'No.'
'Why?'
'Aah, well. I thought this was better.'
He thought I shouldn't know, in other words. 'You could have taken all cash and you didn't? That's weird.'
He bit his drink straw and said, 'I wanted the building. It's in good shape. I'm walking away with four hundred thousand in cash, so life can't be too bad.'
'Who negotiated for you?'
'I did.'
'Ever do a deal this big?'
He stared at me. More straw action.
'Sounds to me like they're getting a nice break on the land value,' I noted.
'Yeah,' Jay said miserably. 'In a hot market it's got to be worth four million, but it's going here for three.'
'Why the low figure?'
He drew a deep slow breath.
'You really didn't have anybody negotiate this for you?'
'Like I said, no.'
I looked into his big handsome face. 'Sounds like they're eating your liver.'
Colin Harrison
The Havana Room
'It's enough money,' he sighed. 'It's okay.'
'You have a copy of the proposed contract I can look at?'
'No, actually. The seller's bringing it.'
'So you do need a lawyer.'
'I guess.' He dipped his head forward. 'I know this is unusual, Bill. You can just charge me extra, whatever seems right.'
I wasn't really interested in a fee yet. But before I could tell him how risky it was to sign a contract he'd never seen, Allison walked into the Havana Room with two men in suits.
'Hi guys.' She introduced the older man as Gerzon, the seller's attorney. He carried two briefcases, and was decorous and smooth as he shook my hand and introduced the second fellow as Barrett, from the title company. Title men in New York City don't do much except flip through city records, some of them going back three hundred years, to be sure there are no claims, liens, or encumbrances on the title, and that the chain of ownership is clear and unbroken. Most of the time it's straightforward, and the title man just collects his fee for the service and for title insurance.
Gerzon turned to Jay. 'Where's your lawyer?'
He waved at me. 'This is him.'
Gerzon smiled at my wrinkled shirt, my subprofessional appearance. 'Pardon me.' He was one of those men who are detailed in their instructions to their tailors. But the suit was just the foundation of his vanity. His watch was unapologetically vulgar. The ring and the cuff links matched, and the shirt collar was heavily starched, the silk knot of his tie a confection of soft edges. His toupee was also very good- though they are never good enough.
Yet the inspection was mutual. 'Where'd you work?' he asked.
'Private practice.'
A cool nod. 'I haven't heard of you.'
'Big city. Many lawyers.'
'I see.'
I didn't want him to think he had an advantage. 'So,' I asked as we all sat down, 'why are you selling your client's building in the back room of a steakhouse and not in a law office?'
'It's a time problem.' He shrugged. 'We're out of it.' He looked at Jay. 'I was told there would be a lawyer to assist Mr. Rainey. So we came here. We're being accommodating.'
I looked at my watch. Twenty-five after eleven. 'If you have to get this building sold by midnight, I'd say that Mr. Rainey is the one who's being accommodating.'
Gerzon turned to Jay. 'Should we discuss who is accommodating whom? I told you, midnight or no deal.'
The title man, Barrett, professionally alert to lawyerly tones, interrupted. 'Hey listen, if there's not going be a deal, then tell me now, because I could be-'
'It's all right,' Jay said. 'We're okay. Let's just be cool here.' He looked at me, raised his eyebrows to tell me to relax. 'There's a lot of expertise at the table. We'll hammer any problem out and get it done.'
Gerzon produced copies of the contract and unfolded an oversized pair of tortoiseshell glasses. He seemed to be the kind of man who was acquainted with people everywhere, pointedly remembering the details of their lives, but who himself was genuinely known by almost no one, except perhaps by a former wife or the people who had sued him with righteousness. 'What is it?' he asked, uneasy with my attention.
'Is real estate your primary practice?'
'Oh, no, no,' said Gerzon. 'I'm involved in a variety of endeavors.' He smiled in such a way that I was to infer that the transaction at hand was a trifle, that larger matters awaited his attention, nine-digit wire transfers from foreign banks, dozens of important phone calls, imminent IPOs- a cyclone of gold and greatness.
Barrett handed around copies of the title report on the oceanfront land. Gerzon turned his attention to it, but I have seen hundreds of lawyers read thousands of documents and if they are reading, actually reading, even under pressurized circumstances, a stillness comes over them, the energies of their personality dropping onto the document at hand. Gerzon wasn't reading. His blink rate wasn't right. He was faking it, and this meant, I suspected, that he felt very good indeed about the deal.
'You have a card?' I said.
He looked up. 'Yes, of course.' He slipped one from out of a gold case and handed it to me. 'You?'
'I don't have any new ones currently printed,' I replied.
'Ah,' he said, pointedly asking no more.
I fingered his card. It had two addresses, both telling. The first was on lower Fifth Avenue, where the old buildings are chopped up into small offices on the top floors, full of marginal businesses. Someone from out of town might think it was a prestigious address, but those in the city would know better. The second address specified one of Long Island's uncountable small office complexes. I've been to these places. The offices aren't particularly plush, all rent-a-painting decor and wall-to-wall carpeting. The secretaries are young, mean, and well compensated. The lawyers, usually local boys, some of whom have done stints in the city, prefer to handle cases that involve real estate transactions or estate work- generally simple procedures that guarantee a prompt fee. Eviction, tenant- complaint, pro bono work, constitutional defenses of immigrants and minorities, slip-and-fall work, etc., are strictly avoided. In this world the real estate men know the lawyers and the lawyers know the title people, who know the bankers, who are all known by the big-time contractors, who themselves maintain clear, constant, and affectionate relations with the politically appointed members of the county water authority as well as the elected members of the town board, who approve zoning changes and code exemptions. In sum, the second address on Gerzon's card conjured a long-settled, wealthy suburban civilization whose foremost institutions had achieved world-class standing in only certain areas of human endeavor: the luxury-car tune-up, the nerve-sparing removal of the prostate gland; the emergency resodding of a lawn. He probably lived there.
'So, gentlemen,' I began, my voice slipping into tones I hadn't used in several years, 'we have a deal value of three million dollars. It's a property swap, with four hundred thousand dollars going to Mr. Rainey. Because of the cash outlay, we'll call Mr. Gerzon the buyer and we'll call Mr. Rainey the seller.'
'Fine,' said Gerzon.
'Who is paying the recording fees, the transfer taxes, the Suffolk County surcharges, the title search, any back taxes owed on either property, and whatever else I haven't been told about?'
'We are,' said Gerzon.
I leaned over to Jay. 'You negotiated this?'
'It came out of the price, man.'
'So there's nothing left to negotiate?'
