by P D Singer
Jon pocketed the credit card after signing the slip. “His résumé very likely is sitting on my desk right now, in a stack six inches deep, and I can’t find it. I don’t even know his real name.” They ambled out past the other diners chatting over their choucroute garnie and steak tartare. “Tomorrow I’ll walk down the hall and ask.”
“Dwight hasn’t been in to beg?” In other days, Ricky would have placed a proprietary hand on Jon’s shoulder to steer him between the tables; Jon would probably take that hand off at the wrist after Ricky’s blunder tonight.
“No, not after the edict went out about mixing work and pleasure.” Jon hailed the cab an instant before Ricky did—they’d share it as far as Jon’s building, a short silent ride.
“Good night, boss.” Ricky watched Jon pay the fare thus far and didn’t try for a kiss or to get out with him. He did give the cabbie his address while Jon was still in earshot.
“See you early tomorrow, Ricky.” The smile Jon gave him could have just been from the pleasure of having someone reliable to tend the money while he learned to operate his new business, but Ricky spent the rest of the ride rubbing his thumb over the mermaid’s purse and dreaming it meant more.
“GORMAN Hogenboom Equities” gleamed clear against the new plate of frosted glass, winking when Jon pulled open the door. The old glass had not been shattered as Edgar’s effigy only because Geoff, backed by Jon, had called a halt to the use of chairs as battering rams. The new engraving had been installed even before their last meeting with Edgar, not nearly long enough for the novelty to have worn off.
“The stock’s up four points since they announced, and that new unit might not be out for months.” Dr. Iggy argued with Miranda from his seat on the top of Dwight’s desk. “Can Apple maintain the hype while they’re—Oh, hi, Jon!” He waved and went back to discussing research, development, and manufacture of nifty little handhelds while Dwight hunted through a website, trying to type with one elbow resting on Iggy’s thigh. They were going to make a formidable team, but Jon was going to have to have a word about public displays of affection with them.
Not that he had much moral high ground on that score, but respectability at work should be attainable, and he hadn’t groped Ricky or been groped in the three work days Ricky’d been back. Which might have had more to do with Jon and Ricky not seeing each other any more than any true good behavior. At least Ricky had stopped giving morning chastity reports, and kept the hunger out of his eyes.
Maybe he had nothing worth reporting and slaked his hunger elsewhere. Jon dropped his briefcase on his new desk in his new corner office. Ricky’s private life shouldn’t be his concern now. The offer Ricky’d made at dinner—full-time exclusive blowjobs indeed—the man was a real sweet-talker. They could use that guest chair, and he could do Ricky tomorrow…. No. That offer was way too much like a thank-you for the job.
“Hey, Jon, I’ve got something for your wall.” Geoff stuck his head in the door, jolting Jon back to the here and now. “You can hang it next to your Series 65 license.” He handed over a heavily framed certificate, grinning widely. “We are official.”
“Maybe this is where we should be glad you never drummed us up anywhere near thirty-five investors.” Jon read over the certificate. “Or we wouldn’t have qualified under Regulation D and Rule 506.”
“And that got Edgar out of our hair in record time. Is here okay?” Geoff pointed to the wall with his hammer, a six-inch stainless steel desk pretty that would make a carpenter laugh. He drove in a nail, then perched the frame on it. “Made getting set up a whole lot faster. The two new investors from last week aren’t going to push us into refiling range.”
“The next five investors aren’t going to put us in refiling range.” Jon adjusted the slightly crooked certificate.
“True, but all that new money has to get invested somehow. Shall we bump everyone’s portfolio up an even amount?” Geoff frowned at his handiwork.
“I’m still sorting out what Edgar bought—split it five ways for now.” Pulling a stack of printouts an inch thick from his briefcase, Jon brandished it at his partner. The word still felt odd in his mind. Geoff was his partner, all the papers said so, but it was business. Jon had no partner. “I’m still working out where his positions stand, and I have no idea why he put money into some of these things. Once I get this part of the portfolio rebalanced, I can take on some more capital.”
