Last night I awoke from a bone-chilling nightmare. My pajamas were soaked with sweat.  My head was pounding. My wife stirred beside me and sensed I was fear-stricken.

"Are you okay? You're absolutely pale. Did you have a bad dream?"

[That's the wonderfully predictable aspect of a civil union - the flair for asking the obvious. Just once when my Missus locks her keys in her car and she calls me for the spare I'd like to upset the Natural Order of the Obvious: "Can we adopt a pet snow monkey?"]

Yes, honey. A bad dream.

"Was I in it?"

Why do loved ones so desperately want to be included in our bad dreams? Its a neediness I liken to standing in the cold winter air outside Studio 54 during the pinnacle of Disco hoping a bouncer lifts the velour rep rope.

"No, you weren't in my nightmare. It was filled with monsters, demons, ghouls."

"Geez. Dead people?"

"Worse. I was stranded on a small, barren island. No food, no water, no shelter."

"Were the ghosts chasing you?"

"Yes, but they weren't ghosts. These creatures were alive."

"Doesn't sound so scary. I think you're over reacting."

"You don't understand. They were ... salespeople!"

Now my Missus started to giggle, "What?"

"It's not funny. Everyone trapped on the haunted island was a salesperson. You could only gain passage off the island if you hit your quota. Horrid selling environment. There was blood and gore."

"Ridiculous. I'm going back to bed."

"Sure, easy for you. You've never tried to sell to a salesperson. Or have a salesperson chase you. Salespeople are immune to garlic, holy water, sunshine. They'll pull that stake of their heart and use it for a toothpick."

Her humor escalated to incredulousness, "It's so easy to just say ‘Not interested' to a salesperson and move on."

"Not in a recession. Not in a recession on a haunted island. The copier lease guy, they decapitated him with a coconut."

"You can't cut someone's head off with a coconut."

"And the mortgage guy, they threw him into a pit of snakes and spiders. He just kept screaming "Free lock" and "No fees" before his skin bubbled and burst."

"It was just a dream. Were there any Realtors® on this island?"

"We were holding our own in a hut until the title guys invented a giant slingshot and started hurtling large projectiles."

"What were these projectiles?"

"Video tour photographers. Ghastly stuff.  Come to think of it by the end of the dream the island started to perk up a bit. A flower here and there. Less bloody trees. Some of the rocks were rearranged."

"How'd that happen?"

"I think a few of the Stagers escaped the tar pits."

"Next?"

"The home inspectors formed an alliance. Those cats really had their act together. They built a makeshift raft to escape."

"Sounds promising."

"It sank."

"Yikes. Then what happened?"

"The creatures assembled all the website gurus and lead generators and painted 0's and 1's on their heads, you know binary. Then they lined them up against each other and forced the 0's to slay the 1's and vice versa. It was a bloody mess. Not one left standing. Then everyone started chanting ‘Web 2.0, Web 2.0'."

"Web two point oh. What does that mean?"

"Damned if I know."

"Wasn't anyone in charge of all these closers trying to close each other? Sounds like the Island of Doctor Moreau for malformed, mutated real estate professionals."

"I heard the island was owned by a bunch of lawyers."

"Get some sleep. Don't you have an early meeting tomorrow?"

"Yup, general meeting of all the Realtor® members of the local MLS board. Hey, that reminds me. Did that spear fishing gun ever turn up in the garage?"

"Haven't seen it. Bring the bocce ball set. You have better aim with those."

(c) Copyright, 2008. Andrew J. Lenza, All Rights Reserved.

P.S. This blog was inspired by Cathy William's recent post. Cathy operates a Virtual Tour company in Monmouth County. I hired Cathy and her associate/photographer Mike Basch for a listing. They delivered a quality, professional tour and Mike's still shots are amazing.

ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY represents both tenants and landlords of Professional Office Space in the Middlesex, Monmouth and Ocean County areas.

Lately we've enjoyed success representing financial companies like hedge funds, advisors and NASDAQ broker-dealers relocating from Manhattan into the Monmouth County area. We are active in the Red Bank, Shrewsbury, Little Silver, Middletown, Colts Neck and Tinton Falls commercial real estate markets.

What does each party want?

• Tenants are motivated to find new and technologically-advanced Office Space that will accommodate present and future needs. Professional office tenants select space based upon (a) cost, (b) condition and (c) technology upgrades.
• Landlords? They want tenants -- specifically the right tenants.

Oh, it's more complicated than merely introducing tenant to landlord when serving as a Commercial Realtor®.

How can landlords expedite the process?

Below find a sample list of typical questions from tenants interested in Professional Office Space, typically for the Red Bank, Shrewsbury, Little Silver, Middletown, Colts Neck and Tinton Falls markets might include:

1. What type Commercial Class is the building? (Class A, B, C, D?)
2. Is there a Loss Factor associated with the Building?
3. What is the Rentable versus Useable square feet?
4. How is Rent charged? Are terms expressed as a Net or Gross lease?
5. How is the Base Year rent calculated and are there any pass-through charges?
6. How many years in the Lease Term?
7. Is there a tenant improvement allowance should the tenant wish to general contract the custom renovation?
8. How are annual rent increases calculated?
9. Does the building provide back-up power (i.e. generator)?
10. How is the space configured or wired for data/Internet?
11. Is there easy access to the Telco (telephone company's) entry point into the building?
12. What is the maximum floor load?
13. Is there ample on-site Parking and is that parking assigned or first come, first serve?

