Bond Girl (21 page)

“Fuck no!” Reese burst into hysterics. “Chick's going to shred you like a chicken, and I don't want to be anywhere near you when that happens. But, just remember, we've all been there. Just relax, refocus, and get back to work.”

Easy for him to say.

Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon was hectic and I think Chick was too tired to have a meaningful conversation with me. When most of the group went to the bar for post FOMC cocktails, I skulked down to the lobby, uninterested in anything except going to bed. Surprisingly, Will fell into step with me as I hurried to the exit. He grabbed my arm just before I entered a revolving door.

“Not a good day for you, huh, Alex?” He leaned in close and whispered, “Don't worry about it. Chick will fix it. I promise.”

“Screw you,” I barked. “It's your fault.”

“My fault?” he said, surprised. “How do you figure that?”

“You distracted me, and because of you, I was checking my horoscope instead of paying attention to the market. What happened to me today is a perfect example of why some people think that a woman can't be president.”

He looked at me like I had just sprouted five heads. “You've lost it. It's official.”

“No, I haven't! You know exactly what I'm talking about. The people who think that women are too emotional and therefore a woman can't be trusted to have her hand on the button. You know, in case one day her husband pisses her off and she responds by blowing up the universe. I did that today. I let my emotions completely distract me, and I blew up my universe.”

“You were thinking about me? Well, I guess I'm flattered.”

Okay no, that wasn't my point. “Don't flatter yourself. I was thinking about how you never answer my calls on weekends, and how I have no idea what we're doing from one day to the next. Or if there's even a ‘we'—um, I mean ‘us.' I was thinking about how much of an idiot you are.” I ended our conversation when Cruella stepped off the escalator and headed our way. I was hoping she wouldn't notice me. Just in case my day hadn't sucked enough, she did.

“Alex!” she chirped shrilly. “Nice job today. Really. You know, next time some poor girl's résumé comes in front of management, they'll consider hiring her, and then someone will remember you, and the mess you made today. And even if that girl is bright, talented, and motivated, it won't matter, because they'll take her résumé and throw it in the trash. Instead they'll hire some guy from a no-name school from nowhere, who probably doesn't know his ass from his elbow, but will have enough common sense to not read tarot cards on the desk in the middle of the day. Congratulations on killing the futures of innumerable women on Wall Street. Well done.”

Will was pretending to check his BlackBerry and said nothing in my defense. Nice. With a sniff of her nose and a hitch of her briefcase, Cruella stomped past us through the revolving doors and into the backseat of her waiting town car. Apparently she was in a rush—probably on her way to steal toys from orphans.

“Don't let her get to you. She's a bitch.” Will put his hand on the small of my back in a futile attempt to make me feel better. It didn't. As we exited the building, I wondered if the market for hot dog carts on Seventh Avenue was saturated. I was pretty sure that's where I was headed.

I
apologized to the trader at the end of the week, telling him how sorry I was and how stupid I was and how I would never be so ill-prepared on the desk again. He asked me if I had learned something from it, and he thanked me for being Girlie enough to admit my mistake and beg forgiveness. All things considered, it could have been much worse. Reese was right. I was a member of the team, and as such, most things would be forgiven once the person you pissed off berated you and made you feel like the biggest idiot on earth. In this case, it was hard to argue that I didn't deserve it. Quite frankly, sometimes you just need to get your ass kicked.

After my disastrous performance on FOMC day, it took me a month before I felt comfortable answering phones again, and six weeks before Reese stopped yelling “Fore!” as he pretended to swing a golf club every time I walked by. Slowly though, the humiliation faded, a tenuous confidence returned, and I was able to refocus on my career.

People had started to chatter about problems in the markets, low rumblings about some of the structured products that Chick told me most people didn't understand. After he had pointed out the really smart guys who traded them on my first day, I didn't think much about them. I was way too busy learning my own bizarre products to worry about what other people were doing. Now it seemed that understanding what they did for a living was going to become more important. We had a sense of it, although none of us knew then what we know now. In fact, the markets going crazy the day of the FOMC debacle was, in retrospect, an early sign of trouble.