“We have half an hour to the opening bell. Let’s go tell them the good news.”
Morning meeting looked different from the front of the room. Eyes, hopeful, trusting, confident, all on him. “I hope you’re ready for some growth, because the traders have another nine hundred thousand bucks to invest.” They barely twitched, though Jon’s lip did. “Each.”
Pandemonium. “That’s new and different!” Ricky called out amid the exclamations.
“Oh, yeah. Edgar signed everything last week, we have a certificate from the SEC to make us official, we have two new investors pumping us up another 4.5 million bucks. We’ve got Dr. Iggy, and our new analyst starts next week. Gorman Hogenboom is ready to roll.” Jon wanted to leave the Edgar era behind completely.
“But we don’t have a couch anymore,” Kate pointed out.
“We don’t need a couch anymore,” Jon shot back.
“It left a big empty space,” Geoff said. “A couch certainly made my day in jail more comfortable.”
“We might not have kept him from escaping without it,” Ricky added, his face bland. “That couch saved us millions.”
“Do you really think we’re going to have to lock you up again anytime soon?” Jon looked sideways at his partner, whose innocent expression told him he’d already lost this argument.
“Maybe.” Kate smirked from her favorite perch on Pramiti’s desk. “If we make a bunch of money. Big scores make people feel faint around here—they have to lie down and collect themselves.”
“Right, so they have enough energy to buy shoes.” Jon rubbed his temples. “Okay, I’ll have a replacement brought in. Go make some money, people.” They’d get what they wanted, but it would surprise them. He’d find some upholstered instrument of torture—it would keep everyone off except in dire need or after a huge profit. In fact, the perfect monstrosity sat squarely in his living room and needed only to be hauled downtown.
Dwight waved him over—what had the generator of good ideas found this time? A tech blog speculating on some new product was open on his screen. “Yes?”
“Jon, you said we’re official, and that Edgar signed everything—” Dwight sputtered to a stop under Dr. Iggy’s concerned gaze from his desktop roost.
“Right. He did; he’s got cash in hand, and the only connection he has to Gorman Hogenboom is owning some shares. A lot of shares, really, but that still doesn’t give him any control, or even any reason to walk through that door again.” Damn but it felt good to say that—the corners of Jon’s mouth turned up. “You might go the rest of your life without seeing him again.”
“Good.” A browser e-mail program bloomed on Dwight’s screen, not the e-mail client they used for business. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.” All hesitation gone, Dwight clicked on the screen, anger and triumph on his face.
“What did you just send?” Jon recalled the last time he’d seen that expression, and an acidic backwash roiled in his gut for someone.
“Might be old news.” Dwight closed the browser. “Then again, it might not.” He leaned back in his chair, hands laced behind his head. “And you don’t know a thing about it.”
Jon had decided weeks back he didn’t want Dwight seriously angry with him—this seemed like a good time to leave. “I don’t even want to know.”
Some of Edgar’s legacy investments were in the money, and a few were not. Jon punched up a quote, wondering if the calls on Google were going to pay off or not—Edgar had gone long back in March at 370 and had picked up a cool fifty-two points by May, though the carrying charges on the margin loa
n had eaten into his returns. The stock had dropped again, and in August, when one share of GOOG sold for 380, he’d purchased the right to buy shares at 425 sometime before February. Of course, he’d only mentioned his own trades in morning meeting once he’d made a profit, the secretive bastard.
Gulping, Jon flicked to the day’s quote and did some fast math. The events of the past two weeks had taken his mind off the larger market—and how had they missed this run-up? He stuck his head out the door. “Dwight! We’re selling the Google calls! Now!”
He was sitting on close to fifty-five points of profit, less the contract price—he wasn’t greedy, he’d take it! Not much was ever going to go above 480, and Jon wasn’t about to see if another few months would push it higher, not with a score like this falling into his lap. His assistant came pelting in with forms. Jon read off the few needed bits and finished, “Sell at market,” while Dwight scribbled. Clerical had the numbers—he wanted those calls sold and wouldn’t quibble over a few points. Dashing his name across the bottom line, Jon sent Dwight out to nail down the profits before teasing out the purchase price. He stuck his head out the door again. “Google was whose bright idea?”
