L.A. Math: Romance, Crime, and Mathematics in the City of Angels

by James D. Stein

  Pete nodded. “No wonder March got clobbered. If he bet $10 three times, he would receive eleven once and pay ten twice, assuming that the siblings ran true to form. This would represent a net loss of $9 on a $30 investment, or 30%. Even Vegas gives you better odds.”

  I shook my head in amazement. “I sure hope that March keeps his word. We haven’t done much work for five thousand bucks.”

  Pete chuckled. “I’m sure March will keep his word. Especially when we tell him how we’re going to make his money back. With interest.”

  “We’re what?”

  “You heard me, Freddy. Get March on the phone first thing tomorrow morning. Well, second thing. Wait ’til I’m up.”

  I didn’t get much sleep that night, as I couldn’t imagine for the life of me what Pete had in mind. As soon as I got hold of March, Pete got on the extension and took over the conversation. He first asked March if DiStefano had always bet that the sex of the sibling was opposite to the sex of the person March asked.

  March thought a moment. “Yes, I’m sure it was. Why do you want to know?”

  Pete explained his theory. March cursed.

  “So that’s how he did it. You’ve earned your money, Mr. Lennox, but I’m going to be the laughingstock of the city when they find out.”

  Pete’s timing in these situations is pretty good. “What would it be worth to you to get your money back, Mr. March?”

  March didn’t answer directly. “You think you can do it? You can name your price if you do.”

  “Half of what you win back. And we’ll cover your losses if you lose.”

  I almost dropped the phone. “Are you crazy?” I quickly mouthed to Pete.

  When Pete gets one of his bright ideas, he can’t be stopped by anything short of physical force. The only thing that prevented me from using physical force was the knowledge that his bright ideas had an unbroken record of creating positive cash flow. Plus the fact that Pete was bigger than I was, and other than hitting him over the head with a heavy object, I had no idea how to go about using physical force.

  Anyway, Pete was now under full sail. “Yes, Mr. March, we’ll guarantee your losses, up to $5,000.” Well, at least I had had some effect. “That is, if you follow my instructions exactly.”

  March knew a good deal when he heard it. “Just tell me what they are, Mr. Lennox.”

  “The Beverly–Chatham Hotel is near your club, isn’t it?”

  March sounded puzzled. “Yes, it’s just down the block.”

  “Then here’s what you do. Invite DiStefano to dine at High Rollers this evening, and suggest that you feel the need to get your money back with the same bet. There’s a good chance he’ll go for it.”

  March snorted. “I’m sure he will. But why won’t I continue to lose just as before?”

  “Here’s what you have to do. After the two of you have dined, maneuver him into the bar at the Beverly–Chatham Hotel on some pretext and continue to make the same bets you did last evening. Only this time, pick other people in the bar as the subjects of your bets. No matter what you do, stay there. To make sure that you adhere to these conditions, Mr. Carmichael will accompany you.”

  When working with an eccentric like Pete, you have to give him some space. Pete liked to give the impression of pulling rabbits out of hats, explaining the rationale behind his ideas after the plan worked. Ever the eccentric, Pete sent me to accompany March and DiStefano, deciding he wanted to watch the Sunday night NFL game on TV, thus completing an eye-straining triple-header of football. It was a wonder he still had eyeballs. I asked him if he had any instructions.

  “Just keep track of our winnings, and make sure we don’t get stiffed.” I wish I had his confidence.

  Dinner was an extremely interesting experience. The food and drink at High Rollers was superb. It was also an edifying experience, which I can appreciate a lot more in retrospect, watching the byplay between March and DiStefano, each of whom had a hidden agenda of hornswoggling the other.

  We went out for a short walk afterward, suggested by yours truly, to work off a few of the calories, and then fate intervened on our behalf. The fine autumn day turned into a rather nasty evening, just as we were passing the Beverly–Chatham Hotel. It seemed obvious to duck in out of the rain, and there was certainly no point in going elsewhere, as the Beverly–Chatham Hotel had a fine bar. Very soon some heavy betting was under way.

