten years ago. Times change and they had certainly changed me.

My first day off from work was bewildering. I had longed for some free time but, now that I had it, I didn't know what to do with it. The thought struck me that I didn't know where my golf clubs were. If I could find them I could go to a driving range and hit a few balls. See if the old swing was still there. I took the elevator to the basement and opened my locker. Buried well in the back, hidden from sight, I found a very dusty bag of clubs. I knocked off most of the dust with my handkerchief before taking them up to the apartment for a proper cleaning.

I wondered if they were still equal to the current technology. Not that I was a slave to the latest and greatest all-singing and all-dancing super-heterodyne clubs and golf balls. Just the same, I'd paid a pretty penny for this set and I would hate to think they were obsolete already. Oh well, if my father could play with a thirty-year-old set of Cobras I guess these would do. When I finished cleaning them they looked great. Hell, they should have. They were hardly used.

I took the clubs back down to the garage and stuck them in the back of my car. I had the time, so now it was just a matter of doing what I wanted, when I wanted to do it.

I was less than five minutes away from heading out to a local driving range when the phone rang. It was Felicia Gonzales.

"Hello, Terry. How are you today?"

"Fine. Just about to head out to the driving range to get some exercise. How can I help you?"

"I have another potential client that I'd like to show your place to. Would it be all right to come over this afternoon?"

"Of course. You have a key and you don't want me around when they're here anyway. Feel free anytime."

"I'll let you know how it goes," she said as we signed off.

We were up to six viewings now and Felicia said that was a sign of an active market. I had a good feeling about her. She exuded a quiet confidence that kept me calm.

The driving range was another matter. The first bucket of balls was a complete waste. It seemed like I couldn't wait to hit the next ball. The result, of course, wasn't pretty. Hooks one minute, slices the next. I couldn't find a comfortable swing that produced a common result. I had nothing to tie my corrections to. I stopped for a few minutes and had a soft drink. I needed to think this out.

When I finished the drink, I took out my five iron and put six balls down on the Astroturf carpet. I thought about nothing except watching the club head hit the ball. Swing tempo was slower, backswing a bit shorter, and a push with the right leg. Bingo! Straight, high shots just like I'd come to expect when I played regularly. Next, six more with the seven iron, then six with the nine. I was beginning to get the feel I remembered from my former playing days.

My nemesis was the three iron. I was inconsistent as hell with it. If I was going to screw up it was usually because I hit it off the toe, something I almost never did with any of my other clubs. I was sure it was a mental thing. I took to choking down on a fairway five metal when things were going badly. I dropped six more balls and repeated the stroke that had produced the results with the other irons.

The first two shots were fine, but not as long as I expected. The third spun off the toe to the right, a horrible shot. The fourth was okay, then another toe hit on the fifth. I almost didn't bother with the sixth ball but in frustration, I set it up quickly and took an almost careless swing and watched the ball sail off down the practice range. I don't ever remember hitting a three iron that far. The gods of golf were fucking with my mind.

It took a little longer to get the swing back for the driver and three metal but at least I had some hope my shots would be fairly close to the fairway. I had shot two large buckets of balls and my hands were sore for constantly swinging with force. But one good thing had come from it all. I wanted to play again. I wanted to play right away. And I could.

I walked into the shop to return the baskets and asked if there was a pro on the premises. Bob Lishman introduced himself and asked how he could help.

"I have a bad case of three-iron-itis. It's not new ... I've had it for a long time. I wonder if I can arrange for a lesson or two with you this week. I haven't played in I don't know how long and I want to get back to it. I could use your help."

"Sure. Tomorrow too soon?"

"Nope. What time?"

He shrugged. "Ten o'clock. Should be warm enough then."

I nodded. "See you at ten," I said and headed back to my car.

The message light on my phone was flashing when I got back to the apartment. It was Felicia and she had some news for me. If it had been urgent, she knew to call me on my cell, but since she left it on the home phone I assumed it wasn't critical. I would call her after I had washed up, fixed myself a Scotch and soda, and sat down for a few minutes. It was great to have a few minutes to myself just to relax and think. I sure was going to enjoy my new freedom.

I finished my scotch and made myself another while I contemplated what to do about dinner. It was then I remembered Felicia had called and I took my drink to the desk and called her back.

"Hi Terry. How was your golf game?" she asked.

"Well, it wasn't a game ... just the driving range and to tell the truth, I've got a lot of rust to get rid of. I've arranged a lesson for tomorrow. Anyway, you called. What's up?"

"We have an offer on your apartment. I'd like to come over and discuss it with you if that's all right."

"Of course. When would you like to come over?"

"Seven too soon?"

"Uhhm ... maybe. I haven't had anything to eat yet. How about eight?"

"Fine, see you then," she said, sounding very upbeat. I had a hunch she had a good offer. That would suit me just fine.

I walked to a little bistro that was across the road and up a block. I took a chance I could get a seat and I was lucky. Usually the place was pretty busy after six o'clock, even on a weeknight. I ordered a glass of red wine and the house special that evening. I was in a good mood. My first days away from the office and I was up. I started thinking about what next. Selling the apartment was just the first step. Where to from there? I had no idea. I needed to give that some thought.

My less-than-developed plan involved putting my furniture into storage, loading my clothes and small items in the car and taking off. The question was where to go and why? What the hell did I want to do with the rest of my life? Not the easiest question to answer it seemed. In the meantime, first things first. Sell the apartment.

"I wasn't quite accurate when I said we had an offer," Felicia said as she settled into a chair in the living room. In fact we have two offers," she grinned.

"Two! That's great. Tell me about them."

"The first offer is from a young couple who look like they are quite well off. No children. They've offered one-point-one-five million, no subjects."

"Holy cow. Where do they get the money?"

Felicia shook her head in wonder. "I have no idea. But, I don't think they were bluffing. They offered references and had a bank letter of credit."

I joined Felicia in shaking my head. "So it's a serious offer above our asking price then."

"Yes. I think they are convinced the other bidder wants it badly so they upped the ante."

"What about the other couple?"

"They're older. Late fifties or early sixties I would guess. Apparently they sold their home and family farm. They want to live near their grandchildren, so here they are."

"What did they offer?"

"They offered the full list price. No subjects either. They spent quite a bit of time here thinking about where things would go and what colors the walls might be. The kicker is they have a handicapped daughter who they care for. That's why they have to have a second bedroom."