“Chloe’s!” Vaughn called back.
“Three cheers for Chloe—we just picked up about four hundred thousand on an outlay of a hundred and fifty.” Jon picked up Chloe’s hand like a champion boxer’s and presented her to their whooping and yelling colleagues.
Dwight returned to the sounds of celebration to add his cheering and a quick hug for Iggy. “Three hundred and ninety-five thou!” He waved his clipboard in the air.
Chloe muttered to Jon, who still hadn’t let her drop her arm, “Edgar would have let me off three ‘moments of my time’ for that. Not four—he didn’t round up.”
“From me you get a bonus. Go buy shoes or something.” Jon wanted everything to be different now. He released her arm to applaud, feeling a little too queasy at her revelation to muster a really sincere grin. Ricky caught his eye and gave two thumbs up before clapping again, but he didn’t motion toward the executive washroom. That was different now too, and it slowed Jon’s hands.
“Dibs on your next idea!” from Miranda nearly drowned out the pneumatic sound of the engraved door opening and shutting again.
“No, mine!” Corbin shouted, and the cheering turned to laughter amid the bickering.
“There’s a really sad panda on the other end of that trade,” Iggy mused. “Hope it was covered.”
Sad panda was out $400,000 of potential profits or actual cash. “Survival of the fittest, guys. No one made him sell the calls.” Jon wouldn’t let triumph become a pity party. “Let’s get ready to do it again.” He clapped his hands again, the two short impacts of “chop chop, back to work.”
“Either this is a really good time or a really bad time to come in,” a long-unheard but still familiar voice said, “but I’m looking for Jonathan Hogenboom.”
The icy fingers of despair stroked the success out of Jon’s heart—he couldn’t keep his shoulders up. With quick glances between the newcomer and him, his people stepped between them, facing the intruder. “Who should we say is calling?” Ricky took another step in front of Jon.
“It’s okay, people.” Jon had never listened to the message he’d sent to voice mail, nor the next two, but he squared his shoulders and stepped around Ricky to greet the tall and tailored invader. “Hello, Spencer.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
IF A closed door was more private, an open door might be safer. Jon closed it anyway. A desk between himself and his visitor still seemed like a good idea, though Spencer held himself anything but aggressively, sitting stiffly and not all the way back in the chair.
“Davis told me I’d be lucky if you talked to me—I did try calling.” The words came awkwardly, without any preamble of pleasantries.
“I know. It’s been a crazy enough couple of weeks without adding you to the mix.” Spencer was here now; Jon would let him have his say.
“So Davis told me.” Spencer’s eyes flicked around the room, from a Hudson River School landscape, sent as good wishes by Ben Fleisher, to the licenses that marked Jon’s profession. “Congratulations. I should have known you’d get to the top, no matter what.”
“Thanks. It’s been a rugged road getting here.” Jon forced his voice to evenness.
“I know.” Spencer looked away for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear to look into Jon’s eyes. “That’s part of what brings me here. You didn’t listen to the messages?”
“Your message at the wedding was crystal clear.” His belly ached with remembered blows. “I did what you said—I stayed away, I left you and your family alone. Davis is a big boy now; he can decide who he wants to hang around with.” If Spencer lunged, there was more room to dodge to the left….
“That’s another part of what brings me here.” Spencer did look at Jon now, pain drawing an old man’s face over the features Jon had once known better than his own. “He can decide; he decided a long time ago. I just didn’t want to accept it.” A deep breath shook him. “Jon, I’m sorry, I was wrong. Wrong about everything. Wrong to do what I did.”
“Most grooms don’t beat the crap out of their groomsmen on the morning of the wedding.” Jon had had to force himself to stand upright through the pain, and he hadn’t offered the toast he’d so painstakingly prepared—he couldn’t raise the glass that high or choke out the good wishes under Spencer’s cold eye.