By no means is the list complete.

If landlords of Professional Office Space can prepare a list of short answers to this potential inquiry, they'll be better equipped to satisfy the tenant's due diligence phase. Afterall landlords know the office space, location, town, and infrastructure (data capabilities, parking).

Landlords are welcome to contact us and interview Andrew J. Lenza Realty to serve as their listing broker in the marketing of their Professional Office Space.  If landlords can adopt a tenant perspective -- and vice versa -- then all parties are expertly served!

Call Andrew, Broker and Owner of ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY, today at (732) 431-9003 to get you on the path of realizing your Monmouth County real estate goals. Or e-mail me or visit me at my company website.

Andrew J. Lenza, ABR GRI MBA 
 Broker/Owner     
ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY 
 73 State Highway 34 Colts Neck, NJ 07722    
 Office Telephone (732) 431-9003 
 
(c) Copyright, 2008. Andrew J. Lenza, All Rights Reserved

ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY COMPANY WEBSITE

ANDREW'S PERSONAL WEBSITE

• Members, Monmouth & Ocean County MLS and Middlesex County MLS

All data and information provided on this site is for informational purposes only. Andrew J. Lenza makes no representations as to comprehensiveness, accuracy, suitability, timeliness, or validity of any information on this site. Andrew J. Lenza will not be liable for any errors, omissions, or delays in this information or any losses, injuries, or damages arising from its display or use. All information is provided on an as-is basis. Else put -- It's a blog. It's an opinion. Every consumer is urged to perform their own analysis. 

Welcome to the Ardena Acres area of Howell Township, New Jersey real estate. 

Ardena Acres went Hollywood in 2004 when the neighborhood was featured in the Spielberg/Cruise remake War of the Worlds.  Tom Cruise's character drives his kids over to his ex-wife's place seeking sanctuary.

But you won't find any human-sucking aliens hop skipping Ardena Acres in teetering giant extraterrestrial warbots.

It's a quiet, pretty place to live - just off Monmouth County Road #524 (also called Adelphia-Farmingdale Road in Howell Township).

Many home owners consider Ardena Acres a sanctuary, their own respite from a New York City commute or a long tedious day at school.

School tedious? Sorry, I meant to write "fun."

My photos include the old Ardena Baptist Church and cemetery, one of the oldest in Monmouth County. I decided to snap a daylight and night time photo:

One homeowner is cultivating wine grapes right off Howell Road. I do hope Nature and our Northeast weather rewards that effort with a bumper crop of the vino.

There are working farms and greenhouses in proximity to Ardena Acres where Howell residents can purchase hay, straw, fruit and vegetables.

To Be Built (TBB) - New Construction

New five bedroom Colonials located on Appaloosa Court are selling for a base price $499,990 from the developer. Those new five bedroom Colonials located on Palomino are listed from $539,990 to $559,000.

Resales

The first phase homes on Ambiance Boulevard range from $639,000 to $649,000. There is ample inventory for sale in Ardena Acres and that might signal an opportunity for buyers. Andrew J. Lenza Realty is positioned to serve as buyer's agent for purchasers interested in Ardena Acres and Howell, New Jersey real estate.

The intrinsic beauty of Ardena Acres the development is the juxtaposition of a new sub-division in an area replete with Howell, New Jersey history and local culture.

School Information

• The primary school for younger aged children is Adelphia Elementary School located at 495 Adelphia Road and Phone: (732) 919-1553.
• Older children report to Memorial Middle School (485 Adelphia Road and Phone: (732) 919-1085), while
• Teenagers attend Howell High School, which is part of the Freehold Regional High School District.

Stop by my blog again while I post additional local information and real estate news featuring Ardena Acres of Howell New Jersey real estate.

* * * * * * *

Are you thinking of a purchase or sale of Howell, New Jersey real estate? Call Andrew, Broker and Owner of ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY, today at (732) 431-9003 to get you on the path of realizing your Monmouth County real estate goals. Or e-mail me or visit me at my company website.

Andrew J. Lenza, ABR GRI MBA 
 Broker/Owner     
ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY 
 73 State Highway 34 Colts Neck, NJ 07722    
 Office Telephone (732) 431-9003 
 
(c) Copyright, 2008. Andrew J. Lenza, All Rights Reserved

ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY COMPANY WEBSITE

ANDREW'S PERSONAL WEBSITE

• Members, Monmouth & Ocean County MLS and Middlesex County MLS

All data and information provided on this site is for informational purposes only. Andrew J. Lenza makes no representations as to comprehensiveness, accuracy, suitability, timeliness, or validity of any information on this site. Andrew J. Lenza will not be liable for any errors, omissions, or delays in this information or any losses, injuries, or damages arising from its display or use. All information is provided on an as-is basis. Else put -- It's a blog. It's an opinion. Every consumer is urged to perform their own analysis. 

