The Investment Club

by Cooper, Doug

  “Ah yes, work,” Alec said, his eyes still avoiding her. “I saw the results of the bachelor’s contest on your show tonight.”

  “Pretty great, huh? Can’t believe he pulled it out.”

  “I don’t know.” Alec said, finally turning toward her, glowering. “Seems like he has been doing a lot of that lately, or maybe you just let him leave it in.”

  “What are you talking about?” She walked toward him. “I’m surprised you even noticed. You’re never home, and if you are, you’re just hiding down in your office in the basement.”

  Alec rose from the chair, intercepting her in the kitchen. “So how long has it been going on?”

  Penny still didn’t know how much Alec knew. She thought he could just be fishing for confirmation. She said, “The drinking? Since we lost the baby.” Alec recoiled and walked past her. With his back to Penny, he extended his arms and leaned on the counter, staring out the window. She didn’t relent. “See, you can’t even hear the words without running away.”

  “I’m going to ask you once.” His voice was low and strained. He was fighting to hold back the emotion. “Was it even my baby, or were you fucking him before?”

  The comment enraged Penny. She wasn’t going to stand there and be the victim. She had been through enough. “My God, who? You keep mentioning someone. Who do you think I’m fucking?”

  “Fritjof.” Alec spun around and faced her. Tears streamed. “After everything you and I have been through, I can’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it. But I saw you two on TV, and it all came together: the drinking, the mysterious errands, the extended work hours.” He slid down to the floor against the kitchen cabinet and buried his face in his hands, sobbing. “And it had to be a teammate.”

  Penny didn’t know what Alec had actually seen, or how he had found out. Maybe he got suspicious and followed her, or maybe Fritjof told someone and it got back to Alec. It didn’t matter. She was done lying. Dropping to the floor, she leaned back against the cabinet across from him. “Of course she was your baby. I wanted her more than anything.”

  Alec looked up. “She? We had a girl?”

  “Yeah, and I had to carry her inside me for two whole days after that ultrasound before they could do the induction. The doctor told me the day of the ultrasound the baby was a girl. Remember that? When you left me alone in the examination room? You never asked after that, so I never told you. You barely even talked to me. I felt like you blamed me for what happened. Do you know how alone I felt?”

  “That’s why you started drinking?”

  “That’s why I started everything.”

  Dow Jones Close: 12,548.37

  Chapter Thirty

  Date: Monday, September 30, 2013

  Dow Jones Open: 15,249.82

  In his office at the Oasis, Les sat at his desk, scrutinizing the budget on the dated computer. The primrose walls were barren except for a single wooden cross in the center of the wall facing him. The edge of the desk was pushed against the wall to the right, two-thirds of the way up. An empty inbox and full outbox in the upper left were the only other objects on the desk. A single chair stood in front against the wall, and a filing cabinet filled the corner. A cot and dresser were against the wall behind him, making the office his bedroom as well.

  The fading color and flickering of the monitor made the screen difficult to read. But it, like most things in the building, had been donated, so he couldn’t really complain. His choices were simple: use what he had and wait for a better donation, buy a new one using the Oasis funds, or dip into his personal account for an upgrade. Money was tight on the last two so he opted for the first. He was already subsidizing the operation out of the settlement money he had received from the Church, which was pretty much all the money he had. Unsure how long that would last, he thought it best to hold on to as much cash as he could.

  Martin had been right about one thing. It didn’t take Les long to learn the ropes after taking over. Martin had set up everything on routines, more for the visitors he claimed. The fact it made managing the operation easier was just an added bonus. When Martin first opened the Oasis, he had recognized that the lives of the guests were so unstructured, having a place where they knew what to expect and when it was happening gave them at least some normalcy in their lives. It also cut down on the complaining. Martin even went as far as to make the first letters of the meals match the days of the week. There was Meatloaf Monday, Tuna Tuesday, Wiener Wednesday, Turkey Thursday, Fish Friday, Spaghetti Saturday, and Sloppy Joe Sundays.

  From the start Les really enjoyed the new work. He liked being outside of the pretense of the Church and simply to be helping people on the most fundamental level: with food and shelter. There were no titles, no confessions, no discussions of heaven and hell. Just good, solid, hard work. Each day he had a list of tasks to complete and each night he had tangible output to show for his effort. He understood right away why Martin had dedicated himself to the place, and why it was tough for him to leave. After the second week through the cycle with Martin, Les knew there really wasn’t a decision to be made. The path had already been determined. He was meant to stay and assume management of the Oasis.

  Although religious discourse rarely found its way into their workday, Les and Martin still had their fair share of debates, usually up on the roof at the end of the day, when the body was tired and the mind was feeding off the energy from the accomplishments of the day. It was here that Les, in his usual obtuse yet eloquent style, told Martin of his willingness to stay. “Like a pond after a storm, the more time I spend here, the more the water clears. I was meant to continue the great work you have been doing and allow you to embark on a new mission.”

