Bond Girl (28 page)

“Aww, cut sugar some slack! That was a long time ago. Has he set up drinks with you yet? It's been what, an hour?” Reese asked.

“Tonight at the Tribeca Grand.”

“You better bring a stun gun or something with you, Girlie,” Reese said as we waited for our coffees.

“Has anyone talked to Chick?” I asked.

“Not yet . . .” Reese answered. “I'm going to call him tonight. I don't know how the hell this happened. Chick must have pissed someone off pretty bad for him to get fired. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense.”

“Nothing makes sense here anymore,” Marchetti reminded us. “For fuck's sake, Baby Gap's on our team now. If I could start selling my stock right this second, I would.”

Reese and I nodded in agreement. Then we looked at one another in silent, mutual despair and returned to the floor.

Eighteen

Golden Handcuffs

I
entered the dimly lit hotel bar on Sixth Avenue. It was only 6:00 but happy hour was already in full swing, New Yorkers having elevated postwork cocktails into an art form. The bar was more crowded than usual, but that was true of most places in Manhattan. Whenever the stock market was down, the bars were full. You could count on it.

Rick was chatting with the bartender when I approached him. “Alex! My new sales coverage, and the prettiest of them all. I'm a lucky guy. Of course, you're a lucky girl, too. Six months from now you'll be buying yourself an apartment with the money you make off me.”

That could very well be true, but what would it cost me in return? I put on my game face. “I'm looking forward to it. You'll have to provide me with some insight into the inner workings of AKS. You have a lot of smart guys at the fund, some of the best on the Street.”

“That's absolutely true, and we'll get to that. How are you holding up with the transition?”

I sighed. “It's been a hard day, obviously.”

“It's too bad about Chick, but he'll land on his feet. He's a talented guy.”

I nodded.

“Let's move on to the reason we're here. We're going to have to develop a closer personal relationship now that we have a working relationship. Don't you agree?”

Not really. None of my other clients hit on me; why should I have to put up with it from you?
But, once more, dollar signs flashed in front of my eyes, so I held my tongue and said nothing. It sucked.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

“Sure. I'll have a glass of white wine, please.” If I was going to have this conversation, I was going to need my good friends Pinot and Grigio.

Rick ordered himself a scotch. We moved from the bar to a small cocktail table by the windows.

“Alex, let me ask you something. I get the distinct feeling that you don't like me. Why is that? Do you have any idea how many people would kill their mothers to cover me?”

Are you for real?

“I don't dislike you, Rick. I don't even know you.”

“Ahh, good salesmanship. Pretend to like the people you don't. You've had some good mentors along the way.”

I wish Reese was here right now. He'd kick your ass through the window.

“You never thanked me for the flowers I sent you. I took that to mean you didn't like them.”

“Oh, no, they were fine. Do you mind if I ask how you got my address? Did Chick give it to you?”

He laughed. “Chick wouldn't have given me your personal information if I threatened to set him on fire. His secretary, on the other hand, is so starved for attention she'll tell you anything you want to know if you're nice to her. She even helped me out when your cell phone stopped taking messages; luckily you gave Chick the new number right away in case he needed to be in touch with you. Not that he's going to need to talk to you anymore.”

Nancy. I should have known.

“You look surprised.”

“No. I'm just . . . thinking.” I said. And I was.

“You know, I used to believe that women didn't belong on Wall Street, other than as secretaries, of course. I truly didn't think one could be qualified to do what we do every day. Handle the pressure, do math in her head, maintain composure.”

I smirked. “Sorry to prove your theory wrong.”

He took off his jacket and laid it down on the cocktail table next to his highball. “I'm all for women in the workforce, I really am.”

“That's a good thing since you just asked Keith if one could cover you,” I said, before I could stop myself. I had to watch the attitude. It wasn't in the job description.

“I don't know that they should be in this specific industry though, what with the grueling hours and the stress. It's a tough environment, not really suited for the fairer sex if you ask me.”

I didn't.

