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ating our yards was scraggly and overgrown and about ready to give way, just as Hal had
said.
Poor Corinne and Mark.
Falco paced up and down for what seemed like hours.
“How many tall here?” he asked, pointing to the front section.
“Six feet,” I suggested.
Hal translated.
“And this many same here?” Falco continued, pointing to a section that needed much
less support.
“No,
medio
,” Michael said, preening slightly.
“
¡Ah, medio!
” Falco exclaimed, proud of Michael for knowing the Spanish word for
“half,” which was endearing in itself.
Let's hire him
, the unscientific portion of my brain told me.
Calm down
, my more ra-
tional lobe replied.
Not so fast
.
This somewhat cutesy conversation went on for what seemed like eons, but by the time
I had become eligible for Social Security, Falco finished his measurements. Now he needed
to write up his bid.
“I come back at four and a half,” he declared.
I had never heard four-thirty in the afternoon so charmingly described.
☼ ☼ ☼
We later admitted to each other that we had hoped for a bid in the range of $6,000 to $8,000.
Falco's bid, not delivered as promised at four and a half, but the following morning at ten
and a quarter, was $16,500.
Yikes.
Michael suggested that we get Humberto, the guy who had smooth-coated the side of
our house a few months earlier, to come by and take a look. I called Corinne, who appeared
to be the point-person on their end of the project, to see if this was okay.
“Of course,” she said. “Obviously we need to get at least two or three bids before we
make a decision.”
“I think you'll be surprised by how low his prices are.”
“Sounds great to me.”
“By the way, what did you think of Falco's bid?”
“We thought it was reasonable.”
She wasn't giving much away. It was hard to know if she was hesitant to say more be-
cause he was her brother's “guy,” or if she really thought his estimate was competitive.
“How about you?”
“We thought it was a tad high.”
A slight pause.
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