  “Well, that’s great news,” Martin said. “I knew once you got here, it was more than two old friends catching up. It just took you a little bit longer to realize. You always were a slower learner than me.”

  “I think you mean more cautious,” Les said, smiling. “When do you think you’ll leave? Hopefully not for at least a few more weeks.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’ll stick around at least another month. The humanitarian group I plan to join meets in Washington, DC, during early December to prepare for the trip just after the first of the year. That will give us plenty of time to get you acquainted with all the regular donors and transfer everything into your name.”

  Les said, “Wait a second, transfer?” He was fine with filling in, but taking over financial responsibility sounded too sudden and too permanent. “Why do you have to transfer anything? You’re coming back at some point, right?”

  “Who knows what will happen? Better to be safe than sorry. Besides it’s not like the Oasis is worth much. We lease the space for $2,500 per month, which includes all the kitchen appliances. Pretty much all the other stuff was donated or isn’t worth much. The rent and all the other costs like utilities, food, insurance, the security guard, are covered by donations. If something happens, I just want you to be in a position to make a decision and not have to wait while you try to contact me halfway across the world. I may not just be a phone call away.”

  “No, I guess it makes sense,” Les said. “I just thought I’d be filling in until you came back. I never thought of it as being my place.”

  “Well, since it’s not really worth anything, it’s not really anyone’s, or maybe it’s everyone’s, depending on your perspective. Some months there’s a surplus, and some months a deficit, but one way or the other, the place always seems to break even over the long haul. You’ll just be in charge, which you would’ve been anyway, so it’s really just a formality. The only thing I ask is that you find a way to keep the doors open and make sure those in need get a meal and a bed.”

  Just as the days became a set of tasks for Les as he learned the routines and built the relationships, the weeks became a schedule of days. As Martin’s departure approached, L
es grew confident in his ability to operate the Oasis. He was more concerned about losing the companionship of his friend. Once Martin was gone, Les would be on his own, something he had not been in a very long time. In fact, after dropping off Martin at the airport, following the route that only months before he had taken for the first time, he suddenly realized that he had never been completely on his own. With the Church, he had had Father Bennett and the other priests and nuns who he had worked with over the years. Before that, he had been with his classmates all the way back to when he first started parochial school, and he had lived with his parents even before that.

  The ease and comfort Les had felt with the operation were instantly gone, and stayed that way for a while. It had been much easier following directions than giving them. To manage the chaos, he clung to the routines Martin had set, including the nightly visit to the rooftop, although usually he didn’t stay long. The stark solitude had a way of closing in around him and causing him to think too much. Instead he would retire early and opt for bedside prayer to clear his head. As time passed, however, the stress and struggles dispelled, and he started making the routines more his own. He kept the day-to-day operations of the Oasis the same, but he tinkered with how he spent his free time. He used the days to explore the strip and downtown, walking through every casino, and on a few occasions he returned to tune up his blackjack skills if he saw a table that presented advantageous rules. The more he made the place his own rather than following Martin’s plan, the more comfortable and less lonely he felt.

  As so often happens in life, when one area becomes more balanced, another falls into disarray. It was this way with the operation of the Oasis. Not the actual physical operation. That continued to run smoothly exactly as it had been. It was the financial side of things where Les had growing concern. Reviewing the budget and the actuals, he just couldn’t understand how Martin had stayed open as long as he had. In the nine months Les had been running the Oasis after Martin’s departure, he had already put in $15,000 of his own money, and according to his estimates, they were short another $1,800 for the month. He knew Martin didn’t have a lot of money, so he couldn’t have been pouring much capital into the place.

  Reviewing previous years’ records, it appeared the main reason was that the donations were significantly down from other years. Martin had said the neighborhood was gentrifying, and most of the previous neighbors and regular donors had sold or been forced out by the rising rents. The new neighbors were supposed to pick up the slack, but that wasn’t the case. They viewed the Oasis as more of a problem than a solution, and wanted to see it go. Although they never said as much, it was quite clear by their limited charity. Each time Les went on a fundraising campaign, he came back with fewer contributions.

  With the current donation level and the thirty grand Les had remaining in his account, he estimated he could keep the doors open for another year, maybe eighteen months at the most unless something changed. He didn’t have the time or energy to take on another job. He thought about increasing his fundraising efforts, but he was already seeing a pattern of diminishing returns. The current course would probably produce less, not more. Instead he went back to the same solution he used when he was in school and he had limited time and needed maximum return for his investment: he turned to gambling.

