Condo Conversion, Chapter 2

2

            I had just moved out of the city.  San Francisco is truly beautiful, but after ten years I just couldn’t take it anymore. 

            I was essentially unemployed had been living with my parents for three weeks.  Imagine that: thirty-two years old and living with my parents.  I was looking for a permanent residence.  My Mom took me to a few she found in the local paper.  Cute places, nice bungalows in Sonoma County with neat little yards in the front.  She didn’t know what I wanted.  She wanted me to get married.  I wanted to get laid. 

            I wasn’t going to pay those prices.  Twelve hundred dollars a month for a one bedroom: that was ridiculous.  I’d be back in some job I hated in no time.  But that’s the idea, her hidden, subconscious agenda.  If I committed to an expensive place I’d have to get a real job.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m a mamma’s boy at heart.  I love her dearly and would gladly sacrifice my life for hers if given the choice.  But she sees things a certain way.  She tells me to “get a life.” 

            “I have a life,” I respond.  “Anybody who is alive has a life.”

            “You call that a life?”

            “Yes.”

            “That’s not a life.”

            “What is?”

            “A good job, a home, a wife and a family.”

            The thought of it made me nauseous.  Not necessarily the idea of having a family, mind you; but the idea of having the kind of family she would envision for me.  She is a very traditional woman.  I am not a traditional guy. 

            But I had to go somewhere.  I couldn’t live at my parents home for much longer.  There’s nothing wrong with living with your parents.  I don’t quarrel with the notion.  The Europeans and South Americans have been doing it for generations.  But I like to live a certain way and my Mom likes to see me living a certain way.  So our purposes collide.  And like I said, I’m a mammas boy.  I don’t want to make her sad, which my constant presence in her life and the reminders it brings sometimes does.  My Dad cares, but is too pragmatic and wise to get in the middle of things.  Good for him.

            I play poker at one of the local clubs about twice a week.  Usually, I coordinate my visits with Mike Williston and The Admiral.  Mike is my oldest and one of my closest friends.  He’s also thirty-two, tall, strong, unmarried, and has lived with his parents in Marin County since he got out of college.  The Admiral is a seventy-five year old millionaire who made his money with a famous chain of seafood restaurants “Admiral Jim’s Seafood Bonanza;” hence the nickname.  Later on, toward the end of the eighties, he got out of the restaurant business and bought up a bunch of apartment complexes.  It was very good timing.  I spend a lot of time with The Admiral and Mike.

            On this particular day, I was up about two hundred bucks and in a good mood.  Mike, the best player of the three of us, was about even and The Admiral was pushing the whole table around as he has the capacity to do from time to time.   He was up about a thousand.  We were playing no limit Texas Hold-Em, two hundred dollar buy-in.  It’s a good game.  There are a lot of losers at the table, guys for whom the money only goes one way. 

            Mike was not catching cards and was getting bored with folding every hand.  When this happens, he tends to get a little goofy to entertain himself. 

            “You know, Peter lives with his parents,” he said to the lone female sitting across the table, a pretty, petite Asian in her early thirties.

            “I do not,” I responded.  “I’m just staying with them for a while.  You live with your parents.”

            “Dude, don’t be embarrassed by it.  Take it from me, you have to embrace your living situation if you’re gonna make it last.  It’s no big deal.”

            “I never said it was a big deal.  But I don’t live with them.  I’ve been there three weeks and was looking for places online today.”

            “I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Castellano are thrilled to have their baby boy back.”

            “You know that isn’t true.”

            “When I was younger,” The Admiral chimed in, “I used to be surrounded by beautiful women.  Now I’m surrounded by strange young men.”  He loved to talk about his sexual conquests of the old days. 

            Mike changed topics and began regaling the table with an awkward but hilarious personal story of a recent trip of his to the strip clubs.  We played for about another hour, during which I lost everything I was up while Mike went on a three hundred dollar winning streak.  The Admiral was getting tired: he had been playing for ten hours.  It was pretty amazing, really, a guy his age pulling those hours at the table.  We got up as a group and left.

            We walked out to the parking lot together.  The Admiral only lived a few minutes from Mike’s house, so they usually drove in to play together.  He pulled me aside.

            “You’re looking for a place to live?”

            “Yeah.”  I was glad he asked, hoping maybe he had something cheap for me.

            “I’ll tell you what, I’ve got a great apartment available in Rohnert Park, and I’ll rent it to you for only five hundred dollars a month.”

            “Is it a one bedroom?  I can’t live in studios anymore.  Too little space.”

            “Yes, it’s a nice, small one bedroom.  Perfect for you.  There’s only one catch.  It’s in a fifty-five and older community.  But once it’s been vacant for thirty days, which it has, anybody can move in there.”

            It only took me a moment to think about it.  “I’ll take it: sight unseen.”  Beggars can’t be choosers.  What the hell did I care how old the neighbors would be?  At least they would be quiet and unthreatening. 

            “Oh, there’s another catch.  I guess that makes two catches.  The complex might be sold in a few months.  Then you’d have to move out.  But if that happens, I’ve got another complex I can move you into right away.”

            There could have been ten caveats, a five hundred dollar a month apartment in Sonoma County was a good arrangement by anybody’s standards.  I didn’t feel like looking for a job and needed to score a bargain.  The Admiral had just presented exactly the opportunity I was looking for.  “It’s a deal,” I told him.  “When can I move in?”

He was thrilled.  He picked up the phone and called his management team.  “I just rented out number 127, have it ready for a move-in sometime tomorrow,” he said, then hanging up.  “See that Mike, I won a thousand and closed a transaction.  I’ve still got it.”  He was thrilled.  It didn’t matter how much money The Admiral had; he simply loved making deals.  It reminded him that he was still on top.