As soon as I step outside, I phone Felicia Tonkersen, my attorney. I don’t care if she charges by the minute. I explain my plan and she says she’ll try and speed up the final agreements, including the deposits from the sale of our old place.
“Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure, Ms Beston. Keep me informed.”
I phone Donna and tell her all the good news, about Phoebe, and the bad news – my predicament and my plan to secure my own future, here at Brighton Court.
“I hate the whole buy and sell thing, Lucy,” Donna says. “So many disappointments. So many dreams trashed. You know there can only be one successful buyer.”
“I know, but why shouldn’t it be me?”
“Optimistic Lucy. That’s my gal. Well, I can’t lend you any money, but I’ll send you a list of buyers’ agents my family uses. You’d better find one straight away. Do you have savings? Will you need a loan officer? I can get you some documentation showing you’ve had regular work with us, but it might not be enough. Do you have a credit history?”
“No. Bart did everything. But I can ask my divorce lawyer to show proof of my expected settlement. With any luck I should be able to buy it outright.”
“Lucy! I wish I could help.”
“You already have, Donna. You know you have. You couldn’t have done any more for me and I’m so, so grateful. Thank you.”
“Sorry I can’t stay on the phone. I have an appointment with a new international moving company interested in using our services. At least there could be more work for you if you’re paying off an enormous mortgage, girlfriend. I’ll put in a good word for you if it all comes off.”
“Thanks, Donna. Good luck!”
She pings me through her list of buyers’ agents immediately, and I check them out. It’s not encouraging. Yes, they all have the best reviews, but when I phone them, one by one, they say they’re flat out representing other buyers. Then I find a new one online. No reviews, but her face is sweet. Hilary Cheng. She answers straight away.
“Hilary Cheng, buyers’ agent. May I help you?”
“Oh, Hilary. Thanks so much for answering. It’s Lucy Beston and I want to buy the apartment I’m renting. Near downtown. West side of the river. Full brick. Big old thing. Solid.”
“I know the area. I’ll need the exact address. What’s the asking price? Do you need a loan officer? Do you have savings?”
I tell her my situation and she reassures me she knows what she’s doing.
“Thanks for this chance, Lucy,” she says. “It’s so hard to establish a reputation in this industry when you’re new, but I won’t let you down.”
She tells me she’ll contact the seller’s agent for me. “Do you have an offer in mind?”
I tell her about my old place, and we toss values back and forth, and halve them.
“There’ll be closing costs and my percentage to cover as well, Lucy. You won’t have to pay moving costs, as you’re already there, but have you costed insurance? Do you have a downpayment ready to go? Twenty per cent is the general rule.”
The sign goes up outside Brighton Court the next day, and my apartment is featured in the local paper.
Brighton Court is described as “tightly held” and all its features lovingly described. It makes me more determined than ever to make it mine. Already I’m repainting the bedroom in my mind, and replacing the scratched old bath with something more elegant. It’s unsettling to know I might be outbid for it, but at least I have a plan.
I knock on Dirk’s door several times, but the only time he’s there, he tells me he’s just leaving, off to babysit his grandchildren. I smile. I’d love to go with him and make out on the sofa when they’re all asleep, like in the olden days, when I was in high school and a boyfriend was allowed to sit with me.
On Wednesday, I’m torn between tidying my place up for the open houses, or making it as messy as I can. I hang around near the front door, and when an older couple comes in the front gate, I phone Donna.
“The place looks alright, but the plumbing’s atrocious,” I say loudly, and I see the couple turn to each other. “And my neighbors are crazy. I can’t wait to move out. Hip hop blasts day and night. I think they compete, or maybe they teach it, right below my bedroom.”
“Lucy?”
“Shhh, Donna. Just pretend for me, will you?”
Like a good friend, she throws herself into it, and I put her on speakerphone, up loud.
“And the motorcycle gang?” she says.
