by Gordon Ryan
“Can you blame him, Sis? You married the guy, and here you are, living a thousand miles away from him and hanging around the best looking men in America.”
“Why haven’t you found someone, Tommy?”
“My turn, huh? We’re not that much different, Tess, in spite of our century difference in age. My career is not exactly compatible with being married. That’s all there is to it. I’m a marine. I like it. I want to stay a marine. And I don’t think that asking a woman to take on the life of a ‘Mrs. Marine’ is fair.”
“Are many of your friends married?”
“They are,” he said. “And many of them are gone half the time. Some wives are faithful and some, well, some are not, Tess. I see it all the time, but neither are their husbands quite often, so it’s only fair, I suppose. But that isn’t what I want, Tess, a part-time marriage. I would imagine Seby feels the same way.
“Do you know, Tess,” he said, turning around again and scanning the coastline and ocean, “it was a real eye-opener to leave Utah and begin to see how things are in the real world. What’s amazing to me is that I don’t think that Mom has ever even considered that Pop might be unfaithful to her. And what’s more amazing, I don’t think that Pop even considered it. That’s one thing I’ve always admired about them.”
“They love each other, Tommy,” she said, coming to stand by him at the railing.
“And you think that makes the difference?”
“It’s a large part of it. And the church’s teachings, of course.”
“What about you, Tess?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Living down here, alone and all. How have you handled it? Do you love Seby? Are you faithful to him?”
Teresa didn’t answer, and for a long moment, she stood silently staring out at the ocean.
Tommy slid down the railing, closer to Teresa and wrapped his arm around his sister, pulling her closer. “What does Seby think, Tess?”
“I don’t really know. He’s quiet about it. I think he’s trying to let me come to some decisions. Before Mom and Dad left, they stayed at the ranch in Draper. Seby said they could tell we were having problems.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Tommy laughed. “Mom could tell if one of the bishopric had drunk a cup of coffee. Did she talk to you about it?”
“No, but I think Dad kind of restrained her.”
“Restrained Mom?” he asked, incredulous. “Maybe his new calling has impressed her and she’s assumed her rightful, subservient place.”
“Tommy!” Tess exclaimed, laughing and poking at her brother’s ribs.
“Just joking, baby sister. So how are you and Seby going to resolve all this?”
“I wish I knew. I’m under contract with the studio.”
Tommy looked down at his sister, tilting his head slightly, his face questioning.
“I know, I know ... I know,” she cried, shaking her head. “It’s only an excuse and no reason to jeopardize my marriage.”
“You just needed someone to listen, Tess. You already know all the answers.”
“In Hawaii, PJ told me I was married and that was it as far as he was concerned—that was my only job from there on out. On the other hand, you said, ‘Go for it, Sis.’ I listened to my two brothers, and so, here I am—married and going for it.”
“And you’re afraid you’re going to have to choose?”
“Well, aren’t I?”
“Of course you are,” he smiled gently, nodding at her. “I love you, Tess, and I’m not going to be the one to try and tell you how to resolve this. But you know what Mom and Pop would say—‘Go home and have babies.’”
“I want babies, Tommy,” she smiled.
“Then that’s a big part of the decision. I have learned one thing in my short life. To have babies takes two willing participants. Surprisingly, Tess, that also takes care of the loneliness.”
“You think you’re so smart,” she said, jabbing at his chest with her finger. “Have another sandwich and tell me about this doctorate program you’ve entered at Stanford. I thought you told me that marines didn’t know how to read and that they didn’t need to, anyway.”
“Don’t start, Tess, just don’t start with me,” he smiled, grabbing her and hugging her close.
The next morning, an hour before dawn, Tess was up and back on the deck of her beach house, sitting in her chair wrapped in a blanket, sipping a cup of warm cider. She had tossed sleeplessly throughout much of the night, her thoughts ranging from giving up Hollywood and returning to Utah to a brief contemplation of divorcing Seby and putting her complete energy into acting—a momentary thought that left her shaking in her bed, her tears flowing.
Tommy had struck home so easily, so offhandedly, that it had taken her by surprise. Was she faithful to Seby? Had her thoughts and even her intentions been honorable? Nothing had come of her flirtation with the director of her last picture, but, she thought to herself, she had accepted his invitation to his estate for the weekend and she had considered being unfaithful, hadn’t she? It was not a pleasant thought in retrospect and even the memory that she had considered such an action had left her lying in bed, ashamed.
And as to the deeper meaning of the word, as Tommy had so casually voiced it, any way you looked at it, she was not truly faithful, remaining separate from her husband and allowing their marriage to struggle on with both parties essentially carrying on separate lives. Leave it to Tommy to strike at the heart of the matter, she thought as the sky slowly began to take on an amber hue. Throughout their lives only Tommy had been able to gain such an insight into her soul, and, she smiled to herself, she in his. Twins, they had always laughed to each other. Born a century apart, as she never let him forget, but twins in the true sense of the word.
