On yet another book tour, I was supposed to fly from LA to San Francisco at around nine one night. Unfortunately, San Francisco was completely fogged in. I finally got to my hotel in San Fran at two in the morning.
I was picked up by an escort at six a.m. We did three morning-radio interviews and one cable TV appearance.
Finally, around eleven, I told the escort that I had to go back to the St. Regis and get some sleep. I still had two signings, big ones, in front of me that day.
Back at the hotel, groggy, a little grumpy, I checked my voice messages. At that time, I had a beach house on the Jersey Shore. A local Realtor had left a message. It was brief and concise and devastating.
“Mr. Patterson, your beach house is on fire!”
In that instant, I went from unable to keep my eyes open to wide awake!
As it turned out, the situation at my shore house couldn’t possibly have been worse. Tony Peyser was the one who visited what was left, because I didn’t really want to see the heartbreaking ruins myself. Only half of the house had burned down. Terrible for me, good for the insurance company. They looked at it as a big positive that half my house was still standing. They suggested that we play Let’s Make a Deal. So I sold my beloved house. Half of it, anyway. And I got half of a good price.