The Investment Club

by Cooper, Doug

  On the way to the car, Penny tossed the keys to Damon. “You can drive back, too. I’m way too excited.”

  “I’ll tell you where I’m driving us—straight to a bar,” Damon said, squeezing the key fob to unlock the car. The lights flashed and horn beeped two rows away. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

  “I’m down for that,” Penny said, walking up to the passenger side door. “My only question for you is, how long you been banging her?”

  Damon looked across the top of the car at her. “Who? Nila?” Penny smirked back at him. He said, “Is that what you think of me?”

  “I saw the way you two were, trying to be all professional but unable to stop looking at each other. How long has it been going on?”

  Damon smiled. “Off and on for about six months.”

  Penny said, “Well make sure you keep it going another few months or at least until the contract is signed.”

  Dow Jones Close: 17,156.85

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Date: Monday, November 3, 2014

  Dow Jones Open: 17,390.90

  Bill and Les walked underneath the rotating Ruby Slipper and Lady Luck neon signs in the median outside the El Cortez on Fremont East. Les said, “Want to go in for a couple hands? Been a while since we played together.” After the move to the Western, Les’s free time had shrunk to basically an hour or two per day. He had known with the expanded capacity there would be more work—more cooking, shopping, cleaning—but he also had more help and a lot more donations. All the publicity generated from the relocation and the press release had brought in people looking both for help and to help. The people coming in for assistance wanted more than just a meal and a bed. They had heard they could also get a paycheck. Some of them were ready and most not. The ones that were, it was as simple as helping them fill out an application. Not so much for the others. They really didn’t understand why they weren’t ready. They needed a lot of coaching and counseling, which took up a lot of time. Most of it was spent delicately explaining why they weren’t ready and what could be done to get them ready even though the chances of that were very slim. But this was the part of the job that Les was really enjoying. Sure, it took more time, but it was also more rewarding, despite the low success rate. Fortunately, with the additional volunteers and donations, he had a lot more resources at his disposal. Of course this cut into his gambling time, which meant less cash coming in, but he didn’t need the money anymore. He did miss the analysis and strategy of the game, and occasionally got the itch for action, but he knew the game was always there, and if he didn’t go today, he could always go another day.

  Bill looked up at the white letters spelling GAMBLING vertically on the teal sign above the El Cortez entrance on Fremont and Sixth. At night the bulbs along the side blinked, trailing one another, drawing passersby. Today the sign was peacefully pasted against the sky as strings of clouds floated behind. He said, “Nah, it’s a nice day. Let’s just walk.”

  They ambled on, passing the block-long collection of bars and restaurants—The Beat, Insert Coins, Therapy, Vanguard, and Park—across Las Vegas Boulevard into the Fremont Street Experience, the five-block entertainment district. Bill pointed up at the ninety-by-fifteen-hundred-foot steel canopy that covered the historic street, now a pedestrian mall. “You know, we were coming here before any of this even existed. You could drive from one end to the next and even park right on the street.”

  Four zipline riders raced by overhead. Les said, “Now you can glide from one end to the next.”

  “Hard to believe how quickly it’s gone by,” Bill said. “After we moved, Darlene and I used to come down here every Sunday for breakfast and to gamble. Don’t think I’ve been down here since.”

  Two feather-clad showgirls working for tips asked if they wanted a picture. Les smiled, holding out his hand to politely decline. He said to Bill, “Is that what’s been troubling you lately? Missing Darlene?”

  “Thought it would get easier,” Bill said. “Just seems to be getting harder. Not sure what the point is anymore.”

  They wove around a crowd gathered around Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons lookalikes in full KISS makeup and costumes. Les said, “What do you mean? Look at how much you’ve helped Crystal, and there’s no way I could’ve kept the mission open and pulled off the move without you.”

  “But we’re past all that. Crystal has been sober for over five months and is stronger by the day. The help and support for the mission is really rolling in now. Penny has her secret project that she won’t tell anybody about. Max is, well, he’s Max. He’s always got something going on. It just seems like now everybody has their thing. Mine was Darlene, and now she’s gone.”

  “Maybe your thing is helping all of us with our things. I think you’re underestimating everything you do. None of us would be where we are without you.”

  They stopped next to a large group of people encircling a contortionist in a straitjacket wrapped in chains, writhing on the concrete as he built the tension for his escape. Bill said, “That’s nice of you, and I’m happy that everyone is finding their way. I really am. But in many ways, and I know this is terrible to say, it just makes me feel that much more alone. I hate feeling that I was better off when you were all struggling, and I felt like you needed me. What kind of person does that make me?”

  “The normal human kind,” Les said. “You lost the most important person in the world to you, and right after that some people needed you, so you pushed all those painful feelings down and helped us. As long as you were helping us, all the other stuff stayed buried. Now that some of that responsibility has been lifted, the pain that you buried is working its way to the surface.”

