Landfall - 24. We Can't Have Olympus

I'm now a bar owner.

Got a phone call at 10am from Rex. After only 5 hours sleep, certain I sounded like warmed-over death. Took a couple of minutes to realize my phone had been ringing, and another “ding” for a voice mail indication.

Looked at the phone, saw it was Rex, and redialed without calling voice mail. Cleared the throat before he answered.

“Rex, it's Barry. Didn't listen to voice mail—what's up?” He could hear the sleep in my voice, and the bass rumble of vocal cords still half-asleep.

“Sorry, Barry, didn't mean to wake you. Just calling to let you know I reviewed the closing statement and we're in good shape; the numbers check out as correct. I've got the dollar amount that you need to bring in certified funds to the closing. Let me know when you're ready for the figure.”

Rolled out of bed, scrambling to find notepad and pen. Finally back with 'em. “Shoot.”

Rex gave me the figure, wrote it down. “Can we do this by wire? Or do I need to have a certified check from the bank?”

“Either one can work. Our closing is still set for 3pm, and the wire would be done by then. But, it may actually be faster to get a check, and do an immediate close if the bank isn't as fast as it could be.”

“Ok, I'll go to the bank and get a check. Sorry I'm so out of it this morning, I worked the bar last night, and didn't get in till 5:00am.”

Rex laughed. “That eager to get in the swing of things, huh? Good for you! By the way, are we still on to look at properties tomorrow? Want to meet at my office?”

“That'll work. And I'll see you at the title company this afternoon at 3pm with a check.”

Shit, already 10:15am, need to get my ass in gear. Race through the shower, throw on t-shirt, shorts, flip flops, head to bank. Get a cashier's check in the amount that I need, go ahead to the title company and drop it off, so they have it in hand for later today.

It's now 11:30am and my stomach is growling. Only thing I've had this morning is a solitary cup of coffee from the convenience store down the street from the hotel. Grab lunch at a local deli, really good sandwich, served hot, with a variety of meats and cheeses on it, and an olive salad mix all on a big bun of Italian bread. Big enough that it was served in quarters—and I took half of it back to the hotel for something to eat later. Learned it's called a “muffuletta”. Delicious.

It's now 1pm, and I'm either dragging ass, or the day is zooming by—more likely a combination of both. Head back to hotel, gonna grab a quick cat nap, then change into dressier clothes for the closing.

Got to the title company, met the prior owners, signed all the documents for “Bubba and Bulldog Enterprises”. Actually pretty fast to get done—not nearly the number of documents needed for, say, a mortgage. And the purchase price and financing (cash) would not be known, since all deeds in Louisiana have the language of “purchased for $10.00 cash and other good and valuable consideration”. Since the bar name was staying the same and the actual sales price is unknown, it may look like an ownership transfer for tax purposes if prying eyes are checking. Combined with non-disclosure agreements with the owners on the bar transfer, it should be a low-profile transaction.

“Congrats, you now own a bar, Barry.” The title company attorney shook my hand while the previous owners retrieved two boxes of docs from their car. We took 'em to an unused conference room, and started going over their paperwork.

All sorts of things they'd put in files for me: employee records; a list of vendors and contract copies for those relationships; a list of entertainers; a list of charities they'd supported by benefits and direct contributions; and more. Started going through the files, asking questions, and before I knew it, it was 5:15pm.

Shit! Bubba's happy hour is today!

Called the review to a halt, explaining I had another commitment elsewhere. The prior owners understood. We chat as we walk to our cars. “So now that you're out of the bar business, guys, what are your plans?” Really hadn't gotten any details on what they were doing after the sale.

“We're all packed and moving to Florida next week. My mother lives outside Orlando, and her health is sliding downhill, so I'll be helping take care of her. We're leasing a condo there until our place here sells.” The older of the two owners has obviously planned everything out.

“We'd thought we'd throw a party next week announcing you as the new owner … but based on the non-disclosure agreement, and your not changing the bar name, we figure that's not something you want.”

“You're right—I'm just not that public a guy, so it'll be a low key thing for me. And since a corporation owns it, I'm just working for the corporation, if anyone asks. Rather not be known as a bar owner.” I smile and they nod.

“We understand completely, Barry. Trust us, it's as much of a pain in the ass to have that kind of recognition as it is a help. We'll say nothing.”

“Thanks, guys—and good luck in Florida!” I shake hands with 'em and we go to our cars. Call Dave from the car. It's now 5:30pm.