As a licensed New Jersey Real Estate Instructor I'm dialed in to most Fair Housing issues. There's Fair Housing legislation and then there's the evolution of Fair Housing, as our society continues to adopt more non-traditional lifestyles and blended ethnicities.

I've learned that if you write a property advertisement towards a potential buyer or profile of a buyer you're begging for a Fair Housing complaint.

I train my students to describe the property, not the buyer the listing agent envisions within the walls. Most innocuous Fair Housing violations start innocently enough: "Do you know what type of person who would be perfect for this home?"

Yes, someone with (a) money and (b) good credit because green is the only color you can discriminate against.

So I was particularly vexed when my local MLS continued to flag one of my listings for a potential Fair Housing violation.

I read my input. I described the grounds as "retreat-like." Maybe the religious overtones were discriminatory. Perhaps agnostics or atheists wouldn't appreciate the inference to faith. I deleted the clause.

Flagged again.

Perhaps "Family room?" What if a single person was alienated by that description? Maybe they'd like to call the room next to the Kitchen the "Single room" or the "Couple room." I changed Family to Great room.

Flagged again.

Finally I called my local Board and I reviewed my MLS remarks with a friendly staffer. We discovered the incriminating description.

"Polished granite."

Seems like the MLS algorithm reads "Polish" and scores a potential violation. I was tempted to change "polished granite" to "Eastern European corian." Naaahhh. Take the smart route and do nothing.

The Monmouth County Association of Realtors (MCAR)'s Word Watch algorithm flags the following member descriptions for Fair Housing:

You might consider reaching out to your local Board and MLS and ask for a copy of its banned words. Post that list in your office. Add the memo to your Office Policy or sales meeting. Clue folks in and save them -- and you -- time and energy.

Hmmm, I noticed "Italian-American" isn't flagged. Gee, look at that. I haven't decided to file a complaint or start a new advertising campaign in my MLS. You know what? I think this time I'll be smart and do nothing.

Are you thinking of a purchase or sale of Monmouth County real estate? Call Andrew, Broker and Owner of ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY, today at (732) 431-9003 to get you on the path of realizing your Monmouth County real estate goals. Or e-mail me or visit me at my company website.

Andrew J. Lenza, ABR GRI MBA 
 Broker/Owner     
ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY 
 73 State Highway 34 Colts Neck, NJ 07722    
 Office Telephone (732) 431-9003 
 
(c) Copyright, 2008. Andrew J. Lenza, All Rights Reserved

ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY COMPANY WEBSITE

ANDREW'S PERSONAL WEBSITE

• Members, Monmouth & Ocean County MLS and Middlesex County MLS

All data and information provided on this site is for informational purposes only. Andrew J. Lenza makes no representations as to comprehensiveness, accuracy, suitability, timeliness, or validity of any information on this site. Andrew J. Lenza will not be liable for any errors, omissions, or delays in this information or any losses, injuries, or damages arising from its display or use. All information is provided on an as-is basis. Else put -- It's a blog. It's an opinion. Every consumer is urged to perform their own analysis.

I figure we're all entitled one physco-babble (Babel as in the tower?) episode on the Internet once a month. I'd like to play my mulligan on this hole.

* * * * * *

The cataclysmic irony to intimacy is the risk you run with disclosure. Bearing your soul. For some of us so closeted up, so buttoned up it should be called "airing" the soul. Put it back when you're done with that will you?

Oh, you want to get close to your Other. Yet proximity isn't void of danger. Disclose the wrong truth and the errant thought that crawled through the sewer pipe of your mouth and escaped the Shawshank of Sense in your mind just cancelled that conjugal visit you were planning.

Shower? Check.

Brushed teeth? Check

Rotary nose hair clipper? Check.

The clank of that long iron door closing behind you trumpets "Last Call!" for Funky Town and you're stranded behind those red velour ropes outside with a pocketful of sweaty dollars and the secret weapon in your wallet. A secret weapon you bought before Celine Deon went into Las Vegas hiding, a secret weapon way past its Expiration Date.

You know I really do not know you.

Who are you? Where's the other guy? Bring his ass back.

I think you should leave. Just leave now. JUST LEAVE!

The loss of Carnal Knowledge rent by your own colossal stupidity pales in comparison to letting someone down, though. Eventually you'll be released from Solitary and escorted out of the hole. You may even be issued clean underwear or allowed to carve a chess set out of yard rocks.

I'm talking a big letdown. A life-changing disappointment you could have staved off, if only you took the time to develop and foster an intimacy. As Realtors and mortgage brokers we're entrusted with a great trust. Our clients will often shed their inhibitions and whisper through the gray block walls of Society.

Can you help me get out of here?

Right there when they expose their own humanity is an invitation for us to do the same. Our clients assume a colossal risk in trusting us and the risk is far greater than financial. If we screw this up they may never trust again.

Wear that on the chest for five-to-seven.

