The Investment Club

by Cooper, Doug

Massaging her temples to alleviate the tension from all the alcohol, it slowly came back to her. She remembered hearing Crystal sing and playing video blackjack with her at the Parlour Bar at the El Cortez. She thought they may have gone out together but recalled Crystal storming off because Penny offered to help her get legitimate singing jobs. What is her problem? she thought. Why won’t she accept any help? She obviously needs it.

  Penny traced the stars down Neck Tattoo’s back. He moaned, wiggling his shoulders and burrowing further into his pillow. She stopped, not wanting to wake him. She’d sneak out just like the other mornings she had stayed.

  Slinking off the mattress, Penny scanned the room locating her purse, clothes, and shoes scattered across the floor. She reassembled her outfit, stuffing the panties into her purse and carrying her shoes to not make noise on the concrete floor. She eased open the door, noticing the red five-gallon bucket next to it. No amount of alcohol would allow her to forget that. Since there was no restroom in the studio, her choice had been simple: pee in the bucket or out in the alley. The only other option was walking to the ampm on Charleston, and there was no way that was happening. The bucket and the alley were both probably cleaner. She remembered opting for the bucket and him, not surprisingly, wanting to watch.

  Outside she slipped on her shoes and walked down the alley to one of the parked cars awaiting service in front of the garage for the used car lot on the corner. The high-seventies temperature with a slight breeze was a relief from the sticky, stale air inside of the studio. Bending down, she angled the side mirror in her direction to survey the damage. Not bad, she thought. Just some smeared makeup and matted hair. Nothing a tissue, some lip gloss, a hairband, and sunglasses won’t fix. Digging the items out of her purse, she did a quick makeover and used her reflection in the car window to adjust her outfit. When she turned around, two mechanics were standing, snickering to one another, in one of the open garage bays. With a wave of the hand, she put her head down and trudged down the alley to Main.

  Not seeing her car on the street where she usually parked, her first reaction was panic quickly followed by relief. At least she didn’t drive. Sifting back through the haze, she recalled them walking along Las Vegas Boulevard, or rather him giving her a piggyback ride because she refused to walk. She concluded her car must still be in the parking garage. She’d have to get a cab to retrieve it. If she wouldn’t walk last night, she sure wasn’t going to do it in broad daylight, hungover.

  Planning to get a coffee anyway, Penny crossed over Main to Makers & Finders, the coffee bar and restaurant she usually went to on her way home after staying with Neck Tattoo. Makers had the best lavender latte. It was smooth and creamy with just the right amount of floral and sweetness, both of which she always seemed to need to lift her up after a late night with Neck Tattoo.

  Inside, the open, brightly lit space with positive affirmations written on the open duct work and urban art scattered throughout immediately made her feel better. The rectangular room was set up with a continuous bench along the full length of the right wall with individual tables for two. In the middle was a row of four-top tables that could be rearranged for larger groups. To the left was the coffee bar, which was similar to one in a tavern with high-back chairs for patrons to belly-up, and a long social table filled with local creatives and home office workers looking to escape their own four walls. Regardless of attire, they all assumed the same posture, leaning over laptops, banging away at the keys, with headphones buried into their ears.

  Penny maneuvered to the bar, leaving her brown Tom Ford cat eye sunglasses on. After ordering she sat down in one of the chairs lined up, facing inside, along the front window for people waiting for takeaway items. Covertly scanning from behind the tinted lenses, she recognized Les seated on the bench against the right wall by himself at the last table. She looked away pretending not to see him and watched the barista prepare drinks. Without turning her head, she let her eyes drift back in his direction. He was looking directly at her, and waving. Feigning surprise, she jerked her head in his direction and threw her arms in the air. He motioned her over.

  Turning to the barista, Penny said, “Better make mine for here,” and pointed to Les’s table as the destination for the drink. Still keeping the sunglasses on to hide her tired eyes, she forced a smile and weaved her way through the dining room to Les. “What are you doing? I didn’t know you came here.”