  Dow Jones Close: 15,129.67

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Date: Tuesday, January 10, 2012

  Dow Jones Open: 12,394.51

  Max had worried the job as the casino marketing specialist would be too challenging, and it was pretty difficult at first. But not for the reasons he had expected. He thought he wouldn’t be able to fulfill the responsibilities, but the actual work was the easiest part. It was learning the new language and the way people spoke and interacted with each other in the office that took some getting used to. He was used to being in a fast-paced operational environment where everyone told each other exactly what they thought and needed, bawdy humor and sexual innuendos kept things interesting, and the shifts went by quickly. In the new job, it was quite the opposite. The days crawled by, which was actually OK because it gave him time to sift through all the passive-aggressive comments and vague subtext that represented how everyone spoke to each other. He also had to upgrade the filter on his speech, because the slightest inappropriateness could land a person in human resources. This would’ve served Max well in his younger years, when he was often the butt of most insensitive comments, but now he could give as good as he got, so he actually enjoyed a more lively banter instead of the boring, diluted exchanges that he was forced to participate in.

  But like most things, once Max learned the rules of the game, he used them to his advantage and flourished. Even though he was on salary and no longer had to punch an actual time clock, he figured out it was even more important to come early and stay late. Busybody coworkers were always watching and recording who was present, who was not, who was at their desk, and who was outside smoking or in the cafeteria. It didn’t matter what he was working on. As long as his body was visible and active, either at his desk or in a meeting room, he was excelling. The corporate world was just like school. Keep quiet, stay in your seat, and don’t cause trouble, and you’ll advance.

  At first Max was disciplined and only worked on company business when he was at the office, but as time went on and he became more skilled in his job, he learned his efficiency and effectiveness worked against him. The more quickly he got the work done and the more he did, the more it got scrutinized, and the more his coworkers resented him. Instead he made sure to stay within, what he liked to call, the occupational sweet spot. He did enough quality work to exceed the results expected of him, but not so much that he drew attention to himself. This took him about five hours a day, which left him about four or so, depending on how long he took for lunch, and he usually brought that from home and ate at his desk, except on Fridays when he went out with coworkers to at least appear social. It didn’t matter if it was sincere; as long as he put in some time, the gossip and snarkiness seemed to be directed elsewhere.

  All the things that Max thought he would hate became why he loved the new job. For the first time in his life, he had safety and security and felt like he didn’t have to continually prove himself. Of course at first this was uncomfortable and not an easy adjustment. After clawing and scratching for so many years, it took him some time to just slow down and accept that he deserved all the good things that were happening. But once he did, the pace and lower expectations really agreed with him. He used the extra time in his day to research and explore ideas he had. The extra money he was making, he stuffed into a special account. Initially it was for a house, but as the ideas took shape, he realized they were his true assets and that was what he would use the money for.

  The first idea on the list and the one that always seemed to stay on top when he would prioritize and decide what to work on was the Lapkin. Max prided himself on being analytical and able to separate his head from his heart. He didn’t want to show favoritism toward the Lapkin just because it was his first invention and had ties to his childhood. The fact that the Lapkin stayed at the top of the list was a testament to the strength of the idea, one that the public would later substantiate.

  Max could do all the research, design and development, planning, and purchasing of materials while at the office, but for the production, that had to be done elsewhere of course. The base of his operation was in the living room of his one-bedroom apartment in Henderson. He replaced the Naugahyde material he had used in the original Lapkin with a lighter weight Gortex fabric. The wooden paint stirrers he had fitted for the sides, he swapped for thin, flexible plastic rods. Each morning he made two before going to work and eight when he got home. On the weekends he made $25 each day for a total of $100 a week and $450 the first month. Learning a few shortcuts and improving his sewing skills allowed him to hit five hundred fifty the second month to bring his total inventory to a thousand.
It was time to go to market.

  Another unexpected takeaway from his day job was he learned the power of digital marketing and all the various channels available to sell a product. Max had always had an innate street sense of marketing. He knew how to recognize an opportunity, develop a solution, create the demand, and deliver the result, but it was always service-oriented, and he was the one providing the service. For the Lapkin, that would never work. Of course he could’ve quit his job, walked the strip every day, and sold his Lapkin face-to-face. No doubt with enough time and effort, he could’ve supported himself and created enough demand after a while to set up a booth or popup store, but who would’ve been making them while he was selling? And what about his other ideas? How could he develop new ideas if he was so busy making and selling Lapkins? No, he knew in the short term that might work, but in the long run he’d just be another hamster on a wheel.

  Instead Max organized his whole life as a company. He used his job as his main revenue stream. He made sure the quality of work at his job was above the expected threshold to maintain the security of the flow. He used his surplus work time in the office to develop the sales and marketing plan, which was a combination of internet ads and social media campaigns, all directing traffic to the Lapkin website. He steered clear of traditional print media because it was just too expensive. For the web and ad content, he recruited Jake, a UNLV student living upstairs, and Felicia, a cocktail server at Tao nightclub, to pose with various stains and mishaps with and without a Lapkin for before and after pictures. Many of the pictures were silly, but that was the point. The genius of the Lapkin was its whimsy. It was so simple people would feel foolish that they didn’t think of it.

  Max priced the Lapkin at $9.99, with additional orders available for $6. It cost him just over four dollars to make, not including his labor or any of the sales and marketing costs, which would’ve turned it all upside down. He knew he couldn’t get more than $9.99 for one anyway, so he decided to worry about driving the costs down later.