“Hey, Bulldog, how's it going? How'd the closing go?” I can hear bar sounds behind him—the office party for Dave is already underway, and he's had a couple of drinks already; he's far more relaxed than his normal office demeanor. “You on your way down?”

“Just finished up with the closing, Bubba. Got some stuff to take back to the hotel, and you're gonna want to go over a couple of the files, too. I can change clothes and head that way. Won't be leaving the hotel till probably almost 6 or so, but I'll get there as quickly as I can.”

“Great! I think you'll like these guys. It's a good office.”

“Ok, Bubba, lemme roll here. I'll call you when I'm on the road.”

Drove back to hotel, unloaded the car, changed into a fresh shirt. Had the news on in the car, and just as I was crossing over Lake Pontchartrain, the announcer interrupted—the interstate heading into New Orleans was shut down in both directions at the base of the bridge. No way to exit, no alternate route. I topped a small rise in the bridge, and all I could see was a sea of red lights. After 30 minutes of not moving, called Dave.

“Bubba, I don't know when I'll get there. Bad wreck ahead—a tanker truck crossed over the guard rail between lanes and is on fire; I can see the smoke. Both directions of the interstate are shut down. I've moved maybe 100 feet since I last talked with you.”

“That's ok, understand how that goes, Barry. But ya need to know they've got your scotch ready to go for you, and we just started doing tequila shooters, so you'd better be ready—they're getting rowdy here.” Can tell Dave is feeling good.

“Ok, Bubba, I'll call ya in a little while with an update. You have fun!”

Called 45 minutes later—still haven't moved in the traffic. Left a voice mail, then sent a text.

Called another 20 minutes later, and got Dave live this time. “Barry, where are ya? The party's in full swing!” Dave has a good buzz going, there's a little slurring in his voice. Glad he's having fun. “Where are ya?”

“Still on the bridge—traffic hasn't moved. Radio says they're just now getting the fire under control, so will be a while yet. Don't know that I'm gonna make it—just in case, can you get a ride back to the hotel with Chuck? I don't want ya getting stuck there.”

“Sure....Chuck said he's gonna head out around 8:00 or so. Don't worry about getting here, Barry. Just be safe, and I'll plan on seeing ya back at the hotel.”

Finally, an hour and a half later, traffic started moving. Got to the first exit, looped back over the highway, headed back toward the hotel. Finally got to the hotel at 9pm.

Dave made it in before I did. He's stretched out on top of the bed, naked, sound asleep, snoring in deep gulps of air that may suck the nails out of the walls. I nudged him—no response. He's out.

He's fucking hot—but man, can he snore when he's been drinking!

Moved him over on the bed, got the sheet over him, and he never woke up. I'm hungry, since I hadn't eaten since lunch, and wanted something other than the leftover sandwich, so headed out to get something.

Found a pizza place that had a buffet, grabbed a few slices, and a glass of iced tea. Finished, but still restless after all that time just sitting. Headed to my bar.

My bar. First time it's registered I'm in deep with this thing.

Pull up to the back, and use the new keys the previous owners gave me at closing today to go in the back. Walk through, just looking around, then decide I need to go back out, and come in the front door. It'd look funny to anyone around the bar to see me just “appear”. Locked back up, walked in the front door. It's maybe 10:15pm or so.

The length of the bar is full of customers. A handful of customers are at the tables at the far wall, a few guys are shooting pool.

Walk up, Bryant already has a scotch and soda poured for me. We make small talk, he introduces me to a few folks at the bar, half “regulars”; half, folks who'd not been at the bar before. It's a good thing to have newbies; just need to make sure they stay welcome and want to come back. Bryant's doing a good job of socializing with 'em.

Noticed a half-empty beer and a mostly-empty liquor glass still sitting on the bar, sweating into the cocktail napkin. “They leave?” Bryant just looks and shakes his head.

“Nah, they're over there.”

Look over, there's two guys in a make out session off to one side of the door going out to the patio. It's a dark corner, guess they didn't wanna deal with the heat of being outside, so that became “their” spot. I just nod and grin—yeah, it's an active bar. Bryant grins back, seemingly knowing what I'm thinking.

Happened to glance over a few minutes later and—surprise, surprise—it's Chuck, our good married deputy. He's red-faced, sweating, and sporting an obvious hard on in his pants from the session with a burly guy who looks like an oilfield roughneck.

He walks up to the bar, looking sheepish, red-faced now from embarrassment at having been caught by me, I guess. “Guess you saw that, huh?”