  Les scooted the table back to squeeze out and gave her a hug. “I love this place. The Oasis is just around the corner. I come here three-four times a week. Get tired of my own cooking and not many places you can find good Colombian food. Bill usually comes with me after we finish the morning duties at the mission, but he had some errands to run today.”

  “Sorry I missed him.” Standing close to Les, Penny was conscious of what she must smell like after a night out in the bars, and, well, a night in the studio with Neck Tattoo. Guilt for never stopping by the Oasis also nipped at her shaky confidence. Les motioned for her to sit and returned to his seat on the bench. Settling into the chair, she said, “How’s the food? I’ve only gotten the coffee here. Can’t get enough of their lavender latte.”

  A light-skinned male Latino, sporting a pompadour haircut with the sides and back clipped short, delivered a plate of food for Les and the lavender latte for Penny. Les said, “Judge for yourself. I have more than enough.” He looked to the server. “Can we get another plate?”

  Penny said, “No really, that’s OK. You eat. I can’t stay long anyway.”

  The server had already disappeared and was on the way back with the plate. Les took the plate and, despite Penny’s objection, scooped one of the poached egg concoctions onto the other plate. “This is their Arepas Benny. It’s like an eggs benedict but with an arepa instead of English muffin, coffee rubbed beef in place of the Canadian bacon, and a salsa verde hollandaise. So good.”

  “It looks delicious, but I’m really not even hungry,” Penny said, even though she was. Her stomach was gurgling from drinking her dinner the night before. “I don’t even know what an arepa is anyway.”

  Les immediately dug into his. “Just try a bite. They’re thin corn pancakes used in Colombian and Venezuelan cooking. Actually the guy who brought our food is one of the owners. His family is from Colombia. He refers to the menu as Latin comfort food. We had some Colombians in the congregation, who would invite me over to dinner. Mexican food is everywhere, but it’s so tough to find other Latin cuisine.”

  Feeling conspicuous with the sunglasses on since she obviously wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, Penny finally removed them. She could feel Les examining her appearance, more with curiosity than with judgment. Picking up a fork, she separated the egg, beef and arepa into three piles.

  Les said, “Oh no. You have to make sure you get a little bit of everything on that first taste.”

  Penny cut into the poached egg oozing yolk onto the plate. “I know it’s weird, but I can’t. Have to have my food separated. Been that way since I was a kid.” She took a forkful of beef for her next bite, nodding in approval.

  “To each their own I guess,” Les said. “So what are you doing in these parts at this time of day?”

  Penny sipped her latte. “I got a house over in the Scotch 80’s not too far from here.”

  Les said, “Surprised I haven’t seen you here before.”

  Penny delved back into the food. It really was good, or maybe she was just that hungry. Regardless, she felt better with each bite. She said, “I’m usually in and out, just picking up a latte on my way home from a friend’s. Actually you met him a few weeks back when I ran into you and Crystal at the El Cortez.”

  “Oh yeah, young, good-looking guy, had an eight-pointed star tattooed on his neck.”

  “Wow, good memory,” Penny said. “Not sure I realized there were eight points.”

  Les said, “I just remember it because stars with eight points
symbolize fulfillment and regeneration. But he probably already told you that.”

  Penny scoffed, “To be honest, I’m not sure he even knows that. He probably got it because of how it looks.” The food, the environment, the conversation with Les, all helped relax her. “I’d just assume we forget that night. Not my finest hour.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about it,” Les said. “You were just having fun.”

  “Seems like it is happening too much lately though,” Penny said. “Obviously not much of a future for the two of us.”

  His plate clean, Les crossed his knife and fork in the center. “You two do seem quite different.”

  “It started as a fun distraction. Now I don’t know what it is. I tried hanging out with Crystal earlier in the night, but you know how she is. If you get twenty minutes of conversation from her, fifteen of it is probably her thinking how she can get away. He’s just always around and open to meeting up.” Penny scraped up her last bite, wishing there was more. She noticed how careful she was being to collect every bit. Looking up at Les, she laughed. “Guess I was a little more hungry than I thought.”