It's not enough to honor a confidence. It's not enough to extend statutory fiduciary. The crucible of intimacy is taking the first step towards finding and caring for another human. Not because there's a better chance you'll get paid. But because there's a better chance you'll become a better human.

The wonderful, liberating consequence of a Recession in real estate sales is it pushes the shallow lemmings into the deeper end of Consciousness where upon they hopelessly drown. Or so the anesthesized Idealist in me desperately wants to believe. Perhaps this is the note I buried underneath a rock along a stone wall when I got out. A rock that doesn't look like it belongs here -- waiting for an old friend, a fellow inmate to find.

So this market is not for personal representatives who are afraid of Intimacy. This market is for those professionals willing to fight for it. Good night dear friends.

P.S. This is a Public Post.

(c) Copyright, 2008. Andrew J. Lenza, All Rights Reserved.

May 18, 2008

Dear Clover Hill, Colts Neck New Jersey Purchaser,

The Clover Hill neighborhood of Colts Neck real estate is a warm and inviting enclave of quaint, tree-lined single family homes. The minimum lot size in Clover Hill is typically one acre. A single acre covers 43,560 square feet, large enough that folks can adopt their own lifestyle.

Last year (FY2007) eighteen (18) single family homes sold in the Clover Hill section for an average price of $1,040,000. I have experience buying and selling Clover Hill homes.

One million dollars! Yikes, Andrew -- what are you smoking?

I don’t blame the sticker shock if that’s your initial reaction. However, nine (9) of those eighteen homes sold for under $800,000. I’ve bogged extensively about the statistical “worth” of the misnomer average. Average is a trap for both buyers and sellers alike.

• Five (5) of those homes sold at or below $700,000 with the lowest-priced home closing for $595,000. The Monmouth County real estate average currently is $565,000 (watch that average). Many buyers assume that when they hear the prestigious name of “Colts Neck” they are automatically priced out of this market. Not necessarily so.

• Clover Hill offers some particular “bargains” for home-buyers who are not afraid of work or renovation, can create a vision of a new living space and expect to reside in the community long-term (so they can pay for that remodeling).
  

Now the most common style house is the four bedroom Center Hall Colonial in Clover Hill, but five bedrooms are available. Yet you can purchase a Ranch or an Expanded Ranch (usually with two bedrooms and a half upstairs and the Master Bedroom featured on the first floor).

• The Ranch is often the preferred style for folks seeking to imprint their own design in their Colts Neck home. In Staten Island we call that going up! The roof comes off and a second story is framed atop the existing deck. Many Clover Hill homes start their life as Ranches and progress to formal Colonials. Colts Neck is predominantly a Colonial-style town. We have a few Bi-Level’s and Split-Levels and even fewer Victorians and Contemporaries.
  

Since our roots are agricultural, many of the Colts Neck subdivisions and developments mirrored the traditional Farmhouse in design and layout.

Obviously in the 90’s the Center Hall Colonial became the template for the 5,000 square foot plus Executive Estate.

Two of these renovations (teardowns-and-rebuilds) sold for $2,175,000 and $2,225,000 respectively in Clover Hill area, pushing that beguiling average up over $1 million.

There also were three (3) re-sales north of $1.1 million; great news for anyone purchasing a house in the $700,000 range as an adjacent property owner.

Nothing like the Law of Real Estate Progression building equity for a Clover Hill purchaser while they quietly sleep ;).

Some of the street names in Clover Hill include:

• Clover Hill Road
  
• Clover Hill Lane
  
• The Enclosure
  
• Maple
  
• Provincial
  
• Spring Garden
  
• Laurelwood
  
• Tulip Lane
  
• Wedgewood

My esteemed Active Rain colleague Desiree Daniels just posted recent New Jersey home sales data that was released from the New Jersey Association of Realtors (NJAR). 

What is the status of Monmouth County, New Jersey real estate values? Prices are still up and the number of sales significantly down. 

None of this is a surprise to full-time, dedicated Realtors®. Monmouth County is a premier place to live and work. The following MLS listing data table details the activity for Single-family homes and Condominiums/Townhouses in Monmouth County, New Jersey.

 Single Family Home Sales

# Sales % Change Avg. Sale Price % Change Avg. Days on Market

FY2007......1714.......................................... $544,900.......................................98

FY2008......1256.............-36.46%...............$565,800................3.69%............106

Condominium and Townhome Sales

# Sales % Change Avg. Sale Price % Change Avg. Days on Market

FY2007.......928..............................................$303,200......................................91

FY2008........705.............-31.63%.................$305,000...............0.59%............106

The average home sells for $565,800 in Monmouth County real estate.  The average condo and town home sells for $305,000. Single family home prices increased a resilient 3.70% from last year; the number of sales or transactions decreased by almost 40%. 

Motivated sellers who price their properties to trade are receiving legitimate offers. Quality sells. 

As to the condo real estate market in Monmouth County, values remained equal to last year but sales too dropped by 32%. 

I typically read my tea leaves conservatively so folks are not sucked into more expensive housing or investments than they can afford. Yet I am slowly turning more optimistic about Monmouth County real estate prices holding steady. 

