The Investment Club

by Cooper, Doug

  Max did some quick estimation in his head. “At twenty thousand a day, that’s six hundred thousand per month and 1.8 million for the quarter, which puts us at a total of 2.8 million by the deadline. That’s not going to cut it. We need 4.5 million by the end of June or they can cancel the contract.”

  “I’m doing the best I can with what I got.” Ed switched to another slide in the presentation. “Look at these projections. If we can get more people and operate the other shifts, we can boost production to thirty-six thousand units, which will put us in the neighborhood of 4.5 million. With some other efficiencies and improvements, I think we can get there.”

  Max drew aim on Jules. Ed sunk quietly into a chair. Max said, “So Jules, where are we with the recruitment efforts?”

  Jules stood and walked toward the laptop, taking the pointer from Ed. Composed and poised, she put on her red rectangular frame glasses and switched the presentation on the laptop. Directing the pointer to the screen, she said, “The increase you see the past two weeks is from relaxing the drug testing. The problem is we’re getting quantity but not quality. I’m afraid our turnover rate will go through the roof, and we’ll keep having to train new people, since a lot don’t stick around more than a week or two.” She flashed the beam on another bar. “We are attracting some good applicants with the advertising for part-time four-hour shifts, but we need twice as many people to fill an eight-hour shift.”

  Ed jumped back into the conversation. “And with the additional shift change, two four-hour crews will produce less than one eight-hour crew.”

  Jules dimmed the beam and slid the pointer in her pocket. “Also all the recruitment, employee incentives, and additional training due to excessive turnover have tripled our estimated onboarding costs.”

  “Enough!” Max banged his fist on the table. “You guys are coming to me with only problems. I want solutions. I don’t care what it takes or costs. If you two spent half as much time working together as you did covering your own asses, we might actually be able to hit the target.” He turned to Belinda, his CFO. “So how bad is it?”

  Belinda stood from the table. She was a tall, confident black woman who Max had hired away from one of the strip casino groups with a big salary and a promise of more authority. Her short brown hair had layered bangs, adding length around her narrow face. She said, “It really comes down to whether or not you meet the deadline.” She removed four stapled decks from a manila folder and slid one to each of them, keeping the last one for herself. “I did two income statement projections. With the purchase of the Western, the investment in the new production equipment, additional headcount, and other fixed cost increases with the expanded operation, both show losses in the first half of this year. If you compare the two, the difference is in the second half. The first assumes meeting the deadline and receiving the payments from McDonald’s. The second shows the outcome if those payments are not made.”

  Max focused on the second page. “Wait a second. Without the McDonald’s deal, we’re bankrupt? How can that be? We had ten million in cash in the bank at the end of twenty thirteen.”

  “Go to page three,” Belinda said. “The domestic orders are down sixty percent from first quarter last year, and the international orders are down seventy three percent. We had projected minimal growth in the first half of the year, with a significant spike in the second half, triggered by the McDonald’s output.” She flipped back to page two. “With the payment due for the four and a half million units on July 1, and the subsequent payments on the first of the following months for each additional million units, we are on track to exceed the twenty thirteen revenue.”

  “And without it?” Max turned back to page one. ‘We’re bust?”

  “I wouldn’t go to that extreme,” Belinda said, choosing her words carefully. “But we would have to revert to some pretty severe austerity measures and sell some of the assets you have accumulated or seek help from external sources.”

  He threw the financial report in the middle of the table. “Max Doler doesn’t do austerity.”

  Dow Jones Close: 16,170.22

  Chapter Forty-One

  Date: Wednesday, March 31, 2010

  Dow Jones Open: 10,907.34

  Crystal’s brisk walk quickened to a jog. She glanced at her watch. Two minutes. She had missed the employee shuttle and couldn’t afford to be late…again. The director had started locking the door promptly at six. Anyone late had to enter through the front and face his wrath. With the mood he had been in lately, she didn’t want to land in his crosshairs.

  She rounded the back of the theater into the alley, ready to sprint the final hundred yards. A group congregating around the stage door slowed her pace. She looked again at the watch. Still a minute to go. The door couldn’t be locked already. She approached the group. Everyone was exchanging confused looks and mumbling. A handwritten note taped to the stage door read, “Today’s rehearsal has been cancelled. Please report to the theater for a cast and crew meeting.”

  With the foul mood and disposition of the director, rumors had been swirling for weeks about the increasing tension between him, the producers, and the management at the Wynn. The show was on schedule to open on time but was significantly over budget, and the buzz and demand for tickets was not as high as expected. From the first rehearsal the director had been extremely demanding of the performers and the crew, causing significant turnover and rebuilding of sets, and the increased pressure lately was intensifying everything. Other than being late a few times, Crystal had gotten along well with him, but many of her castmates had not, choosing to leave the production rather than fight with him day after day.

