about Suburban Symphony?”
“Yeah,” Brad said. “It’s dying, and it’s trying to take my career, such as it is, with it. It’s not like I’ve got any cred with my dad as it is, but if this goes under, I’m sunk.”
“I see,” Drew said.
They were silent as lunch was placed before them. When the waiter was out of earshot, Brad said, “So what do real estate agents look for in a subdivision? What makes you bring people who want to buy a house to one place instead of another? What makes you drive right on by a development?”
“Well,” Drew drawled, stalling like an American car with air in the fuel injectors, “that all depends on the needs of the client, of course.”
Shit , Drew thought, he wants my help to save that subdivision!
Brad bounced his foot up and down, the tapping muffled by the carpet. “No, I get that, but houses are pretty basic when you think about it—bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchen, living, maybe a dining room. But this place is… I mean, almost no one comes to see it. No one wants to live there, but I’m supposed to turn it around,” he said bitterly. “Somehow I’m supposed to come up with something to save that place when the marketing people can’t come up with anything. You gotta help me, man.”
“There are intangibles too,” Drew said, shrugging, “like the vibe people get off it, or what they think of the way the rooms are arranged.” But that place—ugh, he didn’t want to tell Brad the truth. Those shy smiles Brad had flashed him at the regattas that spring… he didn’t want to be the one to kill them. “And of course, there’s always the famous ‘location, location, location’—”
“Stop playing me, dammit. I asked for your help because I need it, not because I want smoke blown up my ass,” Brad hissed.
Drew took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly and taking his time choosing his words. His appetite was gone. He took a deep breath. He had to do it. Even if he never saw Brad again, at least he’d be able to say he’d been honest with the younger man. “They say that there’s a house for every buyer, but there’s going to have to be a whole lot of desperate, clueless people to fill that place up and real estate agents who don’t care about their clients to bring them there.”
Brad slumped in his chair. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“There are virtually no neighborhood amenities, because whatever county agency’s responsible for planning out in that former corn field apparently thinks driveways and streets count as ‘open space’,” Drew said, plowing on. “The floor plans could only have been designed to generate maximum misery for the people dumb enough to buy there. And the location? Please, Brad. It’s out in the middle of nowhere, the backside of beyond. Did you know I went out there a few months back?”
“No,” Brad said, suddenly surprised.
“Oh yeah,” Drew said, rolling his eyes. He took a swig of his water. “Every time a development opens, they invite any and every real estate agent from miles around to come see it, and so when I saw that Sundstrom Homes—and I had no idea you were that Sundstrom, by the way—had something out there, I went to look. I only found it because I got lost. When I got back to my office, I got online to locate the nearest grocery store to see just how bad it was. It’d take someone almost half an hour just to get there.”
“Shit,” Brad breathed. “I knew there was nothing around there for lunch, but I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“Look, Brad, these kinds of developments are meant as commuter communities, so I guess people could buy food on the way home from work, but what the fuck? Twenty-seven minutes to get from the Suburban Symphony to the parking lot of a back-country Safeway? Why did you guys saddle yourself with that place?”
“I don’t think it was ever our idea. My dad acquired it along with
“Yeah,” Brad said. “It’s dying, and it’s trying to take my career, such as it is, with it. It’s not like I’ve got any cred with my dad as it is, but if this goes under, I’m sunk.”
“I see,” Drew said.
They were silent as lunch was placed before them. When the waiter was out of earshot, Brad said, “So what do real estate agents look for in a subdivision? What makes you bring people who want to buy a house to one place instead of another? What makes you drive right on by a development?”
“Well,” Drew drawled, stalling like an American car with air in the fuel injectors, “that all depends on the needs of the client, of course.”
Shit , Drew thought, he wants my help to save that subdivision!
Brad bounced his foot up and down, the tapping muffled by the carpet. “No, I get that, but houses are pretty basic when you think about it—bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchen, living, maybe a dining room. But this place is… I mean, almost no one comes to see it. No one wants to live there, but I’m supposed to turn it around,” he said bitterly. “Somehow I’m supposed to come up with something to save that place when the marketing people can’t come up with anything. You gotta help me, man.”
“There are intangibles too,” Drew said, shrugging, “like the vibe people get off it, or what they think of the way the rooms are arranged.” But that place—ugh, he didn’t want to tell Brad the truth. Those shy smiles Brad had flashed him at the regattas that spring… he didn’t want to be the one to kill them. “And of course, there’s always the famous ‘location, location, location’—”
“Stop playing me, dammit. I asked for your help because I need it, not because I want smoke blown up my ass,” Brad hissed.
Drew took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly and taking his time choosing his words. His appetite was gone. He took a deep breath. He had to do it. Even if he never saw Brad again, at least he’d be able to say he’d been honest with the younger man. “They say that there’s a house for every buyer, but there’s going to have to be a whole lot of desperate, clueless people to fill that place up and real estate agents who don’t care about their clients to bring them there.”
Brad slumped in his chair. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“There are virtually no neighborhood amenities, because whatever county agency’s responsible for planning out in that former corn field apparently thinks driveways and streets count as ‘open space’,” Drew said, plowing on. “The floor plans could only have been designed to generate maximum misery for the people dumb enough to buy there. And the location? Please, Brad. It’s out in the middle of nowhere, the backside of beyond. Did you know I went out there a few months back?”
“No,” Brad said, suddenly surprised.
“Oh yeah,” Drew said, rolling his eyes. He took a swig of his water. “Every time a development opens, they invite any and every real estate agent from miles around to come see it, and so when I saw that Sundstrom Homes—and I had no idea you were that Sundstrom, by the way—had something out there, I went to look. I only found it because I got lost. When I got back to my office, I got online to locate the nearest grocery store to see just how bad it was. It’d take someone almost half an hour just to get there.”
“Shit,” Brad breathed. “I knew there was nothing around there for lunch, but I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“Look, Brad, these kinds of developments are meant as commuter communities, so I guess people could buy food on the way home from work, but what the fuck? Twenty-seven minutes to get from the Suburban Symphony to the parking lot of a back-country Safeway? Why did you guys saddle yourself with that place?”
“I don’t think it was ever our idea. My dad acquired it along with
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