The number of sales serves as an economic barometer for the entire County. But if I were in the market to sell or buy a home, shouldn't I only be concerned with my transaction? What impresses me is that prices are not falling. Prices are remaining steady. That's good news for many Monmouth County residents. 

Are you thinking of a purchase or sale of Monmouth County real estate? Call Andrew, Broker and Owner of ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY, today at (732) 431-9003 to get you on the path of realizing your Monmouth County real estate goals. Or e-mail me or visit me at my company website.

Andrew J. Lenza, ABR GRI MBA 
 Broker/Owner     
ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY 
 73 State Highway 34 Colts Neck, NJ 07722    
 Office Telephone (732) 431-9003 
 
(c) Copyright, 2008. Andrew J. Lenza, All Rights Reserved

ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY COMPANY WEBSITE

ANDREW'S PERSONAL WEBSITE

• Members, Monmouth & Ocean County MLS and Middlesex County MLS

All data and information provided on this site is for informational purposes only. Andrew J. Lenza makes no representations as to comprehensiveness, accuracy, suitability, timeliness, or validity of any information on this site. Andrew J. Lenza will not be liable for any errors, omissions, or delays in this information or any losses, injuries, or damages arising from its display or use. All information is provided on an as-is basis. Else put -- It's a blog. It's an opinion. Every consumer is urged to perform their own analysis.

How many of us have dropped the wrong phrase at the wrong time and nuked the right transaction? Apologizing to Aunt Gertie for sprinkling her dentures with some crushed Spanish Fly? It’s not what you say but how you say it. 

While buying and selling Monmouth County real estate the East of Economics and the West of Word Association meet as soon as I extend my business card and open my mouth. 

In real estate sales it’s always what you say. And we’ve latched onto to some serial deal-killer expressions. We have met our enemy and our enemy is the hinge-like hole below our nose. A case in point -- the term fire sale. The phrase originated in the 19th century when a department store in New Zealand burned to the ground. 

Today, sellers don’t want to “give their home away in a fire sale” anymore than Al Capone wanted to give his wife the clap. Yet buyers lick mutton chopped lips like Dracula sinking his bicuspids into a slightly tipsy Working Girl at the prospect of “picking up a fire sale.”  The phrase itself is a misnomer. How many burnt out skeletons of a house have you sold lately? 

Honey, I think this could be the one ... if there was just a little more smoke damage in the dining room.

How many listings have you closed while the firemen rolled up their hoses outside? (Now that last line, that wasn’t meant to carry a double entendre.)

Like these tawdry analogies I'm seeding throughout this blog (i.e Spanish fly, the clap, fireman hose). Sure, they are alluring to use but do I really need to use them to communicate effectively?  

We may believe we transact property. We may delude ourselves that we exchange money for realty.

Make no mistake that all of us traffic in words.  Too many service providers spell license as “lie-sense” -- the cagey, uncanny ability to twist words like Uri Geller making front porch wind-chimes out of your grandmother’s silver-set. 

The typical Realtor talks too much. We’re not getting paid by the word. Listening? Sorry, what did you say? Not a week goes by that when a client poses me a particularly vexing or critical question a palatable pause ensues. 

“Andrew, are you there?”

“Yes. I don’t want you to think this lengthy, uncomfortable pause is my attempt to avoid your question. I’m making sure the next words out of my mouth are the absolute best ones for the situation.”

Stilted? Yes.

Rehearsed? Absolutely. 

Factual? You bet. 

Usually, the term fire sale no longer escapes my mental Stop-Drop-and-Roll filtering process and singe the papery edges of a newly signed contract. But it has burned me before. 

Still, there are so many other sabotaging phrases I continue to form a Molotov cocktail with my saliva and the English language. I do intend to blog about them. Now, how does one apply Desitin creme to their lips without smearing the white goo on their teeth? 

Are you thinking of a purchase or sale of Monmouth County real estate? Call Andrew, Broker and Owner of ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY, today at (732) 431-9003 to get you on the path of realizing your Monmouth County real estate goals. Or e-mail me or visit me at my company website.

Andrew J. Lenza, ABR GRI MBA 
 Broker/Owner     
ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY 
 73 State Highway 34 Colts Neck, NJ 07722    
 Office Telephone (732) 431-9003 
 
(c) Copyright, 2008. Andrew J. Lenza, All Rights Reserved

ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY COMPANY WEBSITE

ANDREW'S PERSONAL WEBSITE

• Members, Monmouth & Ocean County MLS and Middlesex County MLS

All data and information provided on this site is for informational purposes only. Andrew J. Lenza makes no representations as to comprehensiveness, accuracy, suitability, timeliness, or validity of any information on this site. Andrew J. Lenza will not be liable for any errors, omissions, or delays in this information or any losses, injuries, or damages arising from its display or use. All information is provided on an as-is basis. Else put -- It's a blog. It's an opinion. Every consumer is urged to perform their own analysis.