  As they all walked to the front of the theater, Crystal and the others posited the possibilities. No one had a clue what was going on, but the consensus was whatever the reason, it wasn’t positive. Inside the theater, everyone was gathered in the first five rows with a clear division between the cast and crew. The performers filled the right side. The crew was on the left. A section of three empty chairs from front to back separated the groups. Everyone spoke in whispers. Crystal joined her people on the right, taking an open seat next to her girlfriend Janel, who was from Inglewood and had fluffy, corkscrew curls and a similar build and skillset to Crystal’s. They had met during the first audition. While Crystal wasn’t really friends with anyone in the show—or outside for that matter—Janel was as close as she got.

  Crystal, like everyone else, spoke in a hushed voice. “So what’s going on?”

  “It can’t be good,” Janel said. “They don’t pay us just to sit here.”

  “Maybe it’s information about the previews.” Crystal knew it was too sudden to be an informational meeting, but she was trying to counteract the pervading negativity. She didn’t really have any other choice. She had just purchased and moved into a new condo two weeks earlier and was only four months into a three-year lease on a BMW. She had been in such a funk after her mom died, she had to do something to mix things up. As part of her own denial she had been reluctant to spend any of the insurance money. It just seemed wrong to benefit from her mom being gone forever. But with the opening night of the show rapidly approaching, she thought both moves were safe investments. More than anything, they would provide stability, something she desperately needed. Losing her mom had created a hole in her life because Valeria had been more than just a mom. She had been her only family, her best friend, her home. The only other person Crystal was remotely close to was Maura, and while she loved Maura, it was more business than personal. Without Valeria, Crystal had nothing waiting for her in LA if things didn’t work out in Vegas. Putting down roots in Vegas seemed like the best solution.

  The female lead, a rangy Hawaiian from Maui, turned around from the row in front of them. “No, this is bad news. They never bring the cast and crew together unless something really bad happens. The only question is how bad.”

  Crystal swa
llowed hard, her insides tightening by the second. She already had enough bad news for the year, for the decade for that matter.

  The director walked out on the stage. His swollen face and fixed scowl did little to appease her growing sense of doom. He scanned the crowd once, twice, three times before speaking. “Apologies for the short notice on the meeting. I’m sure you’re all wondering why we have brought you together today.” His eyes skimmed across the crowd again, almost as if he were looking for someone specifically, but it became apparent he was just avoiding what he had to say. He dropped his eyes to his feet, taking a long pause. “I know I’ve been extremely tough on all of you over the past six months. I hope you understand it’s because I see the potential in you and want you to come as close as you possibly can to achieving that potential. It’s because of this that I’m deeply saddened to inform you that the producers have decided to shut down the show and cease production immediately.” He paused allowing the weight of the message to be absorbed.

  Seconds of silence passed. Everyone exchanged looks of shock and disbelief. Pockets of murmuring percolated within the audience, escalating to audible questions yelled above the babel.

  “How can this happen?”

  “When is our last day?”

  “Will we get severance?”

  The director listened to all the questions. As the clamor quieted, he attempted to answer them all as completely and efficiently as possible. Now that he had disseminated the bad news, he clearly wanted to speed things up and get off stage and out of the line of fire as quickly as possible. He raised his hand to dampen the lingering discord. “So here’s how we got here. Based on the sales forecasts and projections, the show is expected to lose money for much longer than was expected and would require additional and consistent investment to stay open. The producers, along with the Wynn, have decided not to seek additional money from current or new investors. As such, they feel the best course of action is to stop production immediately and cap the financial exposure to what has been spent and is owed to each of you according to your contracts. Today’s announcement and the accompanying letter each of you will receive will serve as the official notification and explanation of your severance benefits. Details on your final pay are contained in the letters.”

  A male and female lower level assistant entered, each carrying a stack of envelopes. The guy walked over to address the crew; she took her position in front of the cast. They began reading names. Crew and cast members filed forward, picked up their letters, and returned to their seats, not sure if they were suppose to stay or go.

  The director, usually brimming with confidence and certainty, seemed equally as confused about what should happen next. He filled the air with meaningless words and hollow sentiment. “Although this wasn’t the end we had envisioned, we’ve all grown from this and will take the experience into our future endeavors and be better for it.” With everyone more concerned about the content of their individual letters, there was really nothing more for him to say. He wrapped up his remarks. “I wish you all continued success and hope our paths cross again, and that we can build on what we have started.”

  Crystal studied her letter. “So wait. We’re done as of today and they pay us for four more weeks and we don’t have to do anything?”

  “Hush money,” one of the other girls said. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

  Janel put her hand on Crystal’s. “Don’t talk about the details of your package. Not everyone gets the same. It’s a very sensitive subject. Some have families and only get two weeks. Best to keep your mouth closed.”

  Crystal folded up her letter and tucked it in her purse. “So what do we do now?”

  Janel stood, leading Crystal up by the hand. “We go get fucked up. That’s what. We worry about the details and looking for a new job tomorrow.”

  One of the male performers jumped up. “Now you’re talking. Casino crawl. Everyone throws in twenty dollars. We start here and move down the strip. One drink at each casino. Last one standing wins the pot.”

  And so a group of fifteen embarked: Wynn, the Palazzo, the Venetian, Casino Royale, Harrah’s, O’Shea’s, Flamingo. Eight drinks in, four people had already dropped out. Each stop took more time than the previous one, and the conversations became louder and more random. Crystal had hung out with the cast before, but not like this.

