Humor

Ghostwritten

Some things are just meant to happen—meeting influential people who change your life, having adventures you’ve never dreamed of, or finding the love of your life when you weren’t really looking. Miracles are abundant; how and why they happen is well beyond the human capacity to understand or explain. There is a word that describes something incredibly fortuitous that happens to you unexpectedly during the regular course of life: “serendipity.” Out of the blue comes an opportunity that wouldn’t have come to fruition if you hadn’t attended some distant relative’s wedding or skipped some seemingly fruitless business event, or accidentally turned left instead of right, but because you did, you found something new or found the answer to a burning question. It’s finding a twenty-dollar bill in your pocket when you need gas. And sometimes, it’s casually passing time with a newspaper enjoying fantasies of new investments that offer the intriguing answer to, “What’s next for us?” Everything in its time, I suppose.

            Debby and I had been married for twelve years. It was a second marriage for both of us, and we had been exploring the idea of making a big change in our lives. We weren’t struggling by any means. We were making a decent living in the business world, had four great kids (two from her first marriage, two from mine) and lived in Providence, Rhode Island following ten years in Concord, Mass. I had a good high-tech job, and Debby was a serial entrepreneur and executive administrator temp, and we shared an interest in real estate investing. But as we both happily slogged through middle age with the fun of many friendships, we still felt there was more to our lives’ journey.  As for many, such feelings are enhanced by the unavoidable struggle of the software company I worked for appeared to approach a classic high-tech cliff, i.e., not enough companies really wanted your product!  Too dependent on the Defense industry, the collapse of the Berlin Wall was a signal leading to corporate consolidation and fewer projects that required our software.  After twenty years of consulting, selling, and managing in two small software companies, I had an itch to make a change. And Debby, being a Gemini, was always ready to leap at something new.

We didn’t know precisely how radical a shift in our lifestyle was going to look like, but we had a hankering for a different taste of living that could keep us financially viable, provide a change in scenery, and somehow tickle our interests in real estate, serving others and having fun together. 

            Three of the kids were just starting their post-college, young adult lives, and college tuitions were coming to a close. The youngest was in his last year. A financial analyst told us we had sufficient funds to entertain many possibilities. We would still need to earn a little income¾not a lot, though, since our lifestyle was comfy but frugal.  Importantly, we could, and should, avoid touching our nest egg¾my IRA. We didn't have any dreams of mansions or anything. We just needed to invest reasonably and conservatively. Most importantly, Debby and I were compatible in so many ways that no matter what we chose to do, we knew we had in each other a partner we could rely on to work hard, make sensible decisions, and keep the other person laughing.

            One of my ideas for changing things up was to become a teacher. I didn’t know anything about teaching, but I thought it might be an interesting change of scene for a 45-year-old man ready to leave the corporate life.  So, I took a course at a college in Rhode Island, thinking that with an ESL certification, Debby and I could live anywhere. We loved to travel¾we could go to Italy or France¾and I loved being a student again. The idea checked a lot of boxes for me, but not so much for Deb.

            Debby, a serial entrepreneur since she was six and a sharp administrator, had dreams of running a bed and breakfast, so she was hoping we could find a charming retreat, like maybe somewhere in the touristy areas of Maine or Vermont, where we could meet new people, sip hot toddies and wine on the wrap-around porch, watch the sunsets, and cook warm, delicious breakfasts for our guests. It sounded intriguing to me, too, being a serious extrovert, so I did a little research (pre-internet) through books and magazines and found that the average length of time for ownership of a B&B was about five years or less. The hard truth is, they don’t make much money month-to-month, and owners may love their business but work non-stop. I expected we’d spend more time sweeping the porch than sitting on it; and one of us would likely need a real day job for income.  It became obvious that any bed and breakfast would need to have an additional related business, like a restaurant, to supplement guest room fees. 

            We found a listing for a small inn that was located right on the ferry dock in Friday Harbor, Washington, a beautiful spot serviced by the Washington State Ferry service. We had been there, so we thought about it and discussed the pros and cons. The cons won. First, the business was highly seasonal. Second, we’d need another income source other than the inn itself, and I wasn’t confident about the amount of cash I’d bring in as an ESL teacher.  There were definitely very few management jobs in that area. We crossed it off our list of possibilities.

            We met with a friend of Debby’s, a guy who owned a B&B in a ski area, to give us some advice.

            “It sucks!” he said. “As a matter of fact, just this week we signed a contract to sell the place. We’ll be out by the end of the season.”

            In the car, Debby said, “Well, that was disappointing.”

            “It was,” I agreed, “but he confirmed everything I’ve read. Maybe we’ve dodged a bullet, but let’s keep our minds open.”

            “Don’t laugh, but I’ve already been collecting breakfast and baking recipes,” said Debby. “And I don’t think we want to be anywhere it snows. We’d be mopping up puddles and salting walking paths all day.”