He gulped down his drink and shook the glass so that the cubes rattled back and forth against the crystal, a little ice bell for the waitress. “Take you, for example,” he said as he reached out and lightly tapped the end of my nose with his index finger.

Oh great. Let's use me as an example.

“You aren't married.”

“No.”

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

“You're smart, beautiful, and yet, you aren't married. Do you want to know why?”

I suddenly felt like my skin was on fire. I knew why; because I had wasted the scarce amount of free time I had on a lying Wall Street bastard, that's why. Before I got too caught up in that train of thought, I returned my attention to Rick, who was midpontification: “ . . . deterioration of family values, deterioration of gender roles. Women don't want to be treated like women anymore. They want to prove that they can make their own money, buy their own dinner, hell, even fix their own cars.”

“The nerve of us!” I was losing my patience.

“Women are so busy working, they're getting married later and having fewer children. You're wasting time just because you think you've got something to prove.
That's
why you aren't married yet.”

“Silly me, I assumed it was because I hadn't met the right guy.”

“You probably have met the right guy. You've just been too busy to notice.”

“Well, lucky for you then. Otherwise you wouldn't have coverage at Cromwell right now.”

“That's unlikely, sweetheart.” He leaned in closer and I could smell his stale, warm breath. It took all of my willpower not to puke all over the table. “You know, I can make you a very rich girl.”

Yes, I was aware. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been talking to him. I sure as hell wasn't meeting him because I enjoyed the view. I pulled away and sat ramrod straight in my chair. “And I can make you a very rich man. I'll make sure that you have full access to everything we have at Cromwell. Meetings with traders, economists, all our research and trade ideas. I'm confident I can do a really good job for you.”

He laughed a deep guttural laugh. “I'm sure you can do a really good job for me, and I expect you to. But, sweetie, I don't need you to set up my meetings. If I want to talk to a trader, I'll call him myself. And I don't plan on taking investment advice from a skirt. I doubt that's why Chick hired you either. There are a million smart guys out there he could have given your job to. Why do you think he picked you?”

I knew if I told him to go play Frogger with oncoming traffic that Keith would have my head. Still, I refused to let him defame Chick's character now that he was gone.

“He picked me because I'm smart, and I worked my ass off for him.”

“And I'm sure the guys on the desk have loved watching that ass while it worked.”

God, I've so had enough of this.

“I don't think your wife would appreciate you talking to me like that. I know you've had a few drinks so I'll let it go, but I think we should probably just end this conversation now before you say something you regret.” I smiled diplomatically.

“I know exactly what I'm saying, and I mean every word.”

“Rick. Look. I don't know what kind of agreement you and your wife have worked out, and it's none of my business. So why don't we discuss your account in a professional manner, and stop with all this game playing?”

I could teach a course on how to attract highly dysfunctional people.

“Come on, Alex,” he said menacingly. “You still don't understand how this business works, do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Men like variety.
I
like variety. I don't want to go home to my wife every single night, especially when this city is filled with girls like you. And not all of them are in the position to make money from me. At least, not legally.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“I'd love for you to ask me a question.” He raised a lone eyebrow.

“Tina is gorgeous, and she seems very nice. Why do you bother with me when you have her at home? She's most guys' dream woman.”

“Tina,” he murmured as he scratched his head. “I'll tell you about Tina, Alex. Tina and I got married when we were young. Too young. We got married because she was pregnant and it was the right thing to do. Back then I was just starting out. We didn't have any money or any idea what we were doing. We didn't get a prenup. You don't think I've thought about divorcing her? I've thought about divorcing her, no, check that, I've
dreamed
about divorcing her, for the last ten years. Except her family is from Atlanta, and she made it very clear that if I ever filed for divorce she'd be on the next midnight train to Georgia with my kids
and
half of my money. HALF of my money. Do you have any idea what it's like to be trapped in a marriage because you got married when you were too young to know any better? Can you even imagine what it's like to be held prisoner by your own bank account?”