  Pete slept late next morning. No news there, as he sleeps an average of nine or ten hours a day, virtually guaranteeing that he will sleep late. He finally woke up, though, sauntered into the living room, and asked for the final tally.

  With great pleasure, I slid over March’s check for $5,000, plus $13,000 in cash! Pete nodded, as if it was no more nor less than he expected.

  He might have expected it, but I didn’t have a clue. I needed an explanation before I went crazy trying to dope it out.

  “You should have been there, Pete. We must have won about five of every six bets we made last night. DiStefano almost had a stroke! How in the world did you do it?”

  Pete grinned. “Pretty simple, actually. I really didn’t do anything at all. But I did happen to read in the paper a few days ago that the International Society of Identical Twins was having its annual meeting this week, and that they had engaged most of the rooms in the Beverly–Chatham Hotel. As you may know, identical twins must have identical DNA sequences. Since sex determination is a part of that sequence, they must consequently be of the same sex.”

  It’s hard to stay sore at a guy who has just put nine thousand bucks in your pocket for a couple of days’ work. “Forgive and forget” is my motto, even though I wasn’t going to tell Pete that all was forgiven because he’s so oblivious that he might not even have known I was sore in the first place.

  There were other positive developments on the cash flow front, at least as far as I was concerned. As all winning streaks must, Pete’s came crashing back to Earth, just as he had increased the size of his betting unit. He was even still ahead on balance after a Monday night disaster featuring an eighty-three-yard run with a recovered fumble with forty seconds to go that snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. Events such as these reminded Pete of both his own fallibility and the desirability of positive cash flow. He even asked me if we had any potential business!

  Needless to say, I was heartened. Then I thought of an almost surefire way to boost Pete’s sagging spirits. I made a phone call the next morning and waited until Pete was fully awake to make my move.

  “How’d you like to double this evening, Pete?” I asked. “Come on. It might take your mind off other matters.”

  “Mmm. Who’s your date?”

  “Arlene Halliburton.”

  “Don’t know her. New girlfriend?”

  “She’s currently classified as a work in progress. Anyway, she’s cute, and she’s interested in fixing you up with her sister. I described you, and Arlene said that you sounded like the type of guy who appeals to her sister.”

  Pete pursed his lips. “Girls like to fix up their friends who can’t get a date, Freddy. How do you know I will like her? Have you ever met her sister?”

  “No I haven’t, but I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Both heredity and environment are working in your favor.”

  Pete looked puzzled. “Heredity and environment?”

  “I met Arlene in the bar of the Beverly–Chatham Hotel.”

  Note: A surprise awaits the reader following the magnifying glass on p.193!

  CHAPTER 10

  ONE LONG SEASON

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Pete had been really depressed for a week as a result of a large number of losing football and basketball bets. Well, that’s the nature of risk-taking—winning streaks are often followed by losing streaks. It happens to Wall Street investors as well.

  “Did I hear you right, Pete?”

  “You heard me, Freddy. There is a meeting next Tuesday evening in Santa Monica of Gamblers Anonymous. I’m going to
check it out. When I think of all the time I’ve spent studying racing forms and team histories, if I had put all that effort into something constructive I might have had something to show for it.” He lumbered back to the main house, approximately three parts dejection and one part resolution.

  I must admit I was nervous. When a person makes one major lifestyle change, maybe others are in the offing. What if Pete decided he wanted to accept a job somewhere other than in Los Angeles? I might find myself minus both a residence and a business partner. I consoled myself with the knowledge that Pete and inertia were more than just on speaking terms; they were really good buddies.

  The status remained quo for a couple of days, and then the phone rang. After taking the message, I went to look for Pete. I found him in the living room, lying on the couch and watching a reality show. A reality show! Pete never watches reality shows. Desperate measures were called for.

  “We’ve got a client, Pete. My accountant Angela recommended her. Rise and shine.”

  Well, at least I had prodded Pete out of the prone position. He sat up and said. “When?”