            Meanwhile, we hadn’t yet left our day jobs. In 1994, I attended what felt like my millionth software conference. That year, one was in Disneyworld, and since neither Debby nor I had been to the Magic Kingdom in years, she came with me so we could be tourists for a few days. On the plane to Orlando on September 30th, I had the Wall Street Journal with me, and, as I usually did, I turned to my favorite section—the real estate “fantasy” ads--for fun and to kill some time.  I relished reading these ads more than reading the comics. I especially liked the ones that said something like, “10,000 acres for sale in Central Montana, $50 per acre.” I tried to imagine what we’d do with all that land. We could run a horse ranch! We could host team-building retreats! Could we run a B&B there? But today, a solo ad under the heading “Virgin Islands” jumped out at me. It said: Small Caribbean Resort. On pristine beach in the British Virgin Islands. $785,000.” It was intriguing!

We had been to the BVI a few times and really enjoyed it. Debby and her first husband had a college classmate who married a guy who ran a sailboat chartering business in the BVI in the late ‘60s. They had gone down there once or twice and sailed the blue Caribbean waters, and Debby felt an affinity for the beaches. After Debby and I were married, we made another trip and stayed on the island of Virgin Gorda. We stayed at the Fisher’s Cove Beach Hotel that was on the water with a small beach. It was owned by local people who were easy to talk to just like we were, and it had a little restaurant and beach bar. Several years later, we visited them again, and thoroughly enjoyed it. We were suckers for anything on a beach. As I looked at this ad, I wondered, could this ad be for the same place?

I imagined having a beachside place in the BVI, where we met friendlier and more approachable people than on a few of the other Caribbean islands we’d visited. And, because it was called a “resort,” it conjured images of laid-back beachside characteristics attractive to people like Debby and me.

I showed the ad to Debby. “How about this for a cool idea?” I said.

She smiled, then handed it back to me. “If only,” she said.

I ripped the ad out of the newspaper and stuck it in her purse. “Put this away, just in case,” I said.

We completely forgot about the ad after we returned home, dealing with our typical fall runaround of work and suburban life, until six weeks later, when Debby switched to a different purse for the upcoming holiday season. Out came all of the usual stuff she’d accumulated over the last few months¾candy wrappers, an unopened package of Saltine crackers, handy tissues, loose change, paper clips, business cards, etc., and after scraping along the bottom to see if she’d missed anything, out came the BVI ad. She chuckled a bit at the improbability of it, but she couldn’t stop looking at it. Impulsively, she picked up the phone and dialed the number. 

Returning home from work, I was now going to get her unexpected report.

“Remember that ad you showed me on the plane to Disneyworld?” she said. “The one about a beachside resort in the BVI?”

What was she up to? “Yes,” I said. 

“I called to see if it was still available,” said Debby.

“You made an expensive long-distance call to the Caribbean?” I said. I’m extremely frugal by nature¾I can’t help it. Luckily, so was Debby. Also, fortunately, this frugality didn’t apply to real estate purchases as she had led us to several small but profitable real estate deals.

“Not only did I call,” she said, “but we talked for forty minutes.”  There goes $50, I thought.  “Get this,” she continued: “It’s called the Sandcastle Resort. It’s on the island of Jost van Dyke (Jost). It’s got four cottages, and it includes the Soggy Dollar Bar.” My ears pricked up. “And it is still for sale! In fact, his price is now down to $675,000.”

Our friend, Jacques, had reminded us many times of that place being ‘his favorite bar in the whole world’ based on a sailing trip with his family a few years before. 

“The Soggy Dollar Bar? Jacques cannot quit telling us about that,” I said.

Coincidentally, we had invited Don, a friend from work to dinner that night; and on his arrival we peppered him with questions as we enjoyed some wine.

“Don!” Debby said. “Weren’t you in St. Thomas recently for a birthday celebration? And didn’t your wife have plans to organize a group to go to a New Year’s party on Jost van Dyke?”

“Yes, to both,” said Don. “This island is becoming famous for its New Year’s Eve parties. We figured we could charter a boat and find a party location on the island. We rented a power boat on St. Thomas so we could take a look at a few places.”

“Did you go to the Soggy Dollar bar?” asked Debby.

“We sure did,” Don said. “It was our last stop. They have a great beach, lots of palm trees, and a small, really laid-back bar. They invented a drink there called ‘the Painkiller.’ It’s one of those sweet, tropical drinks where you forget there’s alcohol in it. The place is famous for it. We drank and played their ring game. My wife, Jenna, thought the place was a bit tacky, but I loved it. It’s a great spot.”

Debby showed Don the torn Wall Street Journal ad I’d ripped out of the real estate section weeks earlier. Debby grinned at me, and I grinned back.

“What are you smiling about?” Don said.

“It’s for sale!" she said.