Indian summer ended and the tables at the bars outside were packed up and moved inside for winter, and so did we. You could see the first signs of extreme stress start to manifest on the faces of a few traders across the floor, but we didn't worry too much about it. Whatever happened in other areas of the floor didn't concern us too much. The end of the year was looming, only a few months away. Since we were paid at the end of the year based on how much money our individual group made, and our group, the government bond sales desk, was doing very well, there didn't seem to be much cause for concern.

At least, not yet.

Thirteen

Eat My Dust, Tony the Tiger

T
he fall flew by, and I found myself thrown into the party season once again. The dreaded December ten pounds had returned, but this year, I managed to make it through the entire season without calling any managers fat fucks, so that was good. It was hard to believe another year had gone by.

Bonus day was tense and emotionally charged, and I sat quietly while Chick handed out compensation to each member of the group from his office. When it was my turn, I began to sweat and tremble. I prayed he didn't hold my trade error against me. I had worked hard since then. Hopefully, it was hard enough.

“Sit down,” Chick said as he sprinkled fish food in his tank.

I nudged the chair closer to his desk. Considering I received twenty grand last year for only four months of work, I was hoping for sixty for the full year. Since I still didn't have my own accounts, it seemed like a lot, and since I had lost more than that on my botched trade, it was probably unlikely.

“As you know, today is bonus communication day. The group had a good year as a whole, and the firm had a good year, too, so we're able to pay people well for their performance. Now, that being said, you're still relatively new and don't cover any accounts yourself. So your pay is adjusted to reflect that.”

“Of course. I understand.”

Shit.

He held a single piece of white paper in his hands. It took all of my willpower to not jump over his desk and snatch it from him.

“Expectations in this business can often get out of hand, so I hope you won't be disappointed with your bonus. Remember that you're still young, and there's lots of room for growth.”

Shit.

“It's not a problem, Chick. I just want to keep learning. I want to cover my own accounts. The extra cash is great—don't get me wrong—but I'll appreciate anything.”

“That's the right attitude to have. That's why I've decided to promote you to associate.”

“Promote?” A promotion after a year and a half at the firm was unheard of. Standard practice was to spend three years as an analyst.

Eat my dust, Tony the Tiger, buyer of Cox.

“A promotion means that for 2008 you'll have a fifteen-thousand-dollar increase in your base salary.”

“Does a promotion mean that I don't have to get the Friday pizzas anymore?”

“Just like a woman. Never satisfied.” He grinned.

“I don't know what to say. You won't be disappointed, I promise.”

“Good. Here you go.” He slid the piece of paper across his desk as I struggled to locate the only line item I was interested in reading.

My eyes scanned the numbers before finally focusing on the sum at the bottom of the page. Damn secretaries. They had messed up my form. “Umm, Chick? I think this is a typo. See right here?” I pointed a finger at the offending number, which elicited a chuckle from Chick.

“That's not a typo.”

“It's not a typo?”

“It's not a typo.”

“It says $110,000.”

“Correct.”

“Plus you're increasing my base salary to the associate level?”

“Correct.”

“So, just so we're clear, you're paying me $175,000 for the year?”

“It's nice to know my new associate can add.”

“Holy shit,” I said, as I struggled to regain control of my poker face. “I just wasn't expecting anything near this. I thought the number would be in the mid-five-figure range.”

“You're welcome, but we aren't done yet. It's not quite that simple.”

“Oh.” I reluctantly remained in the chair, hoping that there wasn't a “but” following my windfall of cash.

“If you notice, a portion of your bonus is allocated in Cromwell stock that's restricted.”

“That means I can't sell it for a certain amount of time, right?”

“Correct. The vesting schedule is 20 percent a year. In five years, you'll be able to sell all your shares at the market price.”

“Cool.” I didn't really see the problem. A little annoying that it wasn't all in cash, but in the future the Cromwell stock price could be twice what it is now. I could double my money! You've got to love finance.

“However, if you quit or leave the firm, or God forbid are fired for cause, you forfeit all of your unvested stock. Do you understand what that means?”

“It means from here on out, if I quit or get fired, it's going to cost me money.”

