No Place for Holly Golightly

One night last week, I woke at 2 a.m. in a cold sweat. Here it was the middle of July, and I had forgotten to rent a summer house in the Hamptons!

 

Sorry, that is a lie. My actual summer rental plan, like every year, consists of continuing to pay the rent on my Brooklyn one-bedroom, a space legendary for its year-round Christmas light display and proximity to the air-conditioned Carroll Gardens library. No, the person who forgot to rent a house is my boss. Ever efficient, he responded to this situation by sending me to the potato fields to crank out a column and see what was available in his price range.

 

I felt bad for him. Hampton rentals are traditionally booked early spring, so you hate to think what remains. Then there's the delicate issue of money. Late summer is the priciest time to rent, and the boss wanted an August rental for $20,000. In most parts of the globe, that would rent the finest home in town—for a year. But in the Hamptons, it brings to mind that scene from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" when Holly Golightly mentions her budget to the jewelry salesman, and he charmingly suggests she might like to purchase a very nice silver toothpick.

 

But the situation wasn't as tragic as I imagined. Many vacationers are choosing to rent for a single month rather than the full season this year, and there are still more than 2,000 rentals available on the East End. Prudential Douglas Elliman Senior VP Lynn November agreed to show me a few, starting with a 3,200-square-foot, neo-traditional number in Westhampton Beach. The August to Labor Day price: $140,000—not including cable. On the typical Hamptons rental, you pay extra for everything from the phone bill to the gardener.

 

Still, this bright beachfront beauty was spotless, featured two dishwashers, something called a "pasta faucet" and enough fenestration to keep Windex in production for centuries. If, like many Americans, you fantasize about living inside the July 2008 Pottery Barn catalog, this is your dream house. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the place, beyond the fact that the same money could buy an entire beachfront property on Lake Erie.

 

Ms. November took pains to explain the value. Not only is a family month in the Hamptons a lot of fun, given the beaches and ice-cream stands and Elvis Costello concerts ("It's adult summer camp!"), it's cheaper than, say, a monthlong African safari. Plus (and this is important), it's close to the city, so the primary breadwinner can keep making money.

 

Our next stop was still more impressive, a 10,000-square-foot mansion with a pool and private beach, available in August for $150,000. The owner decided on a last-minute summer in Europe, said Ms. November, and is willing to rent "if the right person comes along."

 

It was hard to imagine who that might be. Napoleon sprang to mind. The exterior features a cherub fountain, stone lions at the door and enough bays and rotundas to fill an architecture textbook. The interior, with its pillars and marble floors, was done in a style that might be called Renaissance-Tuscan Upscale Italian Chain Restaurant. There was a chandelier in the powder room. This could be problematic, but Ms. November mentioned earlier that some renters redecorate a home for the season, right down to the curtains and rugs.

 

We looked at some more modestly priced properties. I discovered that, no matter the price, your Hamptons rental is guaranteed to include the following: an enormous hedge, a white-gravel driveway and a swimming pool (which may be the size of a bathtub). There will be a ceramic rooster in the kitchen.

 

A 1980s Quogue contemporary included all of the above, for $29,500. A full-size tennis court and pool were tucked into the backyard the way you see Shriners packed into a clown car. Dubbed "an everyday rental for an everyday family" by Ms. November, the inside offered a white-leather sofa, a jukebox featuring Tina Turner tunes and a collection of beer steins. It was disturbingly obvious—this was a house inhabited by actual human beings. And perhaps the very tan lady of the house knew this was a problem. If we rented the place, she promised, "all the tchotchkes go away!"

 

Corcoran agent Robert Kittine, a white-haired gent who squired me around in his Jeep, has several theories about why rentals languish. Appliances are a make-or-break feature, he says. For $45,000 a month, folks expect stainless steel Viking everything. And they don't want grandma's hand-me-down furniture: even cheap Ikea is better.

 

A rustic, $25,000 four-bedroom in Sagaponack had the right appliances, but the huge yard was a wonderland of random vehicles, a Dumpster, a fire pit and half a dozen sculptures that I privately christened with special names such as "Battling Toasters" and "Stonehenge With Buddha Head." Mr. Kittine dryly observed that homes fare better when potential renters don't have to envision the place cleaned up.

 

In Sag Harbor Village, Mr. Kittine offered a truly charming option—a three-bedroom, 19th-century clapboard with plank floors, hyper-twee gardens and an adorably tiny pool. The owner says it's available because she just evicted the last renter, a very bad man who stiffed the pool boy and let his dogs scuff the floors. Alas, it's priced at $25,000.

 

So what can you get for less than $20,000? Mr. Kittine showed me a 1,600-square-foot ranch house in Sag Harbor. It's clean, airy, tchotchke-free and features the obligatory backyard deck/pool combo. But when I tell my boss, he's not impressed. "A ranch house?" he wrinkles his nose. "I want character."

 

Perhaps he should explore some options further afield, like Binghamton. And for me? Mr. Kittine says if I look in the local paper, I could probably find a $5,000 apartment over a garage. It's tempting, but I've got a library fine to pay.