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THE MIDNIGHT SKULKER 18

San Diego, California

February 28, 1974

9:20 p.m.  Pacific Standard Time

Flicking the outside light switch and parting the café curtain in the kitchen, “Lousy, Dad. It’s been snowing almost all day and it’s windy and freezing out there.”

“Marcy, Mikie says ‘it’s been snowing all day and it’s windy and freezing outside’! So what say as soon as I hang up we get into our bathing suits and go on down for a swim?”

“Aw, Dad, come on, you’re joking me.”

“Yeah, Mikie, we’re not going swimming, but guess what… if we wanted to, it’s warm enough to do it.”

“I can’t wait, Dad.”

“Yeah, Mikie, me, too… Goodnight.”

Within seconds of breaking the connection to Schaumburg…

The phone picked up by Marsha, “Hello.”

“Marsha, hi! It’s Lennie… Len Goodman of ‘Forrest Olson’.”

“Uh, hold on a second, will you, Len.” Looking at Mitchell, her hand over the receiver, whispering, “It’s Len Goodman.” Shrugging her shoulders, “What should I tell him?”

“You want me to talk to him?”

Shaking her head negatively…

Seeing through his ‘bait and switch’ realtor’s game, disliking Leonard Goodman, Marsha was actually glad that she would be giving him the news.

 …“Len,” she answered. But before she could say anything.

Hoping that Mitchell and Marsha would either, greatly, increase their purchase price or, greatly, lower their expectations. “I’m calling to tell you that I’m having a hard time finding just what you’re looking for, but,” he lied, “I have one I want to caravan before bringing you there, so I’m calling to tell you that I’ll be running about an hour late tomorrow.”

“Len, I’m glad you called. We were going to call you tomorrow morning because we were contacted by another broker shortly after you dropped us off and she” – savoring the moment – “took us to exactly what we were looking for, so we bought it.”

The line silent a number of seconds.

Coming over, sitting on the edge of the bed closely beside Marsha, his head tilted alongside hers to hear the back and forth conversation.

“Let me get this straight,” Goodman said testily. “Some other broker, out of the blue, just coincidently happened to call the ‘Shelter Inn on Shelter Island’ and, coincidently, rang your room? This is what you’re telling me, Marsha?”

Becoming angry, “Just what are you trying to say, Leonard?”

“That you got to your room and ‘let your fingers do the walking’ and found another broker.”

“No, Leonard, we didn’t ‘let our fingers do the walking’.” Marsha said sarcastically. “She found us by doing some good detective work and got our home number from our broker back home and then she got the number here from my mother-in-law! But if we did, ‘let our fingers do the walking’,  how come she showed us one house that just, ‘coincidently’, happened to be exactly what we were looking for,  ‘coincidently’, at exactly the right price?”

“If you were decent people you would have been faithful to me.”

“And if you were a ‘decent’ salesman you wouldn’t have tried to trick us into buying more than we could afford by showing us those shitty houses first… Tell you what, Leonard; I have nothing more to say to you.” With that, Marsha slammed the receiver onto the cradle.

“Hey, good for you, Baby!”

“Know what, Mitchie?”

“Uh-uh.”

Let’s do it!”

 “Do what?”

“Go for a swim.”

“And if no one’s in the pool?”

Knowing him! Knowing her husband so well, “Yeah, ‘if no one’s in the pool’, we can ‘fool around’.”

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Unfortunately there were people in the pool.

And this being a very long, very emotional day, back in their room, in bed: “No, honey, I’m too tired!”

San Diego, California

March 1, 1974

8:15 a.m.  Pacific Standard Time

“Yes, why not?” Speaking to the concierge – thinking, as these three days would be their first time away from home in almost ten years, they would splurge on a two night stay in a beautiful hotel in as beautiful a setting as Shelter Island – “Yes, why not? A Buick convertible would be great.”

“We’ll have ‘Hertz’ bring one by in about a half hour. Anything else, Sir?”

“Yes, would you please ask them to bring a map of San Diego.”

“We have the maps you want at the front desk. However if you tell me where you and...” glancing at his note pad, “Mrs. Lipensky are planning on going today, we’ll be only too happy to route you there and back.”

“Really? How nice! Okay, we were thinking of driving towards ‘Sea World’ then onto ‘Coronado Island’ then we’d like to see Tijuana. Maybe even have lunch in Mexico.”

“Sounds like a nice day, Sir… Are you first planning on attending our ‘complementary full course breakfast’?”

“Well, hold on a second, will you…” Holding his hand over the receiver, “Marcy, you want to go to the hotel’s ‘free breakfast’?”

“ ‘For free’? Yeah, sure, why not?”

“Okay,” speaking into the phone, “we’ll do your breakfast.”

“You’ll enjoy it… When you’re finished with breakfast, go to the front desk and ask for ‘Jason’…”

“ ‘Jason’; that’s you?”

“Yes, Sir. After breakfast come to the front desk and I’ll have your maps, your routing for the day and the keys to your Buick convertible… Oh, yes, one thing more.”

“What’s that, Jason?”

“What color would you like the car?”

©October 12, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman