Immediately after discovering Frank mailed drawings to my architect, I called the firm to apologize. As far as I could tell, no one there was upset.  They mentioned Frank’s plans weren’t possible due to my property’s boundaries. I can’t believe they even looked at the blueprints.

I didn’t call Frank to chew him out, but I did send him an email asking him not to contact the firm again. I wrote that he’d crossed the line. No response.

Thankfully, Frank didn’t ask if he could stay overnight at my home during his planned visit to CT. That’s happened before, and it makes things awkward. There are some guys that are looking for more than I care to offer. I’m sure some women are on a different quest from mine. Men don’t always handle the “no” response well.  Frank told me immediately that he was staying at the Marriott in Stamford when he visited. 

Our dinner date was scheduled for May, but I contracted Covid. That and a few other obstacles put us together at end of June. In true Frank style, he sent me an email regarding the type of restaurant where he’d like me to make a reservation.

RESTAURANT  

any  place that is nice & good food  perhaps like a Abe & Loui  or fish

do not like Mexican or spice   

but  like sea food  steaks – chops  or Greek 

& must serves liker  your town you pick  

or good corn beef sandwich & Dr. Browns  with a pickle  

(He obviously cannot spell and doesn’t use spell check.)

Date night came, and I waited in my living room for Frank’s arrival. The room’s picture windows overlook the front yard and the driveway. I saw Frank’s Jeep turn in and park. I watched him pull his rotund body out of his vehicle with difficulty. When he was finally out, he stood and rested, holding on to the car door. He perused his surroundings and then limped up toward my house, favoring his right leg. He mentioned during a phone call that he had neuropathy in that leg and that he recently fell. The adage-—I don’t want to be a nurse or a purse—entered my mind.  

Once Frank was up to my front door, he stopped and leaned against the frame. He was breathing hard. I opened the door and greeted him, then guided him into the living room. He let his body collapse into an armchair and sat until his breathing was back to normal. Again, he looked around. Then, he said, “Don’t add on to this house. It isn’t worth it.”

Ouch!  Perhaps he was hoping I had a more grandiose home. I believe he was sizing me up. Big house—big bucks. In 2008, I purchased a foreclosure and fixed it up because it was near my daughter’s school. I’d placed her in a boarding school so I could care for my father. When he died, I wanted my kid back with me. It was not my dream house, but it served its purpose and still does.

Frank was thrilled with the restaurant I chose for our dinner date. We sat opposite each other, and I watched Frank scrutinize all the trays that passed by laden with food orders. At one point, he looked at the desserts served at the table next to ours and said, “Oh, can I have a taste?” He was kidding, of course, but they looked as shocked as I was. Then, we all laughed it off, sort of. Frank insisted we share a dessert, telling me his diabetes prevented him from having an entire dessert on his own, but if I ate half, it would be okay. I managed about two bites of his key lime pie before Frank sucked down the rest like a Hoover on high.

After dinner, Frank drove me home. He walked me to my door and said he had to get going down to Stamford, check into his hotel, and get a good night’s rest. I was fine with that. 

The following day, I called my friend Lynn who runs a consignment store in West Hartford, CT. She, too, is single, and we often compare war stories. I told her about Frank, his trip down to Stamford., and asked her opinion about a few things he’d said.

“All of those places in Stamford closed during the Covid pandemic,” Lynn told me. “Perhaps one is still open, but most couldn’t survive the shutdown.”

This was interesting. I didn’t mind because I was no longer interested in Frank. But I was curious about his motives and what might come next.  On Sunday morning, I sent him a text to ask how things were going and if he found any pieces for his clients.  I still had tickets for the Junior Women’s League Showhouse. I asked him if he was going to join me. I received this reply:

No bid yet -/sent pics to client in Boca
For there new wine bar area seating awaiting reply 
Table $ 20,000.00 ask
Sofa. 22,000.00 ask
If bought both. Maybe $ 25-30 to 35 k
My fee about $5k the tables vintage hi end as is the sofa. Both are over 50 years old and orig by
Famous designers
Small table  $ 2,200. Would offer as pkg $1,500
Ea there were 2. Frank fee on tables alone $ 350. To $400.

Again, no spell check.

I have no idea what this was about—why all the references about dollars and commissions. Frank then gave me some ridiculous story about his daughter’s soon-to-be ex-husband threatening her. He had to return to Boston pronto.

I wished him well and called Lynn, She and I went to the showhouse together. It was a delightful day.

© Miriam Greenberg, and the blog Love In The Time Of Corona, beginning April 2022 to the Present. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Miriam Greenberg and Love In The Time Of Corona with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.