  “About an hour or so. If you’ll shave and put on some respectable clothes, I’ll clean up the living room.” I still have New York ideas about meetings with potential clients.

  Thirty minutes later, both Pete and the house were in better shape. And a good thing it was, too, because as Julie Rydecki, the potential client, crossed the sill I could see Pete perk up as he realized that maybe there were other reasons for living besides football and basketball games. We offered a cup of coffee, she accepted, and soon we were discussing her situation.

  Pete was as close to beaming as I had seen him in weeks. “And just what can we do for you, Julie?” I didn’t think that he had forgotten that a client should initially be addressed as Ms. Rydecki; my guess was that he wanted to move to a first-name basis as soon as possible. Julie didn’t seem to mind.

  I knew what was coming, having had a brief outline from Angela, but Pete didn’t, as it had taken him so long to shave, shower, and change that there had been no time for a briefing. So he was a little confused when Julie asked, “Have you ever seen The Proud and the Passionate?”

  Pete shook his head. “I don’t watch soap operas much.”

  “I’m an addict,” Julie said. “I haven’t missed an episode in the four years it’s been on. In fact, that’s why I’m here.”

  Pete’s confusion deepened. However, one thing he had learned from me was never to show confusion to a client. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning, Julie.”

  Julie rearranged herself more comfortably in the leather chair. “Almost a year ago, Silktex shampoo, which sponsors the show, started a promotion involving writing an essay about the show. First prize was $20,000 and a bit part in an upcoming episode. To make a long story short, I won!”

  “Well, congratulations!” we both said in one breath. Twenty thousand dollars is not chopped liver, and it looked as if some of it might be headed our way.

  Julie took another sip of her coffee. “Thank you. It was very exciting, being on the show. The episodes are taped months in advance of their actual showing, although occasionally they need to reshoot a scene, and they made me sign a nondisclosure agreement not to reveal anything about the show until after the season finale. That’s the episode I’m in, and it runs next week.

  “Of course, my part was very small, but I’m dying to see it. I’m also dying to see it for another reason.”

  “What’s that?” Pete and I asked, again almost in one breath.

  “One of the Madison Avenue types convinced Silktex a couple of weeks ago to try a stunt. They asked me to pick whom Debbie St. Clair was going to marry. If I was right, I would win $100,000.”

  “Who’s Debbie St. Clair?” We were no longer in sync, as only Pete spoke this time. Having watched P&P, as it is called in the blogs, I at least knew who Debbie St. Clair was.

  “Debbie St. Clair is the heroine of the show. For more than a year, she has been pursued by three men. It’s common knowledge that the season finale will involve her choosing whom she is going to marry. A few of the actors know because the episode was filmed months ago, but they’re sworn to secrecy as well.

  “There’s Judson Wyatt, rich and powerful owner of a chain of radio and TV stations. Suitor number two is Bennett Ellison, a darkly romantic figure who also has some sort of hold over Debbie’s father. It hasn’t been completely spelled out, but it seems that Debbie’s father has a background he is trying to conceal. Before coming to Madison, California, where the show is situated, he apparently changed his name, but Ellison found out about it.”

  Julie paused for breath and continued. “The third suitor is Ralph Lowell. He’s an instructor at the university where Debbie is just graduating. He’s head over heels in love with Debbie, and I think Debbie’s actually in love with him. But if Debbie decides to marry Ralph, Judson Wyatt, who is on the Board of Regents, will try to get Lowell fired. And Ellison will threaten to tell everything that he knows about Debbie’s father.”

  Pete shook his head. “I’d love to be able to help you, Julie, but it’s not really my line of work. As far as I can tell, there’s no reason for her to prefer one to another. They’re all equally likely. It seems like it’s just a guess.”

  Julie held out her cup, and I refilled it. After another sip, she resumed. “That’s how I saw it, too, so I just went with gut instinct. I thought she’d marry Judson Wyatt. It wasn’t a complete hunch. Two of the most successful soaps, Dallas and Dynasty, feature marriages to rich and powerful people. So I thought I’d go with Wyatt. After all, soap operas generally try to do what made previous soap operas successful.”

