The last two hours had been frustrating. I had stopped my car at five houses, looked at the single-sheet fliers I got from the bins just under the "For Sale" signs and drove on. Not one of the homes kept my interest after I read the descriptions.
Six weeks earlier my parents had passed away. My sister and I split the estate, after a month of legal crap. As it worked out, we each got ten million and a yearly income of half a million for life. The lawyers got a hefty bag of cash too. I decided that the eight hundred square foot bachelor apartment I lived in was no longer where or how I should live. A twenty-eight year old with anything over a million in the bank should own a home, I thought. Two days later I added, "at the beach", to that first thought.
At nearly five o'clock on my first serious day of house hunting I saw it. I stopped my car in front, got the flier from the box and liked what I saw and read. It was twenty-six hundred square feet, three bedrooms, three baths, great room, private back yard with gate onto the beach, hot tub, view all the way to Catalina from the upper deck. New kitchen. The three pictures on the flier were small but made the house look great. The house itself looked wonderful. Spanish style, in earthy colors and good landscaping. The flier gave the name and phone number for the agent. "Shown by appointment."
John Wilson was the agent's name. "I wonder if he's related to Asshole Wilson? I asked myself. Asshole Wilson was a guy I went to high school with. His actual name was Walter. I have called him Asshole and a few thousand other less than flattering names since I found out it was him that ruined the last month of high school and banished me from California for seven years.
Asshole had wanted to take Crystal MacGreggor to the prom. He wanted her for his girlfriend. Problem was she was dating me and had agreed to go to the prom with me.
He devised a plan to get her to break up with me and then go with him. Four days before the prom someone found some pictures of two boys having sex in various ways. The only face identifiable in the photos was mine. The most damaging of the selection was of my face with some guys cock in my mouth. Needless to say, Crystal broke up with me that day and accepted Walter as a suitable substitute date for the prom. I didn't go to the prom. I didn't go to graduation. I got my diploma in the mail. Every time I left the house to go anywhere I heard laughter. By July fourth I was in Maine, enrolled in my first semester of college in a small college. Three years later I graduated and moved to another small college for a Master's degree. I quit using my first name and used my middle name. I put high school behind me and moved on.
I moved on physically, too. On prom night I weighed 160 and was six foot even. My hair was cut very short. During college I got into kayaking and developed a few muscles on my frame. I grew shoulders and got up to two hundred ten pounds. During grad school I grew a moustache and liked it. I kept it.
When my parents were sick I came back to California. I got a job as a substitute teacher with a local school district and spent lots of time being with Mom and Dad.
Back in my new BMW I opened my new cell phone and called the real estate office. A female voice answered and I asked for John Wilson. He came on the line and when I gave him the address of the house I was interested in, he got excited. The radio news had been spending lots of time telling about the big slump in the housing market. I realized that meant two good things, for me. The price on the home would be less that the number printed on the flier and the salesman would be hungry to make a deal.
I asked when I could see the inside of the house and John said if I was free we could meet there in an hour. I agreed and went to get a beverage while I waited.
At ten minutes before the hour was over I parked in front. As I got out of my car a silver, two-year old mini-van parked in the driveway. A man about my age got out. His professional smile was turned on and he carried a notebook and a briefcase. He shook my hand and began the sales tour.
He made sure I saw all the special features outside the house, first. Motion sensitive lights, sprinklers built in for the two small grassy areas, a privacy fence in the back yard, a key-pad lock on the gate leading directly onto the beach and the hot tub tucked under the second floor deck and near the back doors. When we got to the upper deck we saw another hot tub, albeit a smaller one, up there. While he guided the tour he asked the qualifying questions.
He asked about my job. I said I had my own business. He asked about my wife and family. I said I had not found the right woman, yet. I asked about his family. He hauled out his wallet and opened it to a picture all salesmen carry. His wife, his two daughters and he, dressed for church last Easter. When he handed the wallet to me so I could look we dropped it. I bent to recover it and saw that the page had changed and showed Asshole Wilson and Crystal at the prom! This was Asshole Wilson! I spent five seconds contemplating a way to kill him that wouldn't have me in prison. Then I handed him the wallet and said, "Nice family."
He went on with the sales tour. I loved the house. I asked about the price.
"On the flier it's listed at three-point-one but you could make a lower offer if you thought that was a little steep. Depending on the escrow terms we might work something out."
"Right. Well, three-point-one is high. I need to sit on it, think for a couple days and call you."
"In all honesty, I showed this to a couple yesterday and they may make a firm offer in the next day or so. A home like this could be off the market soon."
I wondered if he had shown it in the last two weeks. The news said housing sales were down eighteen percent. I was willing to take the risk.
"Well, I didn't get the money to buy something this nice by jumping into things. If you have another buyer before I get back to you, sell."
I walked out to my car and drove off. He hadn't even gotten my phone number.
I thought about the woman in the family picture. Crystal looked good. I circled around and saw John lock the house, get in his mini-van and drive off. I followed. I'm not good at following someone and almost lost him twice before he pulled into a driveway that turned out to be his. His because the two young girls in the yard greeted him and because Crystal greeted him on the porch. She looked good. Twenty-eight years old, two daughters and still had the cheerleaders body. She was wearing white shorts and a stripped t-shirt. Still close to her high school weight.
I went home to my tiny apartment, posted the flier on the fridge with a magnet from my insurance man and drank a beer. That night I went to a Lakers game and watched them suffer and die. All through the game I kept thinking about Asshole Wilson and what he had done. I wondered if Crystal knew he did it. I wondered of she wanted him to do it. I wondered, on the way home, how I could find out.