EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Del retrieved his real estate file from the desk drawer in his study. The buyer, in an apparent attempt to stroke his own ego, had passed along his personal contact information in case celebrity Del Corwyn ever wanted to chat.
And today, Del Corwyn wanted to indulge him.
Jonas Fricke.
The guy’s business card was in English, but it contained an address in Switzerland. Del checked the clock. How many hours ahead would that be? Ten or eleven? It should be late afternoon over there. And the man had handwritten his personal cell phone number.
Skipping his morning jog, which Del hated to do, he dialed the number. Considering the significant distance between continents, the call took longer than usual to connect and Del noticed a slight difference in the sound quality as it rang. He increased the volume a notch and waited.
“Jonas Fricke.” A distinct German accent.
“Mr. Fricke!” he began. Perhaps formality would stroke the man’s ego. Small price to pay for Del to get his home back. “Del Corwyn here. You gave me your phone number. Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
“No, Mr. Corwyn. Is something wrong with the house?” For a second language, Jonas Fricke spoke excellent English. Then again, he conducted business around the world.
Del offered a hearty chortle in response. “No, no. All is fine. In fact, I have excellent news regarding the home.”
“Excellent news?”
“You’re about to make an immediate profit on your new home, sir! Quite an investment.”
Silence, followed by curiosity in Fricke’s voice. “A profit? How so?”
“You’re a businessman, Mr. Fricke, so I’ll cut to the chase. This will sound strange, but I’d like to buy back my home.”
“You—come again, please?”
“And I’ll offer you ten percent more than what you paid for it.” Del could sign a script deal tomorrow if necessary.
Fricke hesitated. “Ten percent?”
Wasn’t that sufficient? “Fine, make it twenty.”
“Why this offer, Mr. Corwyn?”
“I’ve had a change of heart. The truth is, I never wanted to move in the first place, so I gave it some additional thought.”
“According to what I’ve read, you had some excellent news of your own recently, too.”
“Yes, that’s correct. So you can understand why a relocation wouldn’t be feasible at this time.”
“But you built extra months into the contract to rent the home. I am willing to extend that agreement, if you wish. I will not need to make use of the home immediately.”
Del clucked his tongue and wondered how straightforward he should be. He was willing to bargain, and he wanted his home back, but he didn’t want to be a chump.
“That’s generous of you, Mr. Fricke. But as reality has settled in, I’ve realized—well, Los Angeles is my home, and—”
“There are plenty of homes in that city, Mr. Corwyn. I’m sure you could find one at the price you’re willing to pay.”
“Yes, but—” Del grunted to himself. This wasn’t working. He needed to change tactics. Lay down his pride and be honest. “It’s my home, Mr. Fricke. You can understand that, as one human being to another.” Del paused. Then, to his own dismay, he softened his voice to what sounded like a prayer. “Please, Mr. Fricke.”
Del heard nothing on the other end of the line and, for a moment, wondered if their connection had dropped. The silence brought ripples of anxiety. Then Jonas Fricke answered.
“I can appreciate your predicament, Mr. Corwyn—”
A wave of relief. “I’d hoped you might.”
“—but I cannot sell your home to you.”
No, no, NO!
“Surely you can understand where I’m coming from, Mr. Fricke.”
“Indeed I can, Mr. Corwyn. But, you see, selling the home at this time would not be a wise step.”
“Not to be presumptuous, but may I ask why not? If you don’t mind, that is.”
“As it turns out, I have made a choice investment, albeit an accidental one. Your house, Mr. Corwyn, is now worth much more than it was when I purchased it. I keep track of the news in America. Your home was where the script by Marilyn Monroe was discovered. That means your home—my home—is now historic. A collector’s item, if you will. You wouldn’t sell a rare coin before its time, would you?”
“No, of course not, but…”
“This home is now, shall we say, a rare coin.”
Of course. The bragging rights. The man had bought a celebrity’s home as a status symbol—and had stumbled upon an even greater status than he could have dreamed.
Jonas Fricke had acquired another tale to share over cocktails. Meanwhile, Del’s home—and the memories he cherished within in—was slipping from his grasp. It wasn’t over, though. Not yet. Del still had one fingernail embedded in it.
A tear formed in his eye, but he refused to let Fricke hear him weep. Not a chance. Nevertheless, Del’s voice caught when he spoke again.
“Please, Mr. Fricke. I’m—” He sucked in his breath and cast aside his caution. “I’m begging you.”
A pause. Del had reached the man’s heart.
Or so he thought.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Corwyn.”
Del ended the call in a gracious manner, then slammed the cell phone onto the sale contract.
With his elbows on the table, he planted his face in his hands. The tear he’d felt earlier pooled and trickled from the corner of his eye.