“Essentially. You're now a Cromwell shareholder, which should make you work even harder for the firm. Capiche?”

“Capiche. Is that what people mean when they talk about golden handcuffs?”

“Precisely. I just made it much harder for you to leave and go somewhere else.”

“I don't want to work anywhere else. I love it here!”

“Good.”

“One more question? How much of my total bonus is in stock?”

“Fifty-five thousand dollars. The markets are going to be a lot harder in the immediate future, so an increased portion of pay is going to be in stock. It might look good on paper, but people are going to have a lot less cash this year. Keep your mouth shut and don't advertise you're happy with your pay. Not everyone will be.”

“I promise I won't.” If there had been room, and I wasn't worried about accidentally kicking Chick in the face, I would have done cartwheels.

“One more thing, Girlie.” Chick said slowly, clearly enjoying dragging out the conversation. I held my breath. “Despite the colossal trade fuckup, you seem to be grasping things quickly, and I know the rest of the team believes in your ability. We have some small accounts that people want off their plates, and I think maybe you're ready to cover them. They are high maintenance and can be difficult at times, but they'll be a great learning experience for you. If you need help or have any questions, come to me or anyone else on the desk. Congratulations, Al. From folding chair to sales babe in a little over a year. I must be one hell of a mentor.”

“You are!” I said.

“Stop sucking up. I hate brownnosers. Now, we start all over. Everyone begins the year with a big fat zero next to his name. And you'll be happy to know, we have a new kid starting in January. You have less than a month left being the new chick. Congrats, and go get 'em.”

“I will, boss!”

I skipped out of Chick's office, the sheet of paper discreetly tucked away in my pocket. I couldn't help but smile when I returned to my desk. The guys were all used to hiding their emotions on bonus day, unwilling to alert someone to the fact that they thought they were underpaid. I had no clue how to conceal my excitement. $110,000. That was more money than I had dreamed of this year. It was more money than a lot of people dreamed of in a lifetime—even if half of it wasn't really money.

“Wow, someone's happy. I heard Chick was planning to promote you. Did he?” Drew asked as I spun my chair in circles.

“He did! How great is that! I'm an associate now. Do you know what that means?”

“You're still keeping your subtitle of pizza bitch until there's someone more junior than you around here. You realize that, right? The good news is, he hired a new analyst, I think, so there might be a light at the end of your gofer tunnel.”

“Yeah, fine. I can carry pizzas for a while longer if that's what I need to do. That's not what I was talking about. I'm getting my own accounts! He said that there are some small ones people want to get rid of. I'm at least a full year ahead of schedule!”

“Congrats, Alex. I'm happy for you. Going shopping after work?”

“Yup! Today is one of those days I just really love my job.”

“Everyone loves their job on bonus day. Enjoy it. There will be lean years. Two thousand eight is going to be tough with this mortgage mess. Trust me.”

“Impossible,” I said smugly. “What could possibly happen?”

A
fter work I went shopping in Midtown and picked up a new bag I'd been coveting and two new pairs of shoes. It was, quite simply, a perfect day. When I got home, I felt like I was floating through the lobby, and I couldn't wait to get up to my apartment and open a bottle of wine. The doorman stopped me on my way to the elevator and handed me an enormous bouquet of white roses. Things just kept getting better.

When I entered my apartment, I dropped the bags on the floor, placed the vase on my coffee table, and fished the card from in between the blooms, fully expecting it to say “Congratulations. Love, Mom and Dad.”

No such luck.

Congratulations. I had no doubt your skills were advanced for your age. I'd imagine that's true out of the office, too. XO Rick

The flowers suddenly seemed more menacing than cheerful.

How does he know where I live
? I glanced at the door to make sure I'd remembered to dead-bolt it behind me. I took the flowers and threw them in the garbage can, because they were ruining my good mood. I decided that if the unwanted attention didn't abate, I'd talk to Chick about it. I knew he noticed it, so I convinced myself that he wouldn't be surprised. Chick would look out for me, I knew it. So I tried instead to focus on the positive and the things that were going well in my life. Which at the moment was just about everything. Wall Street and I may have gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, but now all I wanted to do was get back to work and kick off 2008.

