Broken Hearts On Boulevard Unirii novel Chapter 36

After spending a few more days in Bucharest, I decided it was time to go home. I had called home to find out if everything was okay. Sara told me that my father was not feeling so well and was taken to hospital for tests, but there was nothing to worry about.

I took a taxi to the airport. While the taxi was driving slowly down the streets, I noticed a sign in a display window offering apartments for sale. It was on Boulevard Decebal next to Alba Iulia square, in the heart of Bucharest.

"Stop here please," I told the driver."Turn off the engine and wait for me. I'll be right back."

I went into the real estate office, and asked, "Is there anything for sale on this street?"

"There is a large apartment in this building directly above us that is for sale. It's on the fifth and last floor and has five rooms, approximately one hundred and thirty square meters with a balcony and a fantastic front view," a female agent told me.

"How much are they asking for the apartment," I inquired.

"The asking price is thirty-five thousand dollars, but it is negotiable," was the answer.

"May I see the apartment now?" I asked.

We walked out, took the elevator to the fifth floor and went to the third apartment. After the third ring, we heard footsteps and a woman opened the door. The two women spoke to each other in Romanian of which I understood not one word. At first it seemed they had a slight argument, but after a few minutes, all was settled.

The agent turned to me and said, "Let's first see the apartment."

Before entering the apartment, I studied the building and noticed that, although it was built only ten years ago, it was extremely neglected. The walls and ceiling were waterlogged from unrepaired leaks, and thus there was a terrible smell of mold throughout the building. The hallway was dark and dingy.

I entered the apartment and began walking through the rooms. The first thing I noticed was that the design and the layout were terrible. The kitchen was dark, small and closed in, with one tiny window, and the living room had two entry doors from the hallway. I looked around trying to imagine how to re-design the apartment and make a large airy living room and a modern Italian kitchen.

I tried to explain to the landlady that due to its condition, I was not really interested in the apartment. I nevertheless asked the agent once again how much she wants for the apartment.

"She wants forty thousand dollars," she answered.

"A few minutes ago it was thirty-five thousand dollars and it is negotiable, and now it suddenly grew to forty thousand dollars," I remarked.

We went back to her office, and on a form she wrote all the details from my passport along with the price and had me sign it. She gave me a copy. I gave her five hundred dollars that I had in my pocket as a guarantee, and I gave her the phone number of my faithful attorney Giorgina. I told her to wait a day or two before contacting her, so that it would give me chance to forward on all the details to her when I got back to Italy.

I had just bought my third apartment in Bucharest. I remembered what Angelo and Fabrizio told me about taking over the entire city. I smiled to myself.

In early March 2001, we met again. This time it was only Claudio, Elia and I; as in the past, we met in the Caffé dei Costanti. We sat in the front and ordered coffee. The lovely waitress who had served us at our previous meeting had been replaced by a dark-skinned waiter who didn't know us. He constantly came back to the table asking if everything was alright, presumably implying that we should order something other than just coffee.

"If we want anything we'll call you," I said.

"Okay, okay. I was just trying to be helpful," the waiter said, sounding a bit insulted.

"So what is on the agenda?" Elia asked. "I heard that we're organizing a trip to Bulgaria."

"Yes to Bulgaria, but only to Varna," I answered.