  They continued walking, passing Binion’s, feeling the cold draft from the air conditioning streaming through the open front. Bill said, “But I was a cop for over thirty years, and I saw more ugliness than anyone should see in five lifetimes. It never bothered me. I was always able to keep things separate, deal with it, and move on. I just can’t shake this. Everywhere I go, everything I see, all that I do, I’m reminded of what’s not there: Darlene. I feel like my life stopped when hers ended.”

  “Maybe it’s not Darlene at all,” Les said.

  “Well, it’s not the job. I can tell you for sure that I don’t miss that one single bit. There hasn’t been one day that I woke up and wished I were going to work. It’s just, as I’m going through my days, it’s like air has been let out of everything around me. Not all of it. Just some, so that everything still has the same shape and coloring, but it’s all droopy and dull. I just miss Darlene.”

  They stopped in front of Glitter Gulch, originally the nickname of the entire street due to the abundance of neon signs. Now it was attached to another low-end strip club. More zipline riders screamed above as the braking system abruptly slowed their trip into the station. Les and Bill looped around to the other side of the street in front of the Golden Nugget and turned back. Les said, “Did you ever consider that it could just be regret?”

  “Nonsense,” Bill said. “There’s nothing more anyone could’ve done. The doctors said so.”

  A Leonard Nimoy Spock lookalike walked past, flashing the live long and prosper hand signal. Les nodded at him and turned back to Bill. “Not for Darlene, for Hughie. You could bring him back into your life. Seeing him when you and Darlene renewed your vows and talking to him when she was sick and after she passed unlocked all the old emotion. Instead of dealing with it, you channeled it toward us, but maybe it needs to be directed at him and his family, your family.”

  Bill bristled at the suggestion. “That’s ridiculous. We’ve both moved on. He doesn’t need me at all. We hadn’t had any contact for over twenty years, and he turned out great. With the way our last call ended after Darlene passed, I think it’s safe to say that it’s over for good.”

  “It’s only over if you want it to be,” Les said.
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  A ten-year-old boy with a buzzed head and an oversized tan two-piece suit walked up and handed Bill a flyer that said, He died for your sins. Will you live for Him? The boy returned to a man and a woman holding an eight-foot wooden cross with the same two sentences written down and across the upright and transverse pieces.

  Bill folded the flyer and tucked it in his pocket. “I guess what I’m saying is that I want it to be over. I’m not angry or upset. I’m just tired. I feel like I’ve done everything I was meant to do, and it’s time.”

  “Time for what?” Les said. “You don’t decide when it’s time. That’s for God to decide. He chose when to take Darlene. Maybe because you needed to be alone to do what you need to do. As long as Darlene was here, you would focus on her and not what you should be doing. He’ll take you when it’s time.”

  “That’s what I’m asking. What if I do decide? Will you help me?”

  Dow Jones Close: 17,366.24

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Date: Thursday, November 6, 2014

  Dow Jones Open: 17,491.66

  Penny couldn’t put it off any longer. The camera and sound crew were scheduled to arrive on Monday to start filming, and she hadn’t even told the others about the piece, let alone gotten their permission. At first her excuse for not telling them was she wanted to make sure CBS was interested. Then it was that she wanted to have the script done, so she could show them the story and exactly what each of them would have to do. But each time she checked off a box and eliminated an excuse, others popped up, like, she was waiting for final approval on the script from Nila at CBS, or she couldn’t find a convenient time to get everyone together, or she didn’t want to burden everyone with extra stress until she knew exactly when the crew would arrive. But after all those things were taken care of, and Nila had just called confirming the start of the shooting on Monday and asking again for the release forms, Penny knew it was time.

  Earlier that day Penny had asked the others to meet in the dining area after the dishes were finished and all the guests were settled in for the night. Even after everything they had done together, there were still two cliques. Les, Bill, and Crystal sat at one table, and Max sat alone at another, reading emails on his phone. All three production lines on the factory floor blurred with activity through the glass wall behind them.

  Penny kicked things off, saying, “I apologize for being so aloof lately and springing this meeting on you all at the last minute, but we’re all so busy these days, it’s been tough to find a good time to get everyone together to share this really exciting news.” She removed four copies of the ten-page script, titled Community Money, from her brown leather shoulder bag and handed a copy to each person. Crystal started reading immediately. The other copies remained on the table in front of the recipients. Penny said, “I must admit I wasn’t completely honest with you about my trip to LA last month. I did go and do all the fabulous shopping and R&R stuff I told you about, but I also had a meeting with my agent Damon, who most of you met, and the, uh, well, the producers of the CBS Sunday Morning show to pitch them an idea.” The reactions to her admission ranged from Max’s indifference and continued preoccupation with his phone to Les’s curiosity to Bill’s confusion. She couldn’t get a read on Crystal because all she could see was the top of Crystal’s head as she flipped through the script. Penny continued, “The good news is that they offered me a job, or more of an opportunity, really, but it could lead to something more permanent.”

  The weight of the words finally sunk into Max. He stopped reading the emails and tucked the phone away in his pocket. He said, “Hold on a second. THE CBS Sunday Morning show? The one created by Charles Kuralt?”

  Penny nodded. “That’s the one. I can’t believe it myself.”