“Yeah, I did. But this place is like Vegas—what happens here, stays here.” I grin and he knows things are cool with me and him.

He hesitantly starts, “Sometimes, well … there are just times when …. “

I put a hand on his shoulder. “It's ok, Chuck. And anytime you want to talk, I'll be here for ya. No worries, ok?” He spends the rest of the time I'm there inspecting his drink. Found out later he left with the burly oil rig worker after I'd gone.

Since we're meeting Rex tomorrow, I only have the one drink, chug it down quickly, then head out. Stop by and pick up coffee for the room's coffee maker, as well as some packaged breakfast rolls, and a big bottle of aspirin. Dave's gonna need all those to deal with his hangover tomorrow.

My phone goes off at 8am, I'm up, coffee made, freshly showered, when Dave stumbles out of bed to the kitchen. “Coffee … “ His voice is a low growl; eyes, slits. Takes his coffee cup with him to the bath, and the shower's running in just a few seconds.

He's out in minutes, freshly-shaven face, in only boxer briefs. He heads to the coffeemaker, pours a fresh cup.

“How are ya feeling this morning?”

“Surprisingly, I'm good. Minor headache.”

“You're gonna want these,” I say as I shove a couple of aspirin to him across the counter, along with a honey bun.

“You're a life-saver, Bulldog. Actually, I'm surprised I'm not hurting more. Killed 4 or 5 tequila shots in addition to the multiple bourbons I was drinking. But I'm glad I'm not badly hungover. And we're meeting with Rex in half an hour?”

“Yup. You need to get dressed and we need to head out.” And he's thrown on jeans, polo shirt, and sneakers almost before I can finish the sentence.

We load up in Rex's minivan and head out to look at 3 houses he picked for us to view today. Two of 'em are in the subdivision I'd found on the first day I was here. Both are nice, typical ranch homes, each backs up to a canal that winds through the subdivision, and ultimately Lake Pontchartrain. One of 'em had a pool. One was a 4 bedroom, the other was a 3 bedroom with a small sitting area off the master bedroom that could be a home office. They were nicely done, and had been updated, but neither one of 'em really got either my or Dave's interest.

We'd left the second house when Rex's cell phone rang. After a brief conversation, he hung up. “Guys, I need to make a minor detour. I'm listing a house for sale, the owners signed all the paperwork, but they're going to be out of town for the next two weeks, and we need to get the house on the market. Do you mind if we swing by the place, I can pick up the papers, and we can go to this final house? Is that going to mess up your afternoon schedule?”

It was fine with both of us, so Rex piloted the van west of town. It's a nice minivan. Has all the same stuff on it that my car does, but the seats are leather and suede instead of the two-tone leather in mine. Quiet, good riding. Commented on it to Rex, and he told me how much he loved it—in fact, his partner has one like it, too.

Turned off the main highway by a giant granite slab with totally smooth faces, but rough cut edges and the word “Olympus” carved into the face in ancient Greek-style lettering. Other than carefully-hidden floodlights, looks like it's a slab of rock thrown from the heavens, embedded in the ground.

The asphalt road had been cleared for maybe one hundred feet on each side, with hundreds-of-years-old oaks all along the way. Almost like pulling into the long drive of a plantation home, but instead of seeing Tara up ahead, there's a small white church among the trees.

Rex starts filling us in on the property and the owners. “This place is absolutely amazing—and the home is so over the top in terms of features, it's going to take someone special to buy it. The owner of the property is the guy who developed this whole subdivision. The subdivision backs up to a huge wooded game preserve, and the developer set up the subdivision so that at least thirty percent of the land in it will remain undeveloped and naturally heavily wooded. He installed walking and bike trails, too, so the owners here can explore to their hearts' content.

“The subdivision, rather than using something like formal Tudor-style homes, is all contemporary, generally running along the lines of Frank Lloyd Wright-type properties, although the architectural committee of the subdivision will allow more contemporary designs if they think they'll fit in to the feel of the area. And the minimum lot size is two acres.”

“The house I'm listing sits on five acres, has a separate guest house, and it's on a point where two bayous merge together to create a single bayou that is deep water and feeds directly to Lake Pontchartrain; it's a natural harbor. It's a four bedroom, four-and-a-half bath, 4 car garage place, over 4500 square feet heated and cooled, not including the guest house. And it's loaded with both appeal and features, like three zones of ultra-high efficiency commercial heating and air conditioning, and LED lighting virtually throughout the house.”