  “Sounds pretty sensible,” Pete said. “But where do we come in?”

  Julie drained the last of the coffee. “I’m coming to that. The man Debbie will marry will be revealed on next Tuesday’s show. But I do know this. She’s not going to marry Bennett Ellison.”

  “More gut instinct?”

  “No, a major pile-up on Interstate 5. Just last episode, Bennett Ellison was involved in the crash, and he’s up in some hospital in Monterey in a coma. He may die, or he may not regain consciousness. At any rate, Debbie told us last week that she hadn’t planned on marrying Ellison, anyway.”

  “So now it’s a choice between Wyatt and Lowell, and you’re still in the running.”

  Julie nodded. “And here’s where the sponsors’ gimmick comes in. They have offered me the following deal. During the commercial break that comes with about fifteen minutes to go, they are going to put in a live phone call to me. For $5,000, I can switch my choice and say that Debbie will marry Lowell. Or I can pay no money and stand pat with Wyatt. The last fifteen minutes of the show will make clear whether I am a winner or a loser.”

  Julie settled back in her chair and continued. “As you can imagine, everyone I know has offered advice. Some tell me that it’s fifty–fifty, and that since I could be right either way, why not save the $5,000 and stay with Wyatt? Others come up with a variety of reasons why I should switch. Anyway, Angela seems to think you might be able to come up with a good reason why I should do one or the other.”

  Pete closed his eyes and thought for a moment. When he opened them, he said, “Julie, I can tell you what you should do and why you should do it. But it’s a little hard to decide what to charge you. Let me make you an offer. Our fee will be $5,000, but it will be contingent on your taking our advice and winning the $100,000. If you don’t take our advice, or you don’t win the $100,000, you pay us nothing. Does that sound fair?”

  Julie looked at him. “Five thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

  Pete nodded. “But it’s only a small chunk of $100,000, and it’s probably deductible. Ask Angela.”

  Julie thought for a moment, and then said, “All right. What should I do?”

  Pete was about to open his big mouth, but I got there just in time with a modified standard contract. Julie signed, and I nodded to Pet
e. “Go ahead.” I must admit I was pretty interested in what he would say, and his reason for it.

  “You should pay the $5,000 and switch to Lowell,” Pete stated decisively.

  Julie’s eyes narrowed. “You’d better give me a real good reason for spending five thousand extra bucks.”

  Pete paused to organize his thoughts and then began. “First of all, suppose that instead of Debbie having three suitors, just imagine for the moment that she had a thousand, and that it was up to you to pick the one out of a thousand that she was going to marry. Wouldn’t you agree that you’d have to be awfully lucky to pick the right one?”

  Julie thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I would. But they didn’t ask me to pick from a thousand possibles but from three.”

  “I know,” Pete assented. “But it makes it easier to see the reasoning if there had been a thousand potential husbands. Anyway, suppose that after you made your choice, the producers wrote a scene in which 998 of the remaining 999 suitors all ended up in comas. Would you switch now?”

  Julie’s nose wrinkled from the effort of concentration. Then, all of a sudden, she lit up. I could almost see the cartoon lightbulb signifying “idea” flash above her head. “I see what you’re saying. I would have had to have been tremendously lucky to have picked the right one originally. Nothing they do could change that.”

  “That’s it exactly!” Pete enthused. “Your chances of being right originally were one in a thousand, and that hasn’t changed. If Debbie’s husband-to-be were among the other 999, obviously the producers would select the 998 non-husbands-to-be of those 999 men to be involved in the car crash. So by switching, your chances of winning go from 1 in a thousand to 999 in a thousand.”

  (Conditional probability continued on p. 198)

  Julie looked like she was taking a final exam. I couldn’t blame her, as it was certainly one of the more esoteric arguments I had ever seen Pete come up with. “So what you’re telling me is that, with three possible suitors, my chances of being right originally were one in three, and if I switch my choice they’ll go to two in three.”