An offer we can't refuse

If my mother were a real estate agent, she would be Maria Canard. I knew it the minute I met her last Monday morning. In her 60s, refined, with jet-black hair and dressed to the nines, Maria is what I expect of a real-estate agent--from the 1960s. Her neatly tied back face, however, gives her away as a woman of the aughts.

While browsing real-estate ads last week, which takes up about 23.8 percent of an average day, Luis came across a reasonably priced industrial building in the area now called Gowanus. Real-estate agents try to invent catchy new names for neighborhoods that have become increasingly ridiculous. Floating around in the city's alphabet soup with TriBeCa, SoHo, NoLIta, and DUMBO are the ultragay BoCoCa (Boerum Hill, Cobble Hill, Carroll Gardens) and the unhealthy-sounding CoWaDi (Columbia Waterfront District). Gowanus is logical because the neighborhood sits on the Gowanus Canal. Until recently no one felt the need to name it because it was a largely commercial area. Combine Gowanus with a neighbor's name and you might get GoSlo (Gowanus, Park Slope), BoAnus (Boerum Hill, Gowanus), or CaGo (Carroll Gardens, Gowanus), the last of which would incite the area's Hispanic residents.

Maria met us at the three-story factory building at 9:00 a.m. Listed at 4,000 sq ft, it was recently reduced by $100,000, making it eminently affordable for us, especially in an area that could potentially be The Next Hot Thing. A Whole Foods market is coming this year, just 4 blocks away. Once it does, there's no doubt in my mind the neighborhood will change dramatically. Right now the area is too gritty and foreboding for Park Slope stroller culture and not gritty and foreboding enough for Billyburg hipster doofuses.

The facade is nothing special. Aluminum siding covers two-thirds of it, and the remaining third is exposed painted brick. Teh brick starts at the ground and goes to the second floor underneath the siding, with clapboard framing the top floor. The ground floor has a roll-up door leading to a 2,000-sq-ft box with about 11-ft ceilings. The second and third floors are ugly 750-sq-ft offices that could easily be ripped out and restored to their original industrial selves. Bricked-up flues hint at working fireplaces, and the rear setback has potential for building out, terraced roof decks, and skylights. In real-estate parlance, "It has potential."

When we and our neighbors and swallowed the castor oil fed us by Brooklyn's political machinery, some of us felt our medicine would go down better if we could stay together in one place. We envisioned a larger, raw industrial space developed of our own creation. Living in an open-plan loft that is emblematically urban and earthy is what we all want--it's why we bought our current digs in the first place. What the politicos have failed to consider--and surely they just don't give a rat's ass--is that we value community and a common vision far more than they do. But I'm a big believer in what goes around comes around, be it good or bad.

"I will tell you, there's an accepted offer on this building," Maria said, "but I don't think the guy's gonna get his financing." We'd heard this line before, from the dozens of other real estate agents we've dealt with over the past year. We could develop a reality show based on our experience called The Surreal Estate Life. An accepted offer means nothing until a letter of commitment is signed and the property is taken off the market.

Luis and I decided to look at the building alone to see whether we could buy and develop it ourselves. Our original group of seven has gradually dwindled to four, as people's goals or life circumstances have changed. One couple had a baby, which changed their lives considerably, and our 30-year-old single lawyer friend wants to quit his job, pay off all his law school loans, and travel around the world for a year.

As we looked around the building, excited by the development potential, we called Eric and Sheri to see if they could come look at it. Ten minutes later they arrived, and 20 minutes after that the four of us realized that this could be The Building.

We looked for Maria, who'd gone outside to smoke. "This building used to be attached to the one next door," she told us, puffing away. "The owner just got his residential zoning variance approved, so you shouldn't have trouble getting this rezoned." We'd heard this before, too. Opinions about zoning and rezoning in New York City appear to be as subjective as those about the best bagel or the best pizza. In the end, it appears the formula of obtaining a variance is simple: the amount of grease applied to the city's palm is directly proportional to the probability and speed of obtaining a variance. Simple math.