Interrupting as we drove by some amazing homes barely visible among the trees, I asked, “This looks like an expensive area. What's the price of the place you're listing?”

Rex threw out the figure, followed by a low whistle from Dave in the back captain's chair. “Don't worry—I don't 'oversell' customers, and this is not a property I'm intending to show you. It's more than fifty percent above the price limit you told me to look Barry, and I don't set up customers like that. I'll go in just to pick up the papers, and will be back out to go to the other place I'm going to show you. It's a remarkable place, and totally different from what you've seen so far.

“It's really very low priced, considering the property, but the owner is ready to sell quickly—he's got his reasons.” Rex looks really stone-faced on that admission; whatever the owners have going own, it must be bad.

After a few minutes of driving, Rex pulls up to a gate with brick fencing on either side. Can barely make out the house at the end of the long asphalt drive because there are so many trees behind the fencing. He enters a code, the gate opens and we're driving in.

Suddenly the trees open up to a large golf-course-style manicured lawn. Ahead is a house that Wright would have been proud of; although it's two story, and on a small hill, the house is all low long lines, with strategically placed windows in front. The 4 car garage is nestled against the side of the hill, with wide sweeping steps from a parking courtyard big enough for a dozen cars leading up to a twenty-foot-high entry porch. The bayous are visible at the edges of the lot on both sides.

Wow! This may be it!

Rex parks the car. “Guys, this shouldn't take but a few minutes. I'll be right back. If you wanna stretch your legs a little, feel free.” He bounds up the steps, rings the bell, and the eight foot high double doors open with the owner welcoming him in, and waving to us. Rex waves at us, “Come on in.”

We climb the stairs, the owner welcomes us. “Come on in guys; I'm Jack. Sorry for the holdup, but my wife has some questions about all this. It'll only take a few minutes I think, but didn't want you to sit out in the heat. Come on in, meet the wife, then feel free to roam the house while we get this knocked out.”

We're in the entryway with polished concrete floors inset with sparkling chips of granite and marble making the floor look like it's been glittered. On the right is a ten-by-fifteen-foot contemporary painting of bright colors reaching almost to the ceiling, illuminated by the glass over the huge front doors and overhead spotlights. To the right is a life-sized suit of armor on a pedestal standing guard; stairs are just past it then a small hallway. In front of us is a huge room with a twenty foot high ceiling and only the air bridge overhead with recessed lighting underneath separating it from the entry.

Stepping through, there are bleached hardwood floors in the living room, floodlit by the natural light from the wall of windows on the back wall. French doors open to concrete decking surrounding an infinity pool that melts into the background of the bayou's water behind the house.

“Come meet my wife, guys. This is Amy.” The owner introduces us to his wife, who's in a motorized wheelchair. She nods hello, and moves her right finger on the armrest of the wheelchair. “Welcome” a mechanized voice speaks. “Make … your … selves … at … home.”

“We'll just look around for a few minutes. Take your time, we're in no rush.” I smile and nod as we excuse ourselves leaving Rex and the owners to their meeting.

The whole house is totally over the top—Rex was right. The back of the house is all glass, opening up to the terrace and pool. The dining room has seating for twelve and built-in buffets with under-lit sandblasted glass tops along each long wall. The glass back wall of the dining room opens by huge sliding glass doors to another large table on the terrace. The kitchen has commercial-grade appliances, with poured concrete counter-tops set over bleached maple cabinetry. A large bar with six bar stools and overhead lighting separates the kitchen from the den, which may be twenty-feet square. There's a fireplace along the outside wall and on the corner of the outside wall, a glass-enclosed elevator big enough for three or four goes up. Another set of huge sliding glass doors opens the back glass wall to the terrace.

Stairs are at the edge of the kitchen and den, so we walk up. A master bedroom the same size as the den, with fireplace on the outside wall, and a glass door for the elevator. An eight foot high wall that doesn't reach the ceiling runs along the width of the room separating the master bath/dressing area/closet space from the sleeping portion with its king size bed. There's an oxygen tank next to the bed, plus a sitting area with Eames chairs and a small glass coffee table between them. More sliding glass doors on the back wall open to a balcony.

Next to the bedroom is a room he's using as a home office/library, with books on their shelves spot lighted from overhead, a big messy desk in the center, and its glass wall, like the master bedroom, shares the balcony. It's got its own bath. Because we're on the second floor, all you can see from the room is water of the bayou and a few distant houses, one with a big cabin cruiser moored to a dock.

