Good Faith by Jane Smiley Read Free Book Online

onto the walkway. And see, back here, a little parklike area—that’s the latest thing, common areas. Pool, maybe, or, better, an indoor lap pool that you can swim in all year round for the exercise. We’ll see. Milstein, he built himself one of those, and now he comes to every game with his hair wet. And he drinks water all the time. Jack, you want a beer; Nathan, you want a beer; Gordon, how about a beer; and then, Bert, you want a glass of water? I swear. But I see it coming, Joe.”
    The plans were simple: slab foundations, parking spaces instead of garages, but rather large rooms. If there was one thing Gordon knew about real estate, it was that you could trim a little off the necessities and add a little to the space, and make the place look open and desirable. I said, “How about vinyl siding? That would save you money all around, and they can’t paint it. You don’t want these places all looking different ten years down the road.”
    He said, “You know Frank Lloyd Wright, Joe?”
    “Not personally.”
    “Well, he was a big deal—still is, for that matter—but when I was just getting into this business I used to read about him whenever I could, and he did a thing I always thought was funny. He designed the chairs for his houses, but he made sure they were uncomfortable, because he didn’t like people sitting down, so he’d put in this furniture that looked nice and fit right in, but you couldn’t stand to sit in it for more than ten minutes, so you’d get up and walk around, which he wanted you to do so you would admire the place, I guess. Anyway, that’s a perfect Frank Lloyd Wright idea: sell ’em the house, but give ’em siding they can’t paint! Ha!”
    “Vinyl-clad windows, too, and you ought to put in crank-out casements rather than double-hungs. For some reason, all my buyers lately want them. And they’re cheaper to install.” I was getting excited. Thirty units was a good number. I could think of three possible buyers already. “May I take the plans to show around? You know the Rebarcaks on Robertson Way? They were asking me to find them something smaller.”
    “Presolds! That’s what I need. You know, if the foundations of the first building are in by June, you can do a muddy-shoe walk-through of the samples in mid-July. I got my best crew free; they can get these places up in no time. You know Larry, who runs that crew, Larry Svendsen? Back in the sixties, when he was just married, he made a bet with that old guy, Lombardo, that he could build a whole house in a month, from staking out to turning the key. He did it, too, twenty-nine days and five hours. Three bedrooms, two baths, split-level. The electricians would be right behind the framers and the sheetrockers right behind them. One guy was putting up the moldings, and the painter was painting them right next to him. He finally had to yell at the guy to back off long enough to let him nail them down. Lombardo walked through and paid Larry a grand right on the spot. And Milstein made book. I bet five grand changed hands when the buyers moved in.”
    “I think it looks great, Gordon. You lay out the gardens and put in annuals and turf, and that’s not much money out of pocket, but it makes the place look great; then over the fall and winter you put in the trees and perennials, and by this time next year it looks like people have been living there for years.”
    Gordon grabbed me by the shoulders and planted a big kiss on my cheek. He said, “You know, Joe, how old I am?”
    “You’re sixty-three, Gordon.”
    “Here’s the deal. A lot is the world’s most boring thing. I love to look at farms and buy farms and all that, but when I’ve got one, and it’s been surveyed into lots, my heart kind of sinks. But then we get to this point, where we got the plans and we know how fast the buildings are going to go up and the people are going to get in there, and I feel great! I feel sixty-two!”
    We laughed. I finished my beer.