As we approach the front door, I layer my comments carefully, like a house of cards, one alluring fact on top of another. “There’s room for about thirty cars to valet park,” I say. Then I point toward the back. “Behind the house, we’ve got a pool, pool house with an apartment above it, and a small stable if you want horses. They say Reagan rode every day.”
Then I usher him inside. “It needs some updating—fresh paint and new appliances, but those things can be done in a week.” I point out the hardwood floors, a river rock fireplace, and an open-concept living room that leads to the kitchen. “Five bedrooms, all on this level. Plus a maid’s quarters.”
I trail him, letting his imagination take over. “Huge kitchen, which can easily accommodate a full catering staff,” I say as we pass through. “Hookups for a double washer and dryer through there.”
Out back, we stand on an enormous flagstone patio with incredible views of the canyon dropping below in the distance. “Few city lights out here, so the stars at night are magnificent.”
We spend an hour walking the property, and I feel his interest building, my own excitement growing. This is the centerpiece of my plan. Without it, I’ll have nothing to show for my time here other than a commission on the sale of a house that should have always been mine.
“I know you’ll be spending most of your time in Sacramento,” I say when we’re done and back in the car. “But you’ll need a place to get away. To recharge. All the most influential politicians have something like this, and as the saying goes, dress for the job you want, not the job you have.” At the light at the base of the canyon, I add my last layer of persuasion. “I think it’s doable. With what you got from the Canyon Drive sale, you won’t have to make up too much of the difference—three million maybe. My advice would be to think about it carefully. Run the numbers with your business manager, but don’t take too long. There are three different showings on the property this afternoon, and it’s going to sell fast. But my friend owes me a favor. She can make sure ours is the first offer on the table, and if we can make it all cash, that’ll be competitive enough to take it off the market.”
I let that sit while we drive back to the Beverly Hills office, where we’ve left Ron’s car. His left elbow rests on the center console, and I think about how easy it would be to reach across and invite something a little more intimate. An extra layer of scandal that could come out at the worst possible time. Sexual harassment of his real estate agent, right before the election.
I’ll be honest, I really considered it. Back in Pennsylvania, when I was researching the best entry point, I was tempted by how much damage I could do as his girlfriend. But no matter how many ways I tried to reconcile it in my mind, it felt like a bridge too far. The ghost of my mother would be too close, her voice whispering things I didn’t want to hear.
By the time we get back to the office, Ron is ready. “Draw up the paperwork,” he says. “I’ll call Steve and put him to work gathering the cash.”
I turn to him. “You sure?” I ask. “It’s a lot of money.” I hold up my hand and laugh. “I know I spent all morning talking you into it, and now here I am trying to talk you out of it,” I say. “But I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with. If it’s too big of a risk, we can go back to looking for another apartment building. Add to your portfolio and proceed with the status quo.”
It’s the perfect thing to say. “Risk is what makes life worth living,” he says. “Let’s put in an offer for full asking price, all cash.”
I give him a cautious look. “Will you be able to assemble it that fast?”
Ron looks out the window. “David and I set something up with the campaign that allows us to have an emergency reserve of cash.”
“You sure you want to risk that so close to the election?” I ask. “If it gets out…” I trail off, letting him imagine the fallout.