Oddly enough, I did. We were both tethered to lives the younger versions of ourselves had decided we should have. We both wore golden handcuffs, and we both suffered the consequences of allowing the lure of money trump our chances for happiness. Of course, I didn't go around banging anything that walked to get back at Cromwell for the loveless marriage we were in.

But everyone had their own coping mechanisms, I guess.

I made my decision, although it might not have been a good one. “I don't think that I should cover you, Rick. I'll talk to Keith about it in the morning. Maybe he'll fire me, but hopefully he will just reassign you to someone else. It might be the biggest mistake of my career to pass up the chance to work with AKS, but I don't see any other option at this point.”

“I'm handing you a golden opportunity to make some really easy money, and if you don't want to take me up on it, that's fine. But you're not reassigning coverage, and you're
not
mentioning this to Keith. You want to play with the big guys, little girl? I'll treat you the way you want to be treated. But remember, you asked for it. And when I call Cromwell in the morning, you better be the one answering the phone. You're playing in the big leagues now.”

“Thank you,” I said, well aware that his statement wasn't meant to be reassuring.

“You won't be thanking me tomorrow. Let's see how well you do now without Chick watching your back, sweetheart.” He abruptly stood, swept his jacket off the table, and stormed out of the bar.

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, convincing myself that everything was fine. Except I knew it wasn't. Tomorrow morning I was going to have to deal with him all over again: and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that, without Chick to protect me. The all-too-familiar weight returned to my chest. I counted backward from ten until the giant elephant compressing my rib cage went back to the circus or wherever it was elephants went when they weren't suffocating me in the Tribeca Grand Hotel.

T
he next morning the phone rang at exactly 7:02. I hadn't even logged into my system yet.

Here we go.

“Good morning,” I said cheerily.

“What the fuck took you so long?” he barked in my ear.

“I'm sorry?”

“I want my line answered on the first ring. The first fucking ring, do you hear me? I don't care who you have to hang up on. You got that?” He was so loud, I flinched.

“I apologize. It won't happen again.” Sales 101. It was my fault, even if it wasn't.

“I want to know how the trading desk is positioned, and then I want to see where the on-the-run repos have averaged overnight for the past week. I want to see the 3s–5s–7s butterfly regressed against the outright level of five-year rates over the last ten years when the Fed has been in an easing cycle. Then I want to see range accrual notes on three-month LIBOR with a floor at zero and a 6 percent cap, and a list of what kind of accounts have been involved in the trade.”

Now?
It would take me two hours to get all this together. I wasn't even sure what half of this stuff meant, and none of my other accounts had even called in yet. “I'll get on it right away.”

He cut me off. “I'm having a team meeting today. I want you to bring your head of North American Economics, Bob Keating, to meet with us, and I want steaks from the Palm ordered in for lunch. Call my assistant for our orders. The meeting's at noon. Don't fuck it up.”

Click.

I looked at my watch, 7:15. How in God's name was I going to be able to get all this information together by 11:30? Fear, as it turns out, is one hell of a motivator. I immediately shot off a note to the repo desk, telling them I needed a grid for all the on-the-run bonds and their overnight averages for the last seven trading days. When Rick said he wanted the rates for the past week did he mean calendar week (seven days) or business week (five days)? I decided that it was better to bring too much information rather than too little. Task number one, complete.

I ran over to one of the traders on the structured notes desk and grabbed his shoulders as he stared at his screens.

“I need help,” I said as I rubbed his shoulders.

“Ohhh, a little to the left,” he said, without turning around. “What can I do for you?”

“AKS wants to see a bunch of stuff.”
Stuff
was all I could come up with to encompass the mass of material Rick wanted. I showed him my notebook, where I had written down Rick's requests verbatim. Hopefully, he knew what it all meant.

“That's a lot of analysis, Alex. When do you need it by?” he asked.

“In about three hours,” I said, waiting for him to tell me to go fuck myself.

He spun around in his chair. “
Three hours?
I've got live orders working here. I don't know if I'll be able to get all that to you in only three hours.”