  Les leaned back against the wall. “You talking about the food or the other situation?

  “Good point,” Penny said, washing down the food with a drink of her latte. “Guess it applies to both.”

  “I worry about myself in a similar fashion,” Les said.

  Penny snorted, shocked by his remark, steamed milk almost coming through her nose. “You do?

  Les must’ve seen the surprise in her face. He said, “Well, not exactly in that arena. I was thinking more of gambling.”

  “No way. I can’t believe that. You know the game so well and are always so under control.”

  “I should know it,” Les said. “Been playing since I was kid. Believe me though. I’ve lost control on more than one occasion. One of the reasons I went into the clergy to begin with. Was worried what I might become. I was so fascinated by the numbers and the action. Could feel it getting its hooks in me.”

  Penny said, “I don’t know. You’re the last person I’d think had a gambling problem.”

  Les put his elbow on the table, propping up his chin with his closed fist. “I don’t think I do either. But every so often I’m reminded that while I may not be an addict, I do have addictive tendencies. One night, not too long ago, I went completely off the rails and lost everything I had in my pockets. Would’ve kept going, too, if I had more.”

  Penny thought about what he was saying. He was talking about himself, but it easily could apply to her as well. She worried about her drinking and the recent rash of sleepovers, but she never considered herself an alcoholic, or promiscuous for that matter. She said, “How do you know you don’t have a problem? Maybe you’re in denial.”

  “I guess I don’t if I’m being completely honest. But I quit for over twenty years. Only blackjack I played was as the dealer at the annual church fundraiser. Lately when I’ve gone too far, it was never only about the gambling. There was always something else out of balance triggering it. The gambling was just a symptom. If I don’t address the cause, it will just come out another time. We try to hide or eliminate our demons when we really have to make friends and coexist.”

  “I definitely get that,” Penny said. “For me, I always had my career. Now that I don’t, I’m just not myself.”

  Les said, “Just go back to work. Seems like an easy fix.”

  Penny didn’t like admitting to people why she wasn’t working. People were so obsessed with money, there was just no good way to say it without sounding spoiled. She thought since Les came from a more pious world that he might understand. “I know this sounds terrible, and, believe me, I’m not complaining. It’s just, I really don’t have to. I’ve done well in life and really don’t need the money.”

  Les said, “Just because you don’t need money, doesn’t mean you don’t need work. Money is just one of the reasons people work.”

  The owner of the restaurant came to the table, asking if they wanted anything else. They declined, and he left the check on the table. Penny slid it toward her, resting her hand on the top. She asked, “So why do you gamble?”

  Les nodded in gratitude for her picking up the check. He said, “For the money of course.”

  Dow Jones Close: 16,558.87

  Chapter Forty

  Date: Thursday, April 10, 2014

  Dow Jones Open: 16,437.24

  Max advanced across the Western floor, down the aisle between the center and right production lines, which were the only two running; the other sat ominously quiet. His purposeful stride forced workers’ heads down to focus on their tasks and avoid becoming targets. Max had a reputation for shooting first and asking questions second when he patrolled the floor. With the way things had been going, he was locked and loaded and ready to fire. He watched the workers tracking his progress with darting glances, relaxing as he passed. Occasionally he shot a glare at one, hoping the person was stupid enough to make eye contact. While a public execution might not be good for morale, it would probably boost production, at least in the short term, which was all he cared about at the moment.

  Max stopped at the end of the production lines. Sealed boxes containing a hundred Lapkins rolled off each line. Workers collected and stacked the boxes three wide, five deep, and five high onto pallets. A forklift picked up a full pallet and drove it to the loading cross-dock in the back of the facility. Max turned around and looked back across the operation, which barely covered half of the open space that for nearly forty years had buzzed with gaming activity.

