IRONIC KARMA

Written By: Michael Richman

In the Spring, 2013, I received a call from a long time legal client Donna Z retaining me to represent her in connection with the sale of her coop apartment, and the purchase of a larger unit in the building where she currently lived. One broker would be handling both transactions. The contract called for simultaneous closings on August 1, 2013. Donna’s buyer was already known to the coop board since she resided within the building and would likely be welcomed. Rosemarie P submitted her application for approval timely, as did my client.
In 1977, my wife Michele and I bought a condominium on Dune Road in Westhampton Beach directly on the ocean. My work schedule afforded me the pleasure of only working in my law office 10 total days during July-August each summer. Over the years I developed a hobby walking along the ocean from jetty to jetty picking up sea glass. With a collection of over 30,000 pieces, I was always looking for the near impossible red beach glass, but did indeed find over 100 pieces in navy blue.
On Wednesday July 18, 2013, I walked east from the 600 block on Dune Road several jetties to the 400 block picking up various treats of glass offered by the ocean. On my way back toward my unit, and after collecting 10 pieces, while only wearing a bathing suit, I saw a woman sitting in a beach chair head phones in her ears. She and I were the only two people between the quarter mile separating the jetties.
Near her, I bent down to pick up a piece of blue sea glass. She called to me asking what I had located. I walked toward her extending my hand showing my horde of sea glass. She asked if she could hold the blue piece which I passed to her telling her to keep it. I then inquired as to how she came to this beach and she said she was visiting a friend who owned a house at 525 Dune Road and she was AWOL from work. I then asked where she lived in the real world. She responded by identifying a specific building in Long Island City, New York. I then told her I was representing a client selling an apartment in that coop. She then told me she was in the process of selling her apartment and buying another unit in the same building. I then inquired, “Are you Rosemarie P?” And she just about jumped four feet high screeching, “You must be Donna Z’s attorney .”
I introduced myself and asked if she wanted to take a swim. She declined claiming to be afraid of the ocean. I departed telling her that I would see her at the closing in a few weeks.
I walked east on the beach, mumbling to myself. I guessed the odds at infinity of this encounter ever occurring. I immediately emailed my client advising her what had just happened. She dramatically responded in total disbelief.
At the scheduled simultaneous closings, I arrived earlier than most of the dozen or so attendees anxious to see Rosemarie in business attire. As she entered the closing room, I stood up to great her with a hug to the chagrin of her attorney. Immediately, she placed the blue beach glass I had given her on the conference table and began her novel soliloquy of the ironic karma reached between us on the dunes of Westhampton Beach.