Coming From Behind Ch. 01-02

I closed my phone with a much more positive feeling than I had with Mr. Martin Koenig. This woman sounded like she was a professional.

Felicia Gonzales was indeed in her fifties, a bit stout but very well dressed and coiffed. She handed me her business card and smiled.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Monahan. You have a lovely location here. It's a very desirable area. I'm looking forward to seeing the apartment."

"Follow me," I smiled. This was a much more pleasant experience than the previous one.

We took even more time than Koenig did because Mrs. Gonzales asked a number of pertinent questions that would affect the salability of the place. Pets, noise transmission, storage space, maintenance response, power outages, etc. By the time we had finished the tour I had decided she was the agent I was going to list with.

"So, what do you think, Mrs. Gonzales?"

"I would list it for one million, one hundred thousand."

"That seems high to me. Why do you feel that way?"

"There are a number of intangibles that make this unit very appealing. First of all, it shows well. There is lots of light and no dark corners. It's very neat with no sign of any damage or water problems. I suspect that's due to you," she smiled. I nodded my affirmation.

"The market is quite lively right now, especially with spring weather making people more upbeat and more likely to look for something new. Listing now will allow you to take advantage of that."

I listened and she was making sense. Cold hard winters in Chicago were something to endure and then celebrate their passing. It wasn't quite baseball weather yet, but some warmth and sunshine would begin to lift people's spirits.

"Very well, Ms. Gonzales, I will be happy to list with you for a period of ninety days. Will that suit you?"

"Very acceptable, Mr. Monahan. But please, since we are now business partners of a kind, please call me Felicia."

"Then I'm Terry," I said, holding out my hand. We had a deal.

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."

"What kind of handicap?" I asked.

"I'm not sure, but it looks like it might be Muscular Dystrophy or something like that."

I sat back in the sofa, thinking.

"Felicia, if was your decision, which couple would you sell to?"

"That's not fair, Terry. I'm not you. I don't know how you will make your decision but it probably wouldn't be on the same basis that I would."

"Somehow I doubt that. I think we should accept the offer from the older couple. I know it might not make sense to throw away fifty thousand dollars without even trying to see if they'd match it but ... it seems like the right thing to do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Sometimes money isn't everything. I've come to understand that lately and I don't want to forget it. Do you have to tell the other couple what it sold for?"

"No, just that you chose to sell to someone else," she smiled.

"Okay, why don't you let the older couple know we've accepted their offer and we can discuss closing dates and occupancy when we get together."

"You want to meet them?" she said with surprise.

"Yes. Let's make this move as smooth as possible for them."

Felicia was shaking her head. "You are one of a kind, Terry. But ... since you asked ... I would have sold it to them too."

"I figured. I think I knew all along I'd made a good move choosing you as my agent. It just felt right."

"Thank you, Terry. I wish all my clients were like you. It'd make my job a lot easier."

The meeting with the Hilliard family went very well, and we agreed that occupancy would be May first. All the paperwork would be done and signed well before then. I had barely three weeks to decide where I would go next. The moving and storage company emptied the apartment on April twenty-sixth, and the cleaners came the next day.

With a bit of judicious space management I was able to get all my clothes, suitcases and miscellaneous things into the back of my Audi Quattro wagon. The tinted windows helped keep prying eyes from seeing too much, but I had a black cover that stretched from the rear of the front seats to the hatch for extra privacy.

I had all the money I was going to need for some time to come so I felt no urgency to decide what to do or where to go. I was ready for a complete veg-out and I'd convinced myself that I was entitled to it. The only direction I'd decided on for my leaving was west. Interstate 80 would get me started and I could decide from there.

It was a cloudy, misty Monday morning when I pulled out of Chicago for what I wondered might be the last time. I was westbound and headed for Des Moines. According to my navigation system it was a five-and-a-half hour drive. Somebody forgot to figure in the A6 and my slightly heavier than average foot. I was in the outskirts by two that afternoon under a clear blue sky. The weather supported my improved disposition.