Back in November I posted a story about Fat Sally, a real estate agent who didn't adapt and washed out of the business. My friend Dick Beals in North Carolina suggested a sequel and he planted this seed. I'd read the original post first called Fat Sally's Cherry Call and then swing back around here for Part 2. Keep in mind you're reading fiction!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Return of Fat Sally

"Hey Baby Corn, been a while."

"Jasmine?"

"Who else calls you Baby Corn?"

Actually, no one else. It was an inside joke between me and the seductive flaming redhead of a badger on the other end of the phone. Only 5'7" I often found myself on the tail end of many short jokes. Lou Grossinger, the manager of Colonial Realty, would bellow over the bullpen of crammed cubicles and stacks of Yellow Pages.

"Lenza, lend me a large ear!" Code for 'Hey, dumbass look at me and stop talking!'

"Lenza's too short to lend you a full grown ear," Jasmine ribbed. Since then she called me Baby Corn.

"Calling to take you out to lunch, Baby Corn. And there will be a surprise guest."

A week later I was waiting at the rear booth of Cavanaugh's, the metal cigar-shaped diner off Highway 33. In walks Jasmine with a young stud trailing behind her. After Colonial imploded from the fallout of Do Not Call legislation, Jasmine Alborelt went on to become a Platinum producer at a high-end franchise. Still sexy as all hell. She even gained a few pounds that rounded out an already sharply sculpted body. Brains, beauty and now bounce. The triple threat of middle age libido.

"Z'up B.C?" Jasmine inflected. What Jasmine could not carry was an MTV crib slang. She looked great and sounded ridiculous, like someone trying too hard to be cool and that someone is the last person in the room who needs to make the effort.

"This is Lorne," she introduced me to her much younger Brad Pitt look-alike escort. Lorne? Wasn't he that old dude from Gunsmoke.

"Nice to meet you Lorne. Please sit down," I gestured.

"Lorne's not staying," Jasmine coldly snarled and half lifted her right hand to stop Lorne's progress towards an empty chair.

"He's got to take my Lexus over for an alignment, still pulls to the left."

Lorne stiffened his shoulders and swung back his golden blond shoulder length hair and in a faint attempt at snatching back the manhood Jasmine just dropped into her open Vendi bag like a roll of nickels he barked "Keys!"

Then he was gone.

"So if Lorne is not the mystery third wheel, Jasmine, who'll be joining us?"

Suddenly the front door swung wide open rocking the newspaper stand off its pegs. In the doorway stood a rather large man with a shock of greasy black hair. His suit was a broad striped dark blue Joseph Abboud, expertly tailored around his gigantic bulbous frame. I was reminded of that toy n the 70's. Weebles waddle but they don't fall down.

Sal's face was ruddy. His protruding eyes were set clear on the opposite side of his head so he resembled an enormous flounder. Flounder eyes with a grainy opaque skin covering the corneas.

Fat Freakin' Sally. Salvtore Fredda. Sal.

"As I live and breathe" was all I could gesture under my breath. Jasmine picked up on my surprise.

"The big man looks good, don't he?"

"Slamming jamming Andrew," Sal bellowed and in less than six steps he was bear hugging me, scenting my body with a liberal aroma of Aqua Velva.

It had been two years since I hung up on a deflated, defeated Fat Sally after the pyramid marketing Cherry Call. This was not that man. He reeked of cheap cologne but he also whiffed of success and confidence. I guessed that Fat Sally was carrying at least five hundred dollars in his pocket. He wasn't driving a school bus. He wasn't tending bar. He wasn't donating blood.

"Sal, what's going on? You look on top of the world." Actually he looked the world.

The fat man then launched into a rags-to-riches-back-to-rags-and-back-to-riches saga of an American success story. He was gainfully employed and back in real estate. My jaw dropped into my tuna salad platter when he handed me his gold embossed business card,

"REAL ESTATE COMMISSION CONSULTANT."

Sal working for the Real Estate Commission? Sal working as a suit? Sal a government man?

"I'm attached to the anti-Fraud unit -- unofficially, of course. A sweet deal. Company car, unlimited mileage. Come and go as I please. Sweet tooth deal."

I've met trained Investigators from the Real Estate Commission. These dandies are college educated. They have backgrounds in finance and accounting. They're in shape. They are everything so not Fat Sally.

"Come again?" I marveled, poorly suppressing my incredulity and petulance, futilely hiding a smart-ass smile that the Fat Man quickly decoded.

"Oh I know for a college squire like yourself Professor Lenza it's tough to see me as a suit but I got something those Ivy League darlings can't buy with Daddy's country club membership..."

"Street cred," Jasmine interjected. She had been uncharacteristically quiet the last five minutes.

"That's right, Jazzy, street cred. I've sold every piece of shit real estate. Condos, land deals, multi-families, the shacks and the mansions."

And Fat Sally had. He sold a shit load of houses in his day.

"My role," continued Fat Sally as he adopted a hushed, less bravado tone, "is to gather intelligence and background information on brokers suspected of certain illegal activities."

That sounded so articulate like someone else wrote his job description.

"You're a rat?"