  Crossing Flamingo Road to Bally’s, Crystal’s head was swimming from the alcohol and her uncertain future. Without the job, her only ties to Vegas were a hefty mortgage and car payment. She had thought she needed them to feel connected and to move forward. Instead they would wrap around her and pull her to the bottom. She could already feel herself sinking. She clutched Janel’s arm. “I’m not sure I can take much more of this.”

  “Nonsense,” Janel said. “We’re just getting started.” The drunken group stormed through the Bally’s valet area toward the front entrance. All traffic stopped. With the group’s determination and obliviousness, the drivers really didn’t have a choice.

  Inside the sliding glass doors of the main entrance, the group headed straight for the center bar. Janel pulled Crystal toward the restroom. “Come with me.”

  One of the guys who had been hitting on Janel for the past three stops saw them venturing off and followed after them. “Quitting already?”

  Janel waived him off. “Just powdering our noses. Order us two Coronas. We’ll be back in a sec.” Janel giggled and squeezed Crystal’s arm. “Looks like mama’s getting lucky tonight.”

  In the restroom, Crystal went into a stall. She turned around, surprised to find Janel right behind her. The casino crawl had brought them closer but not pee-in-the-same-stall close. Crystal froze, unsure whether to sit down or let Janel go first. She shifted from one foot to the other. She hadn’t realized how badly she had to go, but being in the restroom next to the stall, the urge overtook her. She asked, “Um, did you want to go first?”

  Janel rooted around in her purse. “Oh, you go ahead. I didn’t come here for that.” She removed her hand from her purse, holding up a vial of white powder between her index finger and thumb. “Here we go. This should keep us going.”

  Crystal dropped her panties around her ankles, hiked up her skirt, and sat down in one fluid motion. Uncomfortable with Janel being so close and what she was about to do, Crystal stared at the floor. She wasn’t a complete prude. Her mom had always been open with her about, well, everything, and she had been around a lot of parties with drugs, but they were always in a back bedroom, bathroom, or behind some other locked door. Never this close. She felt trapped, but also a little curious. She looked up and watched Janel unscrew the cap and dump some of the powder on the stainless steel toilet paper dispenser. When Crystal stood, reapplying the layers as swiftly as she peeled them away, there were four lines of the powder.

  Janel held a rolled-up twenty toward her. “Two for you; two for me.”

  “Oh I’m good.” Crystal smoothed her skirt and fidgeted with her top, trying to sidestep Janel. “I don’t really do that stuff.”

  Janel moved against the door. “Come on. A couple lines aren’t going to hurt you, just like one cheeseburger isn’t going to make you fat—which by the way we are totally getting later now that I don’t have to care about what I look like in a bikini top and grass skirt in front of five hundred strangers.”

  Crystal bought herself more time. “You go first.”

  Janel pulled back her curls, bent down, and inhaled, once, then twice. She lifted her head. Only two lines remained. “See. Nothing to worry about. Trust me. You’ll feel a lot better, and we’ll be able to drink these other clowns under the table.”

  Crystal took the bill from Janel. She stared at the lines. Someone came into the restroom.

  Janel sat down on the toilet, talking loudly and breaking into a made-up story. “So he said they were just friends, but I can tell he’s lying
.” She released a slow, steady stream, further hiding their purpose. “I mean, I’m friends with a lot of guys, but I don’t leave my earrings in their cars and lipstick on their collars.” She nodded toward the lines.

  Crystal played along. “What are you going to do?” She bent down and inhaled the first. The anxiety from being in the stall with Janel and trying coke for the first time instantly vanished. She relaxed. Confidence swelled inside her. The only way she could describe the feeling was that she felt taller and bulletproof, like she could handle anything. More importantly, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t feel alone.

  Janel smiled and motioned to do the other one, continuing with their charade of a conversation. “It’s done. I kicked his ass to the curb. He can hang out with his friend.”

  Crystal finished the other line. She straightened her body and stared at the stall partition in silence.

  Janel said, “I ain’t got time for that shit. He thinks he can play me.” Her words trailed off as she watched the feet of the person leave the restroom. She stood, grabbing the twenty and Crystal’s hand, and charging out of the stall as the toilet flushed behind them.

  From Bally’s the group powered on to Paris, Planet Hollywood, MGM, and Tropicana, losing a person at each stop. With only six members remaining, and at the end of the east side of the strip, it was decision time. To continue they would have to cross over to the other side of the strip and resume at Mandalay Bay. Tracking back up the west side was another level of commitment, not just for the night, but the recovery time that would be required the following day as well. Crystal wasn’t thinking about that, though. After two more trips to the ladies’ room with Janel, she was ready and willing to keep going. She rarely even had two glasses of wine, and now was about to hit her twelfth casino in six hours. Of course that didn’t mean twelve drinks. She and Janel had left several unfinished, split a few, and even subbed in a couple waters without the others knowing. Since they weighed about half to two-thirds as much as some of the other participants, they figured they were only responsible for drinking about the same ratio of alcohol.