The boys would fucking love this place!

We leave his office and notice a double-door open closet that hides a washer and dryer—he'd been doing laundry, and had left the doors open. We walk across the air bridge and take stairs down. On this far end of the house are two nicely sized bedrooms, each with its own bath. They've got access to a terrace that's actually the roof of the garage below. We open another door, and there's a mechanical room/downstairs utility with a heating/cooling unit, washer and dryer—and racks of what look like over-sized car batteries with a low hum in the room.

We walk back out and head to the entrance--and literally run into Rex. “We've finished up, guys, y'all ready to go look at the last house of the day?”

Head back into the living room, thank the owner and his wife for allowing us free reign to walk through, and compliment them on their great place.

“Thank you, guys, we appreciate your patience while we finalize all of this. Glad you made it out—come back anytime while we're here.” The owner couldn't have been more sincerely welcoming, and his wife seemed to slightly nodded in agreement.

Back in the van, we head out to the last house of the day.

“Rex, you were right—it is an over-the-top house. Incredible! But what was up with all the batteries in that back room? There's a story there, right?”

“Ok, here's the story—and you can't tell, because I don't want the owners' situation to influence potential buyers. They're personal friends as well as customers, and I'm gonna take care of them fairly. Amy has ALS. It's all hit within the last three years or so.

“He installed the pool because the docs told him it'd help her to be active and stay mobile. When her legs started going, he installed the elevator so she could get up and down to their bedroom. The batteries are there because frequent storms cause power outages--so he installed banks of solar panels on the roof that feed the power down, and it's stored in the batteries. The batteries automatically kick in if there's a power outage. They'll power the house for a week or more without solar recharging—because he didn't want her trapped in their home for any reason. He put in a wheelchair lift to make sure she could get down to the garage so he could drive her to where she needed to go.

“He's selling everything he's got and they're moving to California. One of their kids lives there, and there's a research hospital that's got cutting-edge treatments for ALS. He sold his big cabin cruiser to one of the neighbors just a couple of months ago, and used that cash to buy a small condo on the ground floor across from the hospital there. He's pricing the house ultra low to try to get her out there and into treatment quickly. If they don't get the treatments, she's got maybe another year or so left. If they do get it, well …. “

Rex's voice chokes up. “He's giving it all up to try to save her—they've been together 35 years, they're still crazy about each other, and he can't bear to think about her gone. Even though she can't walk anymore, and can only communicate through the finger on the keyboard of the wheelchair, you can see the love flow back and forth between 'em.

“They were among the very first to welcome Joe and me as a couple. She was a nursing supervisor when Joe was hospitalized after a bad car accident. We'd just gotten together. I stayed at the hospital while Joe was there recovering, and she babied me. Later, they went out of their way to welcome us and recognize us as a couple.” There's a sudden determination in his voice. “Anything I can do to help them I'm going to do. His is just an example of the things we do for love.”

All I can do to keep from sobbing out loud at this point. Giving it all up, going from this contemporary mansion to a little hole-in-the-wall condo; throwing all his resources to save her; horrible circumstances for them. Dave's clearing his throat in the back—it got to him too.

Know what it's like to give it all up for those you love. He's doing it for her, I'm doing it for my boys. And I'll do it for Dave.

We drive 15 minutes or so in silence to another place, this one just north of town.

Rex weaves the van through a small town, then heads out to a remote area. There's another little blacktop road to the right between the trees. He takes it, and the road starts to descend.

Rex clears his throat. “This is a unique place, and totally not what you'd expect. I know it's going to be a challenge after seeing that last place, but keep an open mind, ok, guys?”

Rex parks the van and we get out. There's a wooden “gangplank” maybe four feet wide with railings. It's seventy-five feet long or so, with the ground continuing to descend

The house is at treetop level, due to the ground's slope and its elevation on pilings, covered in natural cedar siding with an aluminum roof. It looks like a small two bedroom mountain cabin. The drive continues down to the right and stops at the side of the house.

We walk the gangplank around to the side of the house by the extended driveway. We're probably 20 feet up in the air at this point. Rex opens the door to a full length screened porch that runs at least the length of the house. Wicker furniture with colorful cushions and ceiling fans make it look incredibly inviting among the treetops. Squirrels are barking and playing as birds chirp.

