SPEAKING OUT : Buyer’s Parade of Advisers Spoils the Sale

Five and a half years after we bought our house on Mar Vista Hill, my husband, Bill, and I decided to sell. We now had two young children and needed more space. Our sign went up and three weeks later we had an offer from a “serious” and “qualified” buyer.

After a tense weekend of negotiations, we and the buyer had arrived at a price we both could live with. The house went into escrow and our agent, Leah, scheduled the physical inspection for the following Tuesday.

My first hint of what was to come occurred when a Ford Explorer pulled into our driveway. Two thirtysomething women and a child climbed out. The woman with the toddler clinging to her leg had to be the buyer, Kelly. But who was the other woman in black lycra shorts and a jungle print shirt?

“So what do you think, Diane?” I heard Kelly ask her friend.

“You definitely want to pull out the porch. Utilize this wasted space . . . ,” said Diane, waving her arms around. The pseudo-architect.

Leah had told us just she and the inspector would come. Obviously, the plan had changed.

A truck pulled up a few minutes later. A tall man with a clipboard hopped out and retrieved a ladder from the back. The inspector.

He knocked on the door and asked: “Is Leah here yet?”

“No . . . but I’d like to wait until she comes to start.” I needed an ally.

“I’ll be in my truck,” he said.

I caught a glimpse of Kelly. We exchanged nervous smiles before I shut the door. I decided Leah could let everyone in when she arrived. Meanwhile, I’d hide in my office.

On my way, I glanced out the living room window and saw my mother creeping along the street in her car.

I’d signed her up to take care of the kids while Bill and I looked for a house in New Mexico. She wanted to pick up her instructions and learn how to operate the burglar alarm. Now I had to open the door.

Earlier in the week I had wanted to befriend Kelly and tell her more about our house. I thought of my home and neighborhood as good friends and I wanted to leave them in loving hands.

I was about to approach Kelly when she and Diane brushed past me with barely a nod. “This will be Max’s room and this wall we’ll push out . . . .”

Obviously, this was not the time.

When I turned toward the door I saw Leah with the inspector.

I found my mother and led her back into the living room. Kelly appeared with her agent, Jeffrey.

“OK, mom, this is our code,” I said, placing a piece of paper with the code in her hand. “First, all the doors have to be shut.” I checked the two other outside doors, saw Diane outside talking with the inspector and came back. “Go ahead.”

My mother crept closer to the alarm box. She peeked at the piece of paper and then over her shoulder at Kelly and Jeffrey. She touched the numbers gingerly.

“Kelly, I had an idea for the patio,” Diane said returning, leaving the back door open.

The alarm buzzed.

“Let’s just go back into the office, mom,” I suggested. “We’ll practice again before you leave.”

We met Bill on the way out of his office. “I’m leaving,” he said.

“Wait for me. I’m almost finished with my mother,” I said.

Back in the kitchen we found an older woman on my phone. She reeked of Giorgio.

She cupped her hand over the phone. “Jeffrey said I could use the phone. I had to leave my office and . . . .”

Whoever Mrs. Giorgio was, I wanted her to get off of my phone but reminded myself how happy I was to have my house sold. So I smiled and made a mental note to disinfect the phone.

My mother peeked into the living room. “There is a man in there with a video camera! This is like a cocktail party.”

“With no booze,” I said. “And no invitations.”

I went to investigate. My home, my possessions, my dirty laundry had become public property. Now seven strangers roamed through my tiny ‘40s tract house.

“Why do you want this place?” The video technician asked Kelly. “Your condo is so much nicer.”

I knew I’d better leave soon, before I made a scene. On my way out, Leah intercepted me.

“Everything OK?” I asked.

“Just a few little things. Can you take a few minutes to fill out the disclosure form?”

In the security of our car, Bill and I decided that, yes, we should be honest and disclose that the cement slab in the family room did leak but it was during the heaviest rains in 100 years.

A dark-haired woman dressed in a Madonna midriff and large hoop earrings rapped on the window. “Is Kelly still here?” she asked, then walked inside.

“That makes eight,” I said and picked up the disclosure form.

We left for an hour and when we returned only three enemy cars lined our driveway. We found Leah and Jeffrey in the den. Jeffrey had stretched out on our sofa, our portable phone to his ear. We retreated to the office.

Twenty minutes later, hoping they’d all left, I went back into the house. I found Jeffrey, Kelly and Leah at the dining room table going over the disclosure form.

I noticed that Kelly’s shoulders were rigid. Her eyes darted away from me to Leah and to Jeffrey.

Later, as I began to set the dinner table, I’d almost forgotten about the mayhem of the day, until I stumbled over an unfamiliar purse. I picked it up by the long shoulder strap. One whiff of the strong perfume gave me a clue. Mrs. Giorgio.

I dropped it off at Leah’s, happy to have all evidence of the invasion out of my sight.

Forty-eight hours later, Bill and I had just built a fire and started to unwind in our Santa Fe hotel room when the phone rang--our seven-year-old, Justin. Grandma had set off the burglar alarm. I calmed him down and hung up. The phone rang again.

“I have some bad news,” Leah said. “Kelly pulled out of the deal. Some things about the inspection scared her.”

“Now what?” I asked.

“Can I show the house tomorrow? I’ve got three brokers who want to bring by their clients. . . .”

Oh, well. Maybe I’ll try to get a copy of the inspection tape and win some money from America’s Funniest Home Videos.