Benzair's Cursed Apartment in Manhattan

I wrote an article last year about the complications of selling my New York City apartment. To recap, my first buyer dropped dead at the closing. The second, with contract in hand, bolted down 47 flights of stairs, never to be heard from again. Why? My building is the one New York Yankee pitcher Cory Lidle flew an airplane into, tragically crashing it five floors below my apartment—where my buyer was signing our contract.

My real estate broker felt uneasy after these two disasters, and while my penthouse was pristine, beautifully furnished, and had panoramic views overlooking the East River, she felt two tragedies in so short a time were a bad omen. She insisted the apartment’s “karma” was questionable at best. I countered, “But not so bad that you will pass up listing it?” “Truthfully Mrs. Boesky, I cannot wait to get rid of this apartment for both of us,” was her comment.

We agreed on that point. A sale that included “title passing” would be welcome news! A few months later another prospect surfaced, only this time, because of the plane incident, my building insisted all visitors be accompanied by an owner. That meant I had to drive from Westchester each time the interested couple brought consultants or wanted to see the space.

My broker called to say my potential buyers preferred anonymity, something I understood given my past history. The husband came alone for the early meetings. He was charming, attractive, in his 50s, and extremely chatty while his crew took measurements and photos. He mentioned this was their first home in New York, and that his wife was a workaholic who traveled constantly. He was curious about the neighborhood, and asked for my recommendations of places to go, and things to do and see.

When my broker summoned me a fourth time, I refused. “No more trips to Manhattan until they make an offer,” I said, digging in my heels. “Oh, this time it’s to meet the wife,” said my broker. “She makes the decisions and she wants to explore the possibility of purchasing some furnishings.” Ugh, back on the road again!

Minutes after I arrived, a stunning woman with an engaging smile rang my doorbell. She took a full tour, including closets, and was very complimentary. “I love what you’ve done here. Your color sense and style sensibility is much like mine.” She spoke of the vibrancy of New York City and how she enjoyed visiting. She took an interest in my family photos too, and, seeing pictures of my children, she commented that theirs were in school elsewhere so would not be living in the apartment.

“The feng shui is not right here and is very important to me, so I will be changing the location of the entry doors,” she said. I wondered, could feng shui account for my apartment’s bad luck? She made a list of items she wanted, mostly 18th-century antiques, and asked for prices. We rode down the elevator together, and before bidding me farewell, she mentioned it was nice meeting me and felt we shared similar family values.

Driving home, I thought how much I liked her and hoped this couple would ultimately make the purchase. A few days later, they made an acceptable offer, but passed on my expensive antique furniture. “Reproductions will suffice,” she said. Our closing went quickly and easily, and while unpacking my belongings for the third and final time in Westchester, I remember thinking how silly my broker was for believing my apartment was jinxed.

One year later, newspaper headlines proved her right after all, and the sale has left me feeling sad ever since. My buyer? Benazir Bhutto.

Source: The Wag Megazine

See the Manhattan Apartment location & its price here