“I’m sorry for that. I can’t make it right, but I am truly sorry for that, and for everything else.” Spencer bit his lip, swaying slightly in the chair.
“‘Everything else’ being Cam?” Jon had never stepped out as Cam had accused him—he’d never looked aside, never wanted to be with anyone else.
“Cam too. Yeah, I told him what I thought I saw, and the only thing is, Jon—” Spencer looked up, face drawn. “I believed it. I truly thought I’d seen you and Davis…. And it was the worst betrayal I’d ever felt.”
“Am I that awful?” Jon had more to say, with heat behind it, but Spencer interrupted.
“Cam’s my friend, Davis is my—”
“I never did anything to be ashamed of, Spencer.” Jon cut him off, slapping his hands hard against the desk. “I loved Cam with all my heart; I wanted to be with him forever, and he called me liar, cheater, and whore, and then he threw me out.” Ten years of trying to heal from that ripped away in an instant, leaving Jon hollow and bleeding inside.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. All I can say is I thought I was right.” His knuckles white with the grip on the chair’s arms, Spencer continued, “I never let you talk, never let you explain. Any of the guys could have told me where you were, and maybe they did, later. But I couldn’t hear it. And I couldn’t see you, I mean, I couldn’t see you, in the pictures. And after you and Davis called, I looked, and tried to see what was there and not what I remembered. But Jon—” Spencer swallowed hard. “I couldn’t ever imagine you betraying Cam, or the family, and then when I thought… I saw… I really thought I saw…. It’s pretty awful to walk in on your brother like that….”
“Poor Davis, having delusions of privacy.” Jon did not want to discuss Davis’s sex life with Spencer. “So you told Cam, and he left me. No lover, no best friend, no family; anything else you need to beat your breast about taking away from me?”
“Well… I’m really glad for your success here, Jon, I really am. It’s like—” Spencer stopped after babbling something totally unconnected to everything else. Except that it wasn’t. “It’s like the universe was telling me I was wrong, that you’re successful in spite of everything I did.”
“You want to spell that out in words of one syllable?” Jon swayed in his chair, his hands on the desk bracing him now. “What did you do?”
“After you left that energy-trading outfit, well, you know it’s a small town in some respects, everyone knows everyone….”
Jon knew. Old classmates were now at the big banks, t
he huge funds, the institutions that affected the world’s economy. “You had something to say when I was looking for a job, didn’t you?”
“I did. And I’m sorry for it, which undoes nothing, I know. But—” Spencer looked around the office again. “You’re the boss here now, and you’re good at what you do. Gorman Hogenboom will be a huge success, and you’d never have gotten here if you’d had a desk at an investment bank, would you?”
“True, but immaterial, don’t you think?” A dark maelstrom built within Jon—had no part of his life gone untouched? Not one part? “This had more to do with the way things happened than with what I wanted.”
“I shouldn’t have meddled. I know that. Maybe I need to believe that one small part of what I did wasn’t total crap?” Anger flashed in the familiar brown eyes.
Jon flared back. “You believe what you like—it’s what you do.”
Spencer slumped. “It’s what I did.” And thereby screwed up Jon’s entire life.
This was costing his former friend something in pride, such a small price compared to what Jon had paid. “You said you were sorry. I believe you.”
“I don’t know what to do to make it right, Jon. The little things I can do won’t change anything right away. Some things are beyond fixing.”
“Like Cam.” Jon hadn’t said he’d accepted the apology, and some hurts were beyond words.
“Like Cam.” Spencer sighed. “I have to apologize to him too. That’s going to be almost as awkward as this. He and his partner are ‘uncles’ to the kids.”
A role Jon had thought he’d have with his best friend’s children, whose names he didn’t even know. “I don’t want details on that, Spencer.” Why didn’t Spencer just slug him again? It would hurt less than the apologies.
“Yeah. But if you and Davis decide to make a life together, there’s going to be some overlap.” Spencer shrugged. “Family, you know?”