"Hell no, jackass," he bristled, "As you know I possess a certain flare, perhaps a charisma. People have always enjoyed talking to me. Like a fly on the wall, a rather large and sexy fly on the wall." He winked at Jasmine. That was true, except the sexy part. Fat Sal made friends out of strangers in less time than it took to plug two quarters into a parking meter. He did exude an Everyman's appeal.

"So you're a mole?"

To this Fat Sally raised his fork from his four egg Western omelet seemingly appropriately accused. He waved that fork like he was up on the bench with a cavalier swing of his judge's gavel. Your point is moot. Move to the next issue.

"Well, it's really great to see both of you again," I stammered, trying to plot a polite exit. I was due at a home inspection.

An awkward silence proceeded my botched farewell because it came out so phoney. I became conscious that the entire restaurant was still. The old fashioned diner now felt cramped and confined as a World War II submarine. I felt a strange premonition, a foreboding - as if a Japanese destroyer was filling the racks.

"Don't you want to know why we're here, Andrew? Surely you don't think this meeting is a coincidence?"

Now the room's temperature rose a few degrees and Sally instantaneously adopted a fiercer look. He was not the jolly fat man entertaining neighborhood children with the disappearing thumb trick. He wasn't a flounder anymore either. He was a killer whale circling around a seal, a much smaller seal. Suddenly all of Fat Sally's charisma had been replaced by sheer tenacity.

"Okay, what gives Sal?"

"Hate to tell you kiddo but your name's come up. Yup. I couldn't believe it when I heard it. Andy Boy Broccoli dancing a drunken jig dangerously close to the third rail. Just not his style. But I got collaboration from a third party."

This was almost something out of a Hoffa movie. Cornered in a greasy spoon by a fat man and a drop dead gorgeous woman. The Maltese Falcon perhaps. I thought of Senator McCarthy and those anti-Communist congressional hearings in the 1950's. How three quarters of America thought that schmuck was the biggest asshole behind a microphone but those Hollywood writers who forfeited their careers -- they were less amused.

"Sal, I know enough about the Real Estate Commission that they wouldn't open a legitimate inquiry with you breaking the news over eggs at Cavanaugh's. Are you going to swear my testimony in behind that espresso machine?"

"Don't be a punk. You're a smart kid. Smart I like. Punk, no."

The fat man was getting mad.

"Right now you're a person of interest with the Wakefield mess. There are others, let's say principals and brokers, who have implicated you. They say your involvement went deeper than just writing up a market value opinion. That a larger, much larger compensation was delivered under the table, shall we say."

Sal expanded his gorilla sized hands farther and farther apart for emphasis.

Wakefield was a development company that went bust. Over one hundred purchasers lost their deposits when the builder tanked. For a fee -- and only a fee -- I submitted a market analysis suggested the list price per lot. That was the extent of my involvement. I never represented the builder or purchasers of default transactions.

"That's bullshit and you know it. Why would I have received this fictitious bag of money?"

"For aggressively over valuing the suggested list price per lot which allowed Wakefield to dupe those poor innocent suckers. It is intriguing. Guy like yourself, independent broker, stand up fellow. Real estate instructor. No one considers dirty. But why not? Sort of like's Hitler's propaganda campaign. Tell a big enough lie and folks are bound to buy in."

"Andrew," Jasmine started and placed her clammy hand over mine, "tell him everything if you can. You know Sal. Like a dog with a bone. He's quite persistent and resourceful."

Then I realized that Jasmine had set this meeting up. She was so quiet, absorbed into the faux red leather upholstered booth. Her company was involved with Wakefield. They sold most of the deals. I was no genius but I gathered the killer whale had already bitten off one of her flippers. This wasn't good cop, bad cop.

Jasmine was being squeezed and she in turn was squeezing me. Or may be she was getting gaffed. Flopping like the amputated seal on the whaling deck, gasping for air. Blood spurting helter-skelter out of a flipperless raw meat hole. Trying to survive by ripping a good flipper off another seal flopping alongside her. And him, this detestable excuse of a human. Fat Sal was shaking down old friends for a ride in an Oldsmobile and an expense account. On the government dole. Oh, he did make a comeback in all points reprehensible.

Now when your accuser is so positive of your guilt you begin to doubt your own innocence. Could have I been involved? Could I have received a bribe?

The air in the diner was oppressing hot and putrid. The submarine was drifting lower, the pressure rising. Any second now rivets would start popping out the hull. A depth charge would clank off the metal guide wires starboard side.

Then I remembered I did nothing wrong. I remembered who I was and who raised me. I remembered my own code. I remembered Fat Sally's Cherry Call and who I was up against.

"Jasmine, I don't know what you're mixed up in but I'm not stewing in the same shit pot. I know it and our fat friend here knows it. Street cred? More like bureaucratic bullshit. Isn't that right, Sal? Blow a bunch of conspiracy smoke down in Trenton, spin a few mirrors. Play up the angle that you're going to break open a wide scale fraud just to stay employed? Just to avoid shelling out $4.00 at the pump when you visit your kid way over in Burlington at your ex-wife's place. Supervised Daddy-and-Me time if I remember?"