In later research I found that the owner did indeed get his variance in under 6 months. In a manufacturing district that's a big deal. The city offers incentives to small businesses to remain in light manufacturing buildings, but judging from the high number of "for rent" and "for sale" signs displayed on buildings around Gowanus, no one's interested. Once the use of a building is changed to residential in a manufacturing district, the precedent is set and the process becomes easier for others to follow suit. I was a little discouraged to find out in my research that the variance may have cost the owner next door $150,000.

"This neighborhood used to be run by people of a certain type," Maria whispered, even though we were alone in the building. "See that building over there?" She pointed out the window to a dark gray brick building with aqueduct arches and a Bensonhurst feel. "The brass lion door knocker was a gift from James Caan." She gestured to the right. "And then there's Monte's."

Monte's is a former Sinatra hangout and in its heyday was one of Brooklyn's finest Italian restaurants. "Since 1906" reads its awning. Situated steps from the Carroll Street Bridge overlooking the Gowanus Canal, it was the perfect site for "people of a certain type" to cast others' feet in cement before sending them for a permanent swim.

"Those people," Maria continued in a whisper, "wanted certain things, and that's how these buildings became factories. Strings were pulled, and they got what they wanted." God, she's had good plastic surgery, I thought. "Now the residents want this block to go back to being homes."

I'm sure she's right, as long as the residents don't mind having a gay and a straight interracial couple as neighbors. I went to high school with Gambinos, Galantes, and Colombos. Nice guys--just don't cross them.

Excited by the prospect, we decided to come back Thursday with Kim, Eric and Sheri's architect, to look at the property and estimate conversion costs. Kim liked the space and thought it was a good deal and very doable for our purposes.

That afternoon Maria left me a voice message: "Kieran, it's urgent that you call me if you're still interested in the property. I have two other offers that I have to present to the seller by the end of the day." Ah, the shell game. Assuming Maria is ethical, I'd have no reason to believe she was lying. However, she could not legally disclose details of the offers, and the seller may or may not have need to have the offers by the end of the day, but we'd never know. I suspect she thought we were serious, since we'd brought our architect, and was acting in our interest. Since the real estate agent is acting in the seller's best interest, it's to her benefit to get a good buyer. Luis often plays Dolly Levi, trying to successfully pair off landlords and tenants.

When I called back Maria, she reiterated the urgency of submitting an offer. "It doesn't mean anything," she said. "It's not legally binding, and nothing is cemented until there's a contract, but I don't want you to get knocked out of the box." I knew all of this, but this new urgency made me wonder whether we were, in fact, ready for such a big step. "Do one thing every day that scares you," a sign on my bulletin board reads. We've never bought a commercial building before, and we have questions about change of use and financing that need to be answered by professionals. We didn't even have a real estate attorney we like. But if we didn't secure our place at the table, we might lose the building, as we've done many times in the past.

Phone calls and e-mails flew back and forth among the four of us all day long. Should we? Shouldn't we? How much should we offer?

At 5:00 I called Maria, sweating and a little nervous. "Well," I said, "I think we're making an all-cash offer for the asking price. I think that's what we're doing."

"OK," Maria said. "I need you to be very clear about what the offer is and who is making it," she said.

My temples were pulsing. I knew this was just an offer, but it was still nerve-racking. What if we do? I asked myself. What if we don't?

The latter question was all I needed to get my resolve. "Eric, Sheri, Luis, and I are offering all cash at the asking price."

"Excellent," Maria said. "I think that will put you at the top. I'll present these offers to the seller and let you know."

The hours seemed slow until Maria's call a few hours later. "I got in touch with the seller, and he's going to review them. I'll talk to you in the morning."

Eric, Sheri, Luis, and I talked and talked about this possibility, excited and maybe somewhere in the back of our minds wondering if this were the right thing to do. It all came back to one simple fact: It doesn't mean anything until the contract is signed.

I'd just gotten up Friday morning when my cell phone rang. "Kieran, it's Maria Canard." I was barely awake and sounded like Harvey Fierstein.

"Congratulations! Your offer has been accepted."

Yikes!