When we were young we could do anything and we did.
Nineteen eighty-six was an outstanding year for me. I won the heart of an angel, a genius goddess and the best trader I’d ever met and I made my first fuck you money in crude.
We decided to rent a beach house in Bay Head for the summer, sort a trial run at cohabitation, which was fantastic from Friday to Sunday but the commute was brutal. Every work day Nancy and I would drive 2 hours up the Parkway, me going 100 miles an hour (seriously) and she freaking out. I realized that sooner or later I'd kill us both or lose my license or she'd leave me so, I suggested we check out some houses nearer Manhattan and get another place at the beach next year. This was well received.
We looked in Short Hills, Ridgewood, and Hoboken but we settled on a big old rambling six-bedroom house on Upper Mountain Ave in Montclair. I have no clue what we were thinking renting an old mansion, but we had the cash, and we planned on throwing some big parties. We were psyched about playing Gomez and Morticia and the house had dumbwaiters, elegant staircases, secret doors, lovely gardens; adventure!
The couple who were renting it were moving to Philly. Everything was set. I hired a mover and on a September Saturday morning we took off from Bay Head never to return; our last trek up the Garden State Parkway. For nearly a year I'd raced every Vette, Ferrari, and Mercedes on the Jersey coast to the Holland tunnel at dawn and it felt liberating to be leading a mover at 55 miles per hour to the tony environs of Montclair.
When we got there, Stanley and Eileen Jernow the landlords, welcomed us. The movers unpacked and hauled furniture upstairs, brought boxes of plates, glasses and pots and pans to the kitchen, surfboards to the garage, TVs, electronics, records and clothes disappeared into the cavernous old gothic estate. You never know how much stuff you have until you move.
Stanley took me through the house showing me quirky window latches and how to kick the furnace over if it stalls, water mains, circuit breakers all the guy stuff. Then he said, "let's go upstairs and sign the lease." His wife was in the dining room seated at the table and she smiled as we entered. Beautiful sunlight was pouring in through the windows. Nancy was giddy as if we were about to embark on an ocean liner to unknown lands or buckling our seat belts about to fly to an exotic foreign country.
Stanley was a lawyer. He shuffled through a file and took out the lease and slid it across the gleaming mahogany table. "This is a standard lease," he said, " but you'll need to initial some conditions on the rider.”
I turned to the back of the lease and there were three pages of legalese and ridiculous things like a ten% penalty if rent was three days late, grounds keeping inspections, the heated pool had to stay open all winter, mandatory window washing, and on and on. I looked at Eileen Jernow, “Are you crazy?” And then to him, "Why didn't you say this before we moved in? Before we gave up our house in Bay Head? We' re totally stuck. It's Saturday. All our gear is in this house!"
"Yeah, I know." He smiled casually. "But you can handle it. We love this place, and we need to be sure you'll take care of it."
I looked away for a minute, furious. "What the hell do you expect us to do?" I stared at him. “Well?” Then he went too far. "I suppose... you can decide not to rent it," as if he knew he had me. Nancy was scowling with contempt.
I shook my head thinking: If I sign this lease, I will be miserable for as long as I have to deal with this jerk. So, I stood up and said, “Give us a minute.”
“Sure, take your time.”
We stepped outside and walked under the trees in the front yard. The street was beautiful. The day was glorious. I said, "It's not worth it. Let's go." Nancy was uncertain. It was going to be a huge loss. If we left, it was no more Gomez and Morticia. No Gatsby parties. and frankly nowhere to go.
“I really like this house. Is it that bad?” I said, “This guy’s an asshole. He’s just getting started.” A convertible top down drove by with Bon Jovi playing Livin on a Prayer, “Take my hand, we'll make it, I swear, whoa...” I laughed. She shrugged and grinned. “OK, let’s go.”
We walked back inside and spoke quietly to the movers. I said pack it all up and take it to storage. I gave them all big tips. I ripped up his lease and left it in a tidy pile on the dining room table and told the movers to be quick and quiet. The Jernows didn't realize we were leaving until I'd taken our suitcases and clothes down to the cars and we were getting in to leave.
"Where are you going!? said Eileen. "Don't go! Stanley gets a little carried away sometimes, but we can work this out!" Stanley came out looking bewildered. Eileen snapped at him. "Get inside, you idiot!" But he just stood there looking at us.
"I'm going to take you upon your offer, Mr. Jernow." I said. "I'm not going to rent your house. Good luck, Pal." As I pulled out of the driveway, my plan was a hotel in midtown and dinner at Le Cote Basque. Then start over. Nancy was totally bummed, so was I.
About thirty minutes down the parkway just before the turnoff going east to Manhattan, I saw the sign for 78 west to Short Hills. "Let's take another look at Short Hills,” I said. It was still summer and well before sundown, so we turned off and went west. There was a real estate office on Main Street in Millburn and there in the front window was an elderly lady doing paperwork wearing cat-eye glasses. Before long we were telling our tale of abuse by the wicked Stan Jernow.
She made fresh coffee and gave us homemade seven-layer cookies and wanted to know everything about us; our jobs, our plans. "I have the perfect house for you,” she said calmly, “and you kids are just perfect for it. It’s a lovely four-bedroom center hall colonial on a full acre that just came on this afternoon.” We drove together in her car to see it and rented it on the spot at a quarter of the rent in Montclair. She gave us the keys and that night we had pizza on paper plates and slept on the floor.
On Monday we drove from Millburn to Hoboken in 35 minutes at a very chill 70 MPH and including the boat to The Trade Center, the commute was an hour door to door. The following May we were married on the back lawn. I never saw Stan Jernow again but if I had, I would have thanked him.
Ty sir. Life writes them for me. I just remember them.
You have the best stories!