As if on cue, she heard the French doors open just as the first distinct rays of morning light began to clear the hills to the east, illuminating the surf rolling in below the house.
“Doesn’t anyone sleep around here?” Tommy smiled, reaching to take her empty cup from her.
“I used to, and very well, thank you very much, before you started analyzing my life and my marriage, doctor,” she said.
Turning serious, Tommy said, “I don’t mean to pry, Tess. Really.”
“I know, Tommy,” she said, rising and wrapping the blanket around her shoulders as she moved to the railing.
“You asked me last night if I’d been faithful to Seby.”
“Tess, I don’t—”
“It’s all right,” she smiled over at him. “But the answer is no, I haven’t, Tommy. Now don’t let your mind run wild, big brother. I haven’t taken a lover or anything like that, but when I married Seby, I promised to love him and I promised to ... to be with him. If surrendering to the seduction of my career is a form of infidelity, then, yes, I’ve been unfaithful.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know yet, Tommy. I just don’t know.”
He moved closer to her and took her in his arms, holding her closely for several moments. “This advice may seem a bit out of character, coming from me, Tess, but I think this is one of those situations when Mom would say: Pray about it.”
“Yes, she would,” Tess said softly, “and she’d be right. And I’d quiver to think what Sister Mary would say,” Tess laughed, trying to ease her brother’s tenseness. “And another thing, Captain Callahan, tough combat marine, I know the person inside that handsome uniform, and the advice is not out of character at all. In fact,” she said, smiling up at him, “you could use some of it yourself.”
“Thanks, Sis,” he smiled. “Drive me to the train station?”
“With pleasure,” she laughed, stretching up to kiss his cheek. “And thanks, Tommy. For everything. Every girl should have such a brother.”
The first day of the new term at Stanford, Tommy felt self-conscious among the other students and a bit out of place in civilian clothes. For over a decade,
each workday he’d donned either his khakis or field utilities and headed out for another day of marineing, as he had come to call it. Few women were on the campus, so in some respects it was still an all-male world he occupied.
Professor Theodore Wallington, a man who Tommy took to be in his eighties, stood before the class, comprised of graduate students enrolled in master’s and doctorate programs, intent on making their way in the financial and banking worlds. After a few moments of looking around the class, nodding to those he recognized from previous classes, Professor Wallington turned to the blackboard and wrote one word in large script: MARGIN.
“Would anyone care to venture a guess about what I mean?” he asked, again facing the class.
A hand went up.
“Mr.... uh, Johnson, is it? What are we talking about?”
“The grading structure for the class? A grading curve, or perhaps the margin between high and low grades?”
“Nope, anyone else?”
He continued to look around the room and another hand went up, more confident than the first. It belonged to one of only two women in the class.
“Miss Prisman, if you please.”
“Are you referring, Professor Wallington, to the practice of buying stocks on a thin margin of payment? The underlying strength, or weakness, of the current market valuation?”
“Exactly, Miss Prisman. Thank you,” he smiled. “Does everyone understand what Miss Prisman has just explained to us? And she is quite correct in her statement about ‘the underlying weakness’ of the market. Mark my words, ladies and gentlemen,” the old man said, picking up a piece of chalk and drawing a large circle around the word MARGIN on the board, “this practice will be the downfall of the market one day.”
“Professor,” one of the students said, “everyone is making money in the market nowadays. It’s the wave of the future.”
Wallington smiled at the young man and held his hand, palm down, beneath his chin. He slowly raised his arm until his hand rested between his nose and his eyes.
“Just don’t get drowned, young man, when the wave comes tumbling over you and your friends. There are cab drivers making tens, even hundreds of thousands of dollars in the stock market. It just can’t sustain such growth—not with a ten percent underlying cash basis.”
“Well, my father says ...” the student continued.
“No disrespect to your father, young man, but this marginal purchase power will be the downfall of the world’s economic system, and we will likely see it in my lifetime. Now that should tell you something,” he said to the class.
The class laughed in return, and Professor Wallington commenced his opening lecture on the interlocking relationships of the world’s economy.
That afternoon, Tommy walked to the economics department in hopes of catching Professor Wallington in his office. He knocked lightly on the door and received a muffled “Come in.” As he entered, the old professor turned to see who his visitor was and smiled at Tommy.
“Mr ... uh, ...”
“Callahan. Thomas Callahan.”
“Of course, our sole military doctoral candidate this year. So what brings you to Stanford, Mr. Callahan, and not to one of the prestigious eastern Ivy League colleges so favored by your naval associates?”
“You, Professor Wallington.”
Wallington’s bushy eyebrows shot up, and Tommy noticed a look of disbelief cross his face. Tommy smiled at the old man and inclined his head toward a chair in the corner of the crowded office.
“May I?”