Rex uses a key to open the door in the center of the length of the house. The interior is nothing like the simple exterior of the place—it looks like something out of a Ralph Lauren lodge ad. We're in a combination living/dining room/kitchen, kitchen separated only by a bar with stools from the rest of the space. Big vaulted ceiling high overhead of stained cedar tongue and groove planking. Oak hardwood floors, rock fireplace along the wall to our left. Deer antler chandelier over the living portion, with the room filled with mahogany-colored overstuffed leather furniture. It's been professionally decorated with understated colors—and it's immediately warm, welcoming, and comfortable.

Two sizable bedrooms are just past the fireplace wall and share a bath doubling as a guest bath. There's a door off the outside wall of the kitchen that leads to a large master bedroom, and its own bath complete with a big tiled shower, and twin-sink counter-top. Glass doors slide open onto an open air deck. There's another part of the screen porch that covers half of the back deck to the corner where it joins the porch along the side of the house. There's a door going back into what I'm assuming to be the den.

The deck and this portion of the porch have a bird's eye view of a large plot of land with a dock and a small river meandering by.

“This is something of a unique property, from the standpoint that occasionally the river rises and floods, and comes up onto the property—but the house is built high enough it's never flooded, not even during Katrina. Just a matter of getting your boat or jet skis out before the water submerges the dock. So you'll either be in an adult treehouse, or over the water.” Rex obviously loves the place.

“It sits on seven-and-a-half acres, and the owner has another seven-and-a-half acres available separately. If you got both tracts, you'd have almost three thousand feet of virgin river frontage. And, if you'd like, the owner will sell you the house furnished—right down to the dishes.”

Rex continued with his narrative. “It started life as a small hunting/fishing camp, and the owners added on; first the master suite, then later the guest bedrooms. Later they added central heat and air conditioning, and upgraded the kitchen. I thought about this place specifically for you, Barry—it's quiet, and if you're going to be working all night at the bar, you're gonna want to have some peaceful sleep and quiet to relax. It's convenient to get to the highway, so either of you can easily commute. And, best of all, the price plus the extra tract of land comes in at well below what you were thinking of spending.”

It all sounds great, and it is a charming place. I look over at Dave and he's obviously excited about this place—far more than the big house we'd just seen. He looks like a kid in school ready for recess—ready to get out and play as he looks through the big windows at the wooded surroundings and river.

“It's definitely an option for us, Rex. Let Dave and me talk about it, and then let me see where we need to go from here.” Dave's nodding as I speak. “Plus, Bubba here has a truck, and he'll fit right in with the rural neighbors!” I start laughing, and Dave grins, as Rex laughs, too.

“Ok. Y'all take another look around, I'll meet you out on the walkway.” Rex heads out through the “front” door porch. “Lock up the place when you're done.”

Dave and I walk around the place one more time, and gotta admit, it's growing on me—but the Olympus house is just … more.

“Ok, Bulldog, let's go. I'll lock the back, and we'll lock the front door as we go.”

Get back to the walkway, Rex is having a smoke while he's waiting on us. “So what do you think?” I bum a smoke as we talk.

Dave looks at me, then says, “Like Barry said, let's talk about it. Can we get back to you on Monday?”

“Sure. The place has been on the market for a year and a half, and it's going to take someone special for it, just like Jack and Amy's place. And, just to clarify, you guys are a couple, right?”

I look at Dave, back to Rex, and we both speak. “Yes, we are.”

“Ok, I thought so—just wanted to make sure; you'd never said it, but acted like it. Maybe you two can join me and Joe one night for dinner or something.”

We head back to Rex's office, retrieve our car, and go to a small sandwich shop nearby—we're both ravenous, and it's 1:30pm, so we inhale the sandwiches. Talk comes naturally. Dave mentions as we eat that he's thinking of heading to Dallas on Monday morning to get some of his stuff there, and drive back in his truck—he's tired of not having a vehicle; I can understand that.

“So what do you think, Bulldog? What'd ya think of the houses we saw?”

“The first two houses, while nice, were nothing special. The last house is certainly unique, and I can see it'd be a nice place to live. That Olympus house, though … damn, it's incredible. I can see us there, playing in the water, having a really great place we'd both love. And I think we can do it. It'd clear a big chunk of my savings, but it's under-priced, and it'd be worth it in the long run. In fact ….”

Dave interrupts me, a cloudy look on his otherwise sunny face. “Barry, we really don't need that kind of place.”

“Dave, it's a great investment, and I can do this—it'll be a stretch, but it's doable. I think …. “

“No, Bulldog, we won't make it if there's Olympus in our future. No, we can't have Olympus.”