Absolutely Un-Fabulous - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 54

His conversational style included lots of high-end product placement—the kind you en-
counter in airport novels and made-for-TV movies but seldom hear in real life—rolled out
with salacious brio. It was the verbal equivalent of interior design porn.
Michael, ever grounded, mounted a counterinsurgency by dropping the names Pier 1
and Home Depot like stink bombs into the conversation.
Daniel either didn't hear him or was so traumatized by the mere thought of these lower-
end emporia that he temporarily lost his ability to speak.
We roamed in silence for a while, Daniel scribbling furiously in a leather-bound note-
book. I would've given a thousand bucks to know what he was writing. I'm guessing it was
something along the lines of, “ These are the tackiest people I've ever met .”
More awkward silence.
“Are you planning to rent out the house?” Rod asked at length.
“I think we'll have to at first,” I began. “You know, to help recoup our expenses.”
The idea that we might need a return on our investment seemed to make Daniel even
more uncomfortable.
“Oh my gosh!” he muttered under his breath, as if we'd admitted to a penchant for
paintings on velvet or a secret passion for yodeling.
After an increasingly uncomfortable half hour wandering around our distinctly un-fab-
ulous property, Daniel put away his notebook.
“We're all set. Welcome aboard,” he said.
We could hardly believe it. From everything he'd said and done, we'd assumed he
wouldn't have touched us with a six-foot (custom-designed) pole. But when he poked out
his sweaty hand to seal the bargain, we smiled and pretended to be delighted, feeling we
had no other choice.
“It won't cost you more than $40,000 to do this whole place over, top to bottom,” he
announced as he and Rod roared away in their flashy turbo-truck.
That should have been a dead giveaway right there.
Just before dusk, Armando drove us back to the ferry. We had been on Vieques exactly
four hours and wouldn't be back for three months.
“I'll see you tomorrow at noon,” he said, referring to our closing the next day in Fa-
jardo.
“Is there anything we should discuss?” I asked, gripped by uneasiness.
“Nope. Everything's set,” he replied. “And stop worrying.”
Easy for him to say.
☼ ☼ ☼
With the exception of Armando, who seemed supremely confident, everyone who knew we
were buying a house in Puerto Rico assured us that the closing would be a disaster.