Caveat emptor

Went to pizza again on Saturday. It's turning into a regular event, and a fascinating one, since "S" and "D" bring along a variety of different people every week.

This time it was a couple, John the Long Island Italian, and Maria, his Russian wife. Now Manhattanites in their 50's, they've bought a house in a village up on the plateau into which to someday retire.

And it was fun. John seems a smart guy, in the software business somehow, savvy, and very very New York, which was refreshing. Maria is a Buddhist, which brought her to the region to begin with (there's a big Buddhist center up in the hills near here). She went on and on about her high-end kitchen at home, and how they were going to do up the kitchen in their new home when they finally get to that stage.

Apparently they've known "S" and "D" for some time now, more than a year. The four spent new Year's together, and seem to be pretty good friends, though just how good I found it hard to gauge.

We talked for hours and it was a fun conversation, a fun night. Until the end. Just before it came time to go, as we were all gathering our things together, I asked John, "what kind of house did you buy?"

"It's an old presbytere with a chapel attached," he said.

"You bought a church?"

"Yes," he said, "it's very old. A Canadian church owned it, and rehabbed it meticulously, but their congregation kept shrinking to the point where they had to sell it."

I turned to "S". "You told me," I said, "that churches in France were not for sale!"

She gave John a stern look. "I was hoping you wouldn't tell him about that," she said to him. "I've been kicking "D"'s leg under the table all night whenever he got close to mentioning it." Then she turned to me. "Not in your budget," she said.

"But you told me it was impossible!" I said.

At this point we had all stood up and were in the process of leaving. It didn't quite sink in what had just happenned until I was on the way home. And suddenly I felt very manipulated. Why, after all, should it be "S"'s aim to conceal from me that what I had asked her for, what I had told her I wanted, was possible? If it's out of my budget, that's fine. But if she simply doesn't have anything like it on her books and is unwilling to find it, is it good policy to lie to us and tell us it's simply not possible?

I was sort of angry when I got home, and didn't sleep well.

And then yesterday, the funniest thing happenned. We'd heard that a nearby town on the plateau had a good Sunday market, and tiring of Lodeve's offerings in that direction, we decided to go up to le Caylar to check it out. And there, at the market, we ran into John and Maria.

We chatted. "Wow," John said, ""S" gave us an earful on the way home for telling you about our house."

"Why should it be her job to conceal from us what's possible?" I asked.

We talked on, and after a very short time, they invited us around to their church. It was in a village not far away.

And it was magnificent. The chapel itself, a cavernous vaulted room, was full of pews, and glowed with amazing stained glass. All new, with abstract flame patterns, vivid colors, genuine glory. The stones were in perfect condition and the roof, slated with slabs of rock like I've never seen before, was very impressive. The Canadian church, John explained, was meticulous about the renovation. No expense had been spared. Obviously. What amazing craftmanship.

Then we toured the presbytere, which is the residence attached to the chapel. It left a lot to be desired, but was under construction, and held a lot of promise. The only habitable part of it was the single bedroom in which John and Maria lived when in town. A hotplate and a microwave were the only precursors to the amazing kitchen on which she was planning. There were a bunch of rooms all undone, and a lot of plans made. A good start. We talked a lot, and it was very fun conversation. "S", it turns out, had never been to visit them up here. They seemed to be unsure how loyal to be to "S" in conversation, but after a while they loosened up a bit, and told us that of course everything is possible (which we of course already knew). John even told me at one point, "She's a real estate agent." The implication was obvious. And what a beautiful church they had!

But eventually it came time to go. We loaded Kepler into the car, and prepared to leave. And before saying goodbye to them, we made plans for Thursday with Maria to visit the Buddhist center. Why not? They were very cool, and we like temples.

Sorry this is a long story, but it does get somewhere. I think.

Because that was yesterday, Sunday. And today I popped by "S"'s house to check my mail. After all, we have no phone in our current house, and she has wireless DSL.

She was there, and just leaving, but we stopped to chat for a second. "So it is possible to buy a church after all," I said.

"Yes," she replied, "but I don't know where or how. And besides," she added, ""J" was just there this morning cleaning it. And she said it was horrible. Spooky, creepy, small rooms, no light... just terrible."

Now, "S" didn't yet know that I had seen the place.

"Really?" I said. "What's there to clean? They only have the one room they live in."

"That's what she cleaned," "S" told me. "Horrible."

So I didn't tell "S" that I had in fact been to see John and Maria's church. To do so would be to call her a liar to her face, because I of course knew that there was little likelihood "J" had been up there cleaning. The one room they inhabit up there was meticulously spotless, and the rest was a construction site. "S" seems to have been lying, trying to cover her ass somehow, but in fact making it worse.

So that's where this story was going. I now possibly know a little bit more about "S". She's perhaps a little more manipulative than I had thought, and willing to lie to me for her convenience, and willing to let me believe my goals were unachievable in order to sell me something else.

I'm not burning any bridges. I still like "S" and "D", alot. I'll stay friendly, I'll look at houses she shows me, and I'll take advantage of her wealth of local knowledge. But I'll be careful. Because I don't ultimately want to buy the house she wants to sell, I want to buy the house I want to buy. After all, that's why we're moving to France. Why the hell not?