I kicked around Des Moines for a couple of hours before I found a motel that looked nice and had a vacancy. I treated myself to a big porterhouse at one of their famous steak houses before calling it a day. I looked at my map and decided I would push a little further the next day and head for Cheyenne, Wyoming. I'd never been in this part of the country and I was looking forward to seeing some of the famous places from the old west.

Cheyenne wasn't as big as I thought it might be. It was mostly government offices and a big air force base. The historic buildings were scattered about in various locations, so I booked my room in the center of town for two nights. Might as well get a good look around. The weather had held and the sun had been with me pretty well all the way other than a rain storm just west of Omaha. The Audi was a bit muddy so I ran it through a car wash to bring the dark blue color back to life.

As I waited for the car to finish in the wash line, I saw a golf course across the road. I couldn't tell if it was private or public, but looking at the buildings I guessed it was public. What the hell, I had all the time in the world. I'd see if I could get a time for tomorrow morning and drag the clubs out tonight instead of fishing for them in the club parking lot.

It was indeed a public course and a booking wasn't necessary. I'd probably be placed with a local pair or threesome. The navigation system led me directly back to my hotel and I pulled the clubs out after remembering I had strategically placed them along one side to make them easier to get at.

I slept well that night after the long drive and another big meal. It seemed the portions were getting larger the farther west I drove. I was going to have to reel in my appetite at some point. I needed to get back to my exercise regimen and soon. I'd been getting away without gaining weight largely because of my irregular eating habits over the last year. That was going to change.

The hotel had an exercise room and I took advantage of it the next morning. I rose early, had my orange juice and banana that I'd bought at the 7-11, changed into shorts, a t-shirt and sneakers before heading for the main floor. The room was almost empty with only a couple of businessmen getting in an early morning workout.

I nodded to them and mounted a stationary bike. I dialed up the settings I had been used to when this was a regular routine for me. I got a nasty shock. It seemed like this was a lot harder than I remembered. The first five minutes were very ugly until I dialed down the resistance and found a more comfortable level. I worked hard for twenty minutes and noticed I had burned over a hundred-and-sixty calories, supposedly traveling slightly over five miles. It was going to take me a while to make a comeback to where I once was.

I tried not to overdo it, knowing I planned to walk the golf course later that morning. My three lessons with Bob Lishman had helped but he hadn't cured the cursed three-iron-itis. He agreed that it was probably mental considering how well I could hit any other iron. His only recommendation was to replace the three with a hybrid. It was apparently a type of club many of the pros were beginning to carry. I told him I'd think about it. Meanwhile the three was still in the bag even though I knew perfectly well I wouldn't take it out under any circumstances.

As expected, I was to join a pair of older gentlemen who were regulars, playing as many as four times a week. Both were retired and obviously very good friends. That became evident with the never ending stream of taunts and needles they exchanged as they flogged their way around the course. Neither knew what their handicap was but I took a guess at something like twenty four. They didn't hit it far but around the green things got deadly serious. Gamesmanship was the order of the day, from jingling the change in their pockets to coughing at strategic times. All in all it was a lot fun, as strange as it sounds.

To them it was a game. A game to be played for fun ... and of course ... a bit of money. I couldn't keep track of who owed what to whom, but as far as I could figure out it was less than ten dollars at the end of the game. For me they kept me loose and I played over my head considering how long it had been since I'd picked up a club.

My short game was erratic and that spelled the difference between my shooting in the high seventies and what turned out to be an eighty-six. It was a flat, hard course with lots of sand, a bit of water and wide fairways. Most of the rough was easily playable since trees were few and far between. It was a good way for me to get back to feeling the club in my hand and trying to figure out just what kind of a shot I wanted to hit. Things would get better the more I played ... or so I told myself.

I bought lunch for the men, a thank you for putting up with me and allowing me to have some fun along with them. They graciously accepted. I didn't get the impression they were wealthy retirees so the gesture was appropriate. We chatted about what there was to see in Cheyenne and they made a couple of suggestions for this afternoon. We parted just before two o'clock and I headed back to the hotel for a shower and a change.