Wallington nodded assent, and Tommy sat in the chair after removing several magazines first and placing them on the floor. The floor of the office, the window sills, and all the flat surfaces in the room were littered with piles of books, magazines, stacks of students’ essays, and copies of the Wall Street Journal.
“I don’t mean to sound ingratiating, Professor, but it’s true. My father has spoken of you many times and attended several lectures, mostly when you were visiting at the University of Utah. When I was growing up, we lived in Salt Lake City. Since then, we’ve scattered around the world. But Utah is still home.”
Professor Wallington thought for a few moments and then his eyes lit up.
“Thomas Callahan, Utah Trust Bank. Of course, now it makes sense. I know your father, and we have corresponded several times. But you’re in the military, right?”
“Yes, sir. I’m a captain in the Marine Corps.”
“Why not into banking with your father?”
“That’s a very long story, Professor,” Tommy replied, a bit hesitant.
“Another time, young man. I understand these family things don’t always go as planned by the parents. So, what can I do for you today?”
“I thought that you might recall my father, Professor, and I came to ask you to assist me in a little subterfuge.”
“That would be in the political science department, Mr. Callahan,” the old professor smiled. “But seriously, how can I help?”
“I’d like to keep my relationship, that is my father’s banking interests, a private affair if that’s possible.”
“I see. You know, there are some students here whose families are considerably wealthier than yours, if that’s your concern.”
“Partly, sir, but since I am a marine officer, I’d rather just appear as such, and not from any particularly wealthy family.”
“That should pose no problem,” Wallington said, stroking his neatly trimmed, fully gray beard. “Captain Callahan, is it, or would you prefer Mister?”
“I’ll be a civilian for the next two years, I think, Professor.”
“Done. Now, tell me, how is your father?”
“He’s presently in Argentina.”
“Argentina? Mining ventures?”
“No, sir, he’s serving as a missionary for the Mormon church.”
“My goodness, a man of varied talent, I can see. A banker, a missionary, a son in the marines.”
Tommy laughed. “Yes, sir, we’ve gone in all directions, I guess. My sister, Teresa, is acting on Broadway and in films, and my older brother, PJ, owns and operates a sheep and cattle ranch in New Zealand.”
“I repeat myself then, my goodness. No bankers besides your father?”
“Not yet.”
“So you intend to enter the world of finance after your time with the marines?”
“I don’t know, Professor, truly. This opportunity to acquire a doctorate in economics is part of the overall plan, I suppose, but I still have ten years or more with the marines.”
“You’ll never make any money in the marines, son,” he said.
“No, sir, that’s a certainty,” Tommy laughed. “But my father saw to it that we were all assured of a good future. I’ve followed the market for some years now, adhering, mind you,” he said, smiling broadly at Wallington, “to your very sound principle of 100 percent cash equity. My father always stood by your principle of not buying on margin, and his bank has not loaned money to people who bought in quantity on margin.”
“Well, good for him. It’s a shaky situation at the moment, and banking institutions are the most vulnerable, besides the individual investor, of course. The market is supported by less than fifteen percent cash valuation, with well over half of outstanding common stock supported by less than a ten percent equity base. It’s a house of cards back there on Wall Street, and the fools don’t even care. And what stocks have you speculated in, Mr. Callahan?”
“Mostly mining, some transportation. I’ve generally followed my father’s advice.”
“And your portfolio is significant?”
Tommy hesitated a moment. “My father set aside a trust fund for each of his children and gave us control when we were, as he put it, ‘mature enough to handle it.’ I was the last to receive mine,” he laughed again, “and only when I had graduated from the naval academy in 1923.”
“Another point for your father,” Wallington smiled.
“My sister and I have a
lways combined our investments, but now that she’s married, I’ve been going it alone. I would say the portfolio is upper seven figures now, Professor. But that too, I’d like to keep confidential.”
“Of course,” Wallington again nodded. “Imagine, a marine captain with seven or eight million dollars in stocks. What’s the world coming to?” he laughed. “I’ve met New York cabbies at my lectures who have five million, but always on a ten percent margin. A charade, a foolish charade. They’ll rue the day. And you say you hold a one hundred percent equity position?”
“My father wouldn’t have it any other way,” Tommy laughed again.
“Well, young man, I’m suitably impressed. I hope that we can teach you something here at Stanford. What do you plan for your off-time?”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“I’ve just graduated my teaching assistant with his doctorate. Would you be interested in serving as my teaching assistant? You’d be lecturing to undergraduates and grading papers—tasks like that. It’s about twenty hours a week.”
“Would I be depriving some other student of the income, Professor?
“Not likely at Stanford. Not too many needy students here at the moment, Tommy, if I may call you that.”
“Certainly, sir. If you’re sure I can be of assistance, I’d be pleased.”
“Excellent,” he said, standing and reaching to shake Tommy’s hand. “You’ll be working with Susan Prisman, the young lady in our class this morning. Her family owns a fleet of freighters and oil tankers. They live just north of San Francisco, in Marin County.”