T
he difficult thing about having my own clients was that with them came expectations above and beyond what I was used to. I spent most of January entertaining. I introduced myself to everyone over lunches, dinners, and in-office meetings all over the East Coast. I was exhausted, but so intent on proving myself that adrenaline was compensating for the ridiculous lack of sleep. For the most part, all my accounts were friendly and wanted to give me a chance to prove myself. I wasn't going to let anyone down: not the clients, not Chick, and not myself. I spent hours studying the markets, economics, and current trends in the market. Before I knew it, it was February. January had come and gone, and I think I spent a total of twenty waking hours actually home in New York, doing non-work-related stuff. I wasn't able to see Will as much as I wanted due to my new workload. Thankfully, he understood, and while I missed spending time with him, I was sure eventually things would return to normal. Whatever “normal” was.

One bitterly cold morning I heard Reese chuckling from the end of the row. I checked the clock on the wall. Ten o'clock. “Whoa, Chick, what the hell happened to you? You look like you were dragged in here by a garbage truck,” Reese said as he strolled over with his swine sandwich.

“Please tell me you have more of those, Reesey?” Chick groaned.

Reese grabbed one out of a box on the floor and threw it on his desk. “Rough night?”

“Rougher morning. I was in AC last night. Won twelve grand.”

Atlantic City is two hours away. He left the office at a normal time last night, so he couldn't have gotten there before 9:00 with traffic. Why would anyone go all the way to Atlantic City for a few hours in the middle of the week?

“Traffic bad this morning?”

“Traffic? Come on, Reese. I didn't take a car, I took a chopper from the Wall Street pad. Me, Rick, and a bunch of the guys from AKS. One of the young kids Rick works with just broke up with his girlfriend, or rather, his girlfriend broke up with him, so I thought he could use some cheering up. We picked up some beers and took the helicopter down after the close, gambled all night, and flew back this morning. Worked out great for me. I won twelve Gs, but the kid lost three, so now he's out a girlfriend and three grand. Tough morning for him.”

Chick emptied his bottle of Advil into his palm and swallowed them dry. He turned to me. “Alex, go take the new girl and get me a Gatorade from your boyfriend at the coffee stand.”

“My boyfriend?”

“Jashim. Every time I'm up there he asks me about you. ‘Oh, how's Alex doing today? Oh, bring Alex her special coffee for me, the way she likes it.' ”

“You have never brought me a coffee from him.”

“What the fuck do I look like, Alex, a barista?”

T
hank God for the new girl. No matter how long you spend on a desk, you're always the new kid until you're not. Patty was the new analyst Chick hired after she graduated from college. Typically, she would have started in July like I did, but the markets were getting difficult, and a lot of firms were delaying start dates until after the end of the year, to keep payroll count constant. She started in January, and while she didn't know it yet, she was immensely lucky to have me as a superior. I could've used someone like me when I started. The fact that Chick hired another girl made me especially happy, because it was proof that Cruella was wrong about me.

I glanced at Patty, sitting demurely in the folding chair, clutching a notebook. She'd been here a month, but she still looked terrified. I didn't miss those days, and I didn't miss that freaking folding chair. So I did what I would've wanted Cruella to do for me when I started, you know, if she had a soul.

“Come. Let's walk,” I ordered as I approached her chair. She dutifully followed me off the floor.

“Where are we going?”

“I want coffee, and Chick needs a Gatorade. He wants me to take you with me. I also need to go to the ATM in the lobby.”

“Chick scares the hell out of me,” she said.

“Yeah, he has that effect on new people.”

I bought Patty a coffee and grabbed Chick's Gatorade from the refrigerator. Patty seemed nice, smart, and completely clueless as to how things worked on the floor. She reminded me a lot of myself; at least, the way I used to be.

“Don't worry about Chick,” I said. “He and some guys went out partying last night and he's a little hungover this morning. Just stay out of his way today and you should be fine. Oh, and make sure you keep the folding chair out of the aisle. The guys hate when they trip over it. It sounds stupid, but trust me it's not.”