  “That’s terrific,” Les said. “Of course you’re going to take it, right?”

  Penny looked down at the floor, her voice wavering. “Well, that depends.”

  Bill said, “On what? Do you have to move to LA?”

  Crystal lifted her eyes from script. “No. It depends on whether we’ll help her or not.” She tossed the script in the center of the table. “The bad news she was referring to before is that the story she has sold is about us.”

  “That’s not true. There really isn’t any bad news,” Penny said. “It’s more of a good news, better news situation.”

  Bill said, “I don’t understand. Why would CBS Sunday Morning care about us?”

  Penny pulled out a chair and sat down facing the two tables. “It’s not just about all of you. It’s about me, too, how we all met and came together to help each other.”

  Max stood and moved over to sit with the others. “I, for one, love the idea.”

  “Of course you do,” Crystal said. “You love anything that puts the Max Doler name out there for free.”

  Max said, “Easy there, tiger. It’s not just my name anymore. It’s also the Oasis and Miss C’s Music & Dance. Don’t be so shortsighted. This isn’t just about what you want. Think about it. This could be huge for the school, too. You’ll have people lining up to get in.”

  “I am thinking about it,” Crystal said. “Who will want to send their kids to a class taught by a recovering drug-addicted ex-stripper? While that makes for a great story, I don’t think that’s the best advertising campaign.”

  Penny scooted her chair to their table and opened the script. “That’s what’s so great about this and why I gave you all a copy. We control the narrative. We decide what to include and leave out. If you look through the pages, you’ll see, yes, I revealed some personal information but nothing bad.”

  Max said, “You can say whatever you want about me as long as you end with good stuff. People love a comeback, and they always remember what you did last, not first.”

  Penny interlocked her fingers and held her hands in front of her, pleading with them. “Just promise me, please, that you’ll go home tonight and read through the script. If there’s anything you don’t like, we can change it.” She hesitated, waiting for any objections. Max was in for sure, but none of the others seemed totally convinced. No one said anything though, so she continued. “After you read it, if you’re OK with what’s written, I just need you to sign and return the release form on the last page. The crew is scheduled to arrive on Monday to begin shooting the footage.”

  “As in four days from now Monday?” Crystal said. “Thanks for all the advance notice.”

  Les, in his typical measured way, said, “Crystal does has a valid point. It is odd that you’ve been working on this for a while now, and this is the first time we’re hearing about it. We all have so much to do these days. I’m just concerned whether or not we’ll have the time and energy for another thing.”

  “I bet she’s been planning this all along,” Crystal said. “That’s probably why she had us all meet Damon months ago. It wasn’t just me auditioning. It was all of us. Like a circus casting. Come meet all my weirdo friends.”

  “Why do you always have to think the worst?” Penny said. “That meeting with Damon was a legitimate singing audition for you. I was just trying to help you get started and asked the others there for support. All this came up in the past month after the Oasis moved and you accepted the offer to open a studio. I really did want to tell you sooner. Been dying to, actually. I just wasn’t sure CBS was going to go for it. Then, when they did, I wanted to get all the details worked out, so you could see exactly what was planned. Honest, I’m only trying to help. If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it. There’s no pressure. If you do it, the crew will be here all next week and will work around your schedules. We’ll shoot a lot of video, but the entire piece will be only about four minutes, which will require each of you to be on camera answering questions directly only for sixty seconds or so, and that will be all of us in a group, seated around a blackjack table just like when we met.”

  “I have no problem tak
ing this home and giving it a read,” Bill said. “And I’ll support whatever the group wants to do, but I just don’t understand what I’ve done that is so great. I get it for the others. Les has the mission; Crystal, the studio; Max, the factory; Penny, you have this story. But I’m just a boring retired guy with nothing better to do.”

  Crystal reached over and put her hand on Bill’s. “The fact that you don’t see it is what makes you so amazing. You’ve done more than any of us.”

  “That’s one thing we all can agree on,” Les said.

  Penny stood up, leaning on the table. “So everyone will withhold judgment and at least have a look?”

  Les looked around the table at the others. “I’ll be the first to say I’m not comfortable in the spotlight and prefer to be behind the scenes with the Oasis out front, but we do have additional beds to fill and a lot of people in this community that could benefit. If this will help do that and help you all in the process, then I would be selfish to say no.”

  “You had me at free,” Max said. “I just need Amanda to look over the release form before I sign it.”

  Crystal flopped back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “I guess I’ll have a look, too, then. I just hope you all recognize that we each have some skeletons in our pasts. If anyone does any digging into our lives, this could all blow up in our faces, and we’ll be worse off than before.”

  “Even if they do find out some of the negative stuff,” Max said. “No one cares about rebuttals or retractions. Those stories always get buried.”

  After the meeting, Penny, knowing Crystal was the tough vote, talked her and Bill into leaving their bikes and taking a ride home. She knew if she could convince Crystal, the others would agree no problem. In the car, Bill sat in the back, insisting Crystal ride in the front seat. Driving up Ninth Street for the short ride to Bill’s, Penny said, “So what do you think about doing the story?”