After a few days in the City I realize I have a problem in Florida.  Instead of enjoying the splendid spring weather and the uncongested city ambience now that Hampton's season has officially begun I am sweating the small stuff though I can't say the matter is small.

The recent oil spill could potentially hit the beachfront condominium property I have recently gone to contract on.  I call my attorney to find out if there's a way for me to break the contract without losing my deposit.  Unfortunately he tells me the event is not considered an act of g-d no matter the erruption is spewing like a volcano.  I try to reason with him that all the current earthquakes (8 in the last few months) are acts of nature whereby the underwater plates shifting could have arguably caused the rig to collapse.  He's not buying my theory and tells me he can't hold up the contract long enough for such discovery; essentially I need to complete the deal or I'm screwed.  I wonder how I get myself into such predicaments and start to blame the bad luck on Wolf rationalizing it was his idea to get the condo in the first place.  It does not matter that he graciously backed out so that I could go ahead without his co-ownership once we broke up.

I debate what to do. Without fail it takes only moments for an idea to begin to form.  All my life I'm like the pied piper, whatever I have others (particularly women) want.  As such I decide to accept an invitation to a ladies network luncheon at the hosts home (usually not my thing).  Even if my idea doesn't pan out she's catering the luncheon so the food, if not the company, should be good.  I spend the rest of the day walking Kukula instead of going to the gym while contemplating further my plan to unload my real estate dilemna. Later I send out evites to the 30 gullible I know and entitle the party, When the Going is Good, the Good Get Going (a play on farewell).

It's now the day of the luncheon. I have obtained the services of a bf/gf duo who make both luncheon meat and dessert crepes, albeit on my balcony. Thankfully the weather is cooperating. Soon enough my guests begin to arrive. While the first few bee-line to the balcony, a couple of stragglers fill their glasses with mimosas at the food and beverage table where I have strategically placed the pictures of my Florida oasis. I pray the good food and cheer will work their magical wonders (did I mention I had the crepe batter spiked?).

"Look at the views," the first complements. "Yes, I have that view from all the main rooms; the living room, kitchen, master bedroom and bath. The 2 guest rooms, and their bathrooms, view the intercoastal side, " I am quick to plod. Despite rehearsing an attitude of non-chalance my voice is worn thin by the end of my soiree.  However, as luck or good planning would have it my party is more than a success, I believe I have garnered a buyer at a fair price; break even.  The next day her lawyer calls, I state I want to close in the requisite 90 days (fully knowing Xmas season is prime time for a new owner to occupy).  We set the closing date for August 1st. I start my count down to freedom and open a left over bottle of champagne.

June and July pass uneventfully. The small deposit check has cleared (I agreed to a 5% downpayment).  As August 1st draws near, I am somewhat concerned about not hearing further from the buyer's lawyer. My own assures me all is fine (given the four thousand dollar fee I am certain it is since this payment is due whether or not I get to a closing table).  I wonder why the buyer has not asked to inspect the premise, but keep my mouth clam-shut.

It's now July 29th and I call my lawyer to see where I must be for the closing. She tells me to sit tight, but states it'll probably be at her office around noon. Again, I sigh with the thought of oncoming relief.  And then the other shoe drops, literally on my head (a shoe from an upper shelf has fallen onto my head when I slipped in grabbing for it; startled by the phone's ringing). It's my lawyer.

"Problemo," she begings. Great. I think as my heart is now pounding too. "What is it?" I promptly ask. "Seems your buyer has changed her mind which is why she never inspected the property. She wasn't sure how to handle the situation." I am told. "What situation?" I must ask. "Seems she is claiming she was not of sound mind when she agreed to make the purchase. She's claiming you loaded her up with alcohol and thereby the contract is not binding." There is silence. "Is it true?" my lawyer wishes to know. "Don't answer that," she continues, "it doesn't matter, just the allegation makes it impossible to go further. I understand you had a party with plenty of witnesses. She expects her deposit back within a week. She's not asking for interest on the funds."

I thank my lawyer and hang up the phone. The shock of the situation has not fully taken hold yet even though I already have a headache mounting thanx to a shoe assault.  Another four thousand dollars for a lawyer and one thousand for the crepe catering and other food and beverage from my soiree. Add to it the return of the deposit funds plus I have to make continued payments on the Fla. condo. I realize I am in a serious cash flow crunch. My headache worsens.

I pick up the phone. "Wolf, hi it's me. I have a situation. I can't go to Fla. and use the condo this Xmas holiday. You get a seasonal rental. How about the condo this year?" I call this Plan B. Luckily Wolf is willing so my finances are put back on tract. And as luck would have it, the oil spill clean up is nearly complete.

As I am cooped up in my NYC apt. for Thanksgiving, I get a call from Wolf. "It's me calling to give you a weekly condo report," he begins, "the pool is fabulous, you know the condo is beautiful, weather great, and the beach is divine." Somehow I get the notion he's trying to pour sand on my wounds.