Now Sal had turned sullen and turned his head away from me, yet I continued. His eyes no longer protruded, they retreated into his cavernous skull like a crab's eyes spotting another combatant.

"Well I have news for you Fat Sal. You'll blew this job, if it is a job, while playing Sherlock Holmes in a garish Barney the Dinosaur suit. Because you're jerking around with real person's lives and the new tools of your trade are gossip and half-truths. Enjoy your fifteen minutes. Then it's back to the bus, back to the bar, back to the Albemarle boarding house."

"We'll see. We'll see wiseass. You should have never hung up on me Lenza when I called for help with my last gig. For old times sake you could have thrown me a bone. I was on the balls of my ass."

Now that was an image I didn't need intermingling with the silent rage welling up my throat.

"That's not how I remember it, Fat Sal," I said rising from my chair and tossing a twenty dollar bill to cover my lunch. Then I paused.

"But you're right. I shouldn't have hung up on you. We shared some good times."

Fat Sally smirked a pleasing little grin, as if he knew my Catholic guilt would creep up on me and pounce. Although he knew I was completely innocent he could count on me for dropping a few names to keep this government charade going. Really, what was the harm? So I fabricate a few stories about some of my diehard competitors. Use the system to block and tackle for me. Play ball and then there'd be me and Jasmine and Fat Sal putting the big hurt on another old friend. Oh, yes, Fat Sal thought. Andrew understands the loyalty thing. He was feeling mighty satisfied.

An explosive rattled around in the riggings. Detonation was imminent.

"Nope, Fat Sal. I shouldn't have hung up on you. I should have agreed to meet you. Then I should have run you over."

(c) Copyright, 2008. Andrew J. Lenza, All Rights Reserved.

Andrew J. Lenza, ABR GRI MBA 

 Broker/Owner     

ANDREW J. LENZA REALTY 

 73 State Highway 34 Colts Neck, NJ 07722    

 Office Telephone (732) 431-9003 

(c) Copyright, 2008. Andrew J. Lenza, All Rights Reserved. 

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We all house a Dream in our head.  Perhaps a quiet tenant of a Dream, a non-smoker with a mute parakeet; a Dream that always fulfills you - even when the schizophrenics upstairs in your frontal lobe are raining down ceiling plaster.

You can visit your favorite Dream in your head during a commercial break. Just a quick pop-in: "I'm okay. Are you okay? Cool. Gotta get back to Project Runway."

Or you can truly sit with your Dream for an extended fantasy, giggling girlishly: What happens innocent little Dream when you cross over to my side and transform into Reality?

In our minds our dreams are weightless. Maintenance-free. We can freely seduce our dreams. Lick their chocolate pudding edges and never wash the cake knife.

But when our life's Dream takes on corporeal, tangible form, it's not that light anymore. A dream bears a crushing weight, once it leaves your head and leeches onto your back. They call it "Living the Dream" but it's far more real to call it "Living with the Dream."

You may dream of captaining a boat. The maintenance, the fuel costs, the cleaning, the payments - the boat now owns you.

You may dream of climbing the highest mountain. The preparation, the fund-raising, the slogging of equipment, the family leave - the mountain now owns you.

Like the Dream of owning a home if you are a long-term renter - only to lose that home to foreclosure or a short sale. Owning that home in our head was easy. Owning that home out here is damn difficult.

The quiet tenant of a Dream is now the Harley-throttling-El Charro Tequila-swigging ex-convict Dream, a true Mom-eater.

What the mind has spawned, the hands have wrought.

Someone before our real estate agent or mortgage broker should have told us that not all our dreams are safe. Our parents, our pastor, our 1^st grade teacher all should have warned us that not every image that sprouts tiny green leaves in our fertile neo-cortex is worth cultivating.

Look, Junior. See that Dream over there by the arborvitae? That's a man-eater. That Dream'll kill you. Leave nothin' but bones and dust.

There is a sublime, harmless quality to dreaming. Manifested of flesh and blood, however, the Dream is quite capable of reaching for that cake knife as did Charles Manson's minions inside the Albotelli home located at 10050 Cielo Drive on March 23^rd, 1969.  

Yes, we're taught every Dream is good. Maybe that is the Ultimate Dream, the betrayal of a billion synapses sparking the brain fantastic. Beware the insidious, self-destructive psychosis that masquerades itself as a dream. The evil dream, the anti-dream, the unDream.

Some dreams should never be liberated. They're too heavy, too exacting. No dream is worth the herniated disc or the hapless Spirit immobilized in traction for the next seven years.

The wrecked credit, the entangled liens, the sterile Notices of Default. No wonder so many disillusioned homeowners, sullen Dream-owners, are traveling with just the woebegone blouses on their backs, abandoning their Dream behind the curb, shirking the colossal weight and starting all over again - robotically.

Too weak to lift another Dream, too broke to afford a new one.

Never say the "D" word to these exhausted, spent folk; they have been the Beast to the Burden long enough. Trundled out to the street, their stooped and shuffling silhouettes serve silent witness.

(c) Copyright, 2008. Andrew J. Lenza, All Rights Reserved.