  Although Max ended up with the Western after his drunken mishap, he thought of it as a happy accident. Of course no one, least of all him, knew where he had been going that night or what had prompted him to turn straight into the front doors of the old hotel. All he could come up with was that maybe after leaving the El Cortez he had decided on a nightcap down the street at Atomic. Somewhere along the way he got turned around, saw the big white Western building, mistook it for the Ogden, and drove through the front doors, thinking it was the entrance to his parking garage.

  The Western had closed for good by the time Max had moved his enterprise from his apartment to downtown, but he was quite familiar with the property. Every day he drove by it on the way to his offices and factory at Eleventh and Maryland. Although he had never considered it as a potential new location, with all the open space on the old gaming floor, a full kitchen and dining facilities, and rooms that could easily be converted to offices, it ended up working pretty well for the much-needed expansion to meet the spike in demand from the McDonald’s deal. The extra space allowed him to add two more production lines, which he needed if he was going to make the McDonald’s deadline by June 30.

  Moving to the new location had been a seamless transition. He kept the old line going while working to get the Western up to code and set up two new production lines there. Once they were up and running, he moved the equipment from Eleventh Street to the Western to add a third line, and planned to hire additional workers and add shifts as needed, intending to make up any dip in production during the transition once all three lines were operational at the Western. Just like in the Western’s heyday, Max was prepared to run it twenty-four seven if need be.

  According to the forecast models, the company had the space, machines, and materials to meet the 4.5-million-unit deadline. What they didn’t have was people. They were able to fill the first shift for all three lines no problem, and two of three for the second shift, but they couldn’t find a complete crew for the third line during that shift or any of the lines during the third shift. They tried everything: unlimited overtime, free employee meals, referral bonuses for new hires, and even refurbishing some of the hotel rooms for employees to live free of charge, but they couldn’t find reliable workers. There were plenty of people looking for paychecks, but not many interested in steady employ
ment. Usually what happened was that people worked long enough to get a paycheck or two, then they would disappear for a week and show up again when the money ran out.

  That day on the production floor, as Max searched for a sacrificial lamb, Ed, the operations supervisor, stood beside him, offering excuses on why the third line was not operating. Ed had on a blue button-down with an orange and brown striped tie, jeans, and scuffed-up brown leather work boots. Max never expected Ed to wear a tie, which, on that day, was four inches too short and resting on his protruding belly, but he always did, and they were never tied right. Ed nervously ran his hand through his curly black hair, continuing to gesture at the dormant line. Max didn’t care to hear Ed’s explanation and physically couldn’t above the noise. Holding up his hand to shut down the fawning behavior, Max pointed toward the conference room and stormed off in that direction. Ed trailed like a scolded child even though Max hadn’t said a word to him, at least not verbally. Max didn’t have to. His body language communicated everything he was thinking. Jules, the head of human resources, and his CFO, Belinda, sat at the table, ready for their monthly management meeting to review the March numbers, overall first quarter results, and second quarter forecasts.

  Max forced a smile. “Good afternoon, ladies. I hope your day is going better than mine.” They nodded, smiling uncomfortably. Everyone seemed to know the meeting was not going to be a pleasant one. Max took his seat at the head of the table. Ed pulled a chair out to join them. Max stopped him. “What are you doing? No point in sitting down.” He motioned toward the projection screen. “Might as well get to the bad news.”

  Ed walked to the front of the room, shuffling through the papers in the folder he’d had tucked under his arm. He opened the laptop connected to the projector and clicked on the keys until a spreadsheet appeared on the screen. Removing a laser pointer from his pocket, he directed the beam to the lower right of the screen. The light shook back and forth over the cells due to Ed’s tremoring hand. “You can see even with ceasing production at the Eleventh Street facility and moving to the Western, we managed to surpass the one million mark. Now, with all three lines fully functional for the first shift and two lines running second shift, we’re able to produce about twenty thousand per day.” He moved the beam to another column on the spreadsheet. “And we’ve lowered our per-unit cost within the one-fifty target.”