by Lance Allen
***
Heavy search lights cut through the trees, scanning for movement. The thud of rotors is multiplied; there are three of them tonight. They are not the same as before, these are much smaller more agile. Still black. Still flown by two sets of green eyes. I collapse to the ground as ropes drop from the sides of each helicopter; a dark silhouette begins sliding down each length of rope. Radio chatter. Rotors. Footsteps. Heavy breathing. I bolt into the darkness.
The forest peels back as I slam forward. Are those dogs? Branches rip and tear; my cheeks are flayed on both sides. A piercing sting erupts from my left eye. Time means nothing. I pull myself up to my knees, my hands submerged in the marshy ground. I try and drag myself forward, but I am locked in place. The radio chatter is getting louder. Their voices are almost near. I can’t see them. It’s raining. I gasp.
That Guy
I don’t see myself as that guy. I probably should. I am that guy. I don’t know why I care. I shouldn’t. I worked hard to get to where I am. I tell myself this. It’s business acumen. Hard work pays dividends. Determination and a solid work ethic helped me achieve my goals. This is what I tell myself. But then I pick up a glass of scotch and I begin to talk about other things; with myself. I talk about how I really got here. I didn’t work very hard. Determination played a role. Like a shark that swims through miles of ocean following the scent of a blood trail. I moved ahead because I smelled the blood in the water first and followed the scent. It wasn’t hard at all.
My office is on the 30th floor of a building in the city. Doesn’t matter which building; doesn’t matter which city. I am not rare. I am not gifted. I know what blood smells like and I know how to react. I don’t have a corner office. That may come later. For now, I have only one 10 foot window from which to gaze upon the world above and below. I see more than most. But I don’t have to work hard for what I see.
When I was a child I would smile and what ever I wanted I would get. It wasn’t hard. Just smile. People love to look at dimples and a wide toothy grin. I had a lot of stuff. My family loved me. I smiled and they loved me more. I didn’t need to cry for anything. I smelled blood in the water and smiled. It was easy. No one ever suggested I was spoiled or bratty. I just smiled and they obeyed.
High school was easy. I didn’t have to study. I never worked hard. Things came easy to me. And then I just smiled. Other kids wanted to help me. They wanted to be my friend. I hated most of them. But I smiled and they fell in line. Behind me the line formed and wound round and round. The prettiest girl in school was my girlfriend, of course. I smiled and she just about fell over. We held hands a lot. I liked her. I really did. But there were always others. It didn’t take long for her to distrust my smile. I found a prettier girl.
College turned out to be a breeze too. I smiled my way into an interview with the Dean. I wanted to go to State very badly. Of course I was accepted. The Dean practically filled in the application for me. Before I graduated I was on the cover of the admissions brochure; me and my toothy grin. I was the embodiment of that institution. It wasn’t hard to see.
During commencement, I gave a speech. I was the class president. They loved when I smiled and shook hands at the Rec. Center. I greeted everyone warmly. I made them feel like they mattered. It was easy. I didn’t have to work very hard. My campaign was a day at the polls. I wished everyone well and they voted me in. I was what they wanted to be. This is what I told them at commencement:
We’ve come together these last four years. We have grown into men and women who arrived as boys and girls. Our studies have been hard and they have been lengthy. Exams and papers never seemed to stop. The library was more homey than even our own beds. A home cooked meal came from the folks in the Hall. All those things we did, together. It doesn’t mater if I studied humanities and you engineering. Or you special education or you art history. Some of you may go on to be graphic designers or politicians or business leaders. You may educate the next round of kids that come to this fine institution. But what you will never be is free to say that you do not know. That you do not understand. Because in the four years leading up to this day, you figured out all those things which before were unknown. Each and every one of you found a way to move past the ‘I can’t ‘and into the ‘I did’. And as you gravitate towards your calling remember your gift. Remember who you are. You are the one who figured it out. You are the one who made it happen. You are the one who succeeded. Now go get yours.
I have a picture hanging from the wall in my office. It is of me at the podium delivering my speech at commencement. The audience had risen to their feet and they were cheering. I of course was smiling. The president and other dignitaries had also risen, behind me, and were applauding. It wasn’t hard to get there. In that moment, I knew I was only just beginning. My speech had outlined a way for others to perceive their own success. They could follow my blueprint. I was the architect. I wanted to build higher.
I convinced my friend, Omar, to get me an interview at his father’s equity trading firm. Omar hardly had a chance to say anything. He owed me. We both knew it. He agreed.
The first year I got my feet wet. The next, I was invited to sales lunches. I told stories. I smiled a lot. Before long I was scheduling the lunches, through my secretary. I made deals over lunch. I talked and smiled. It was easy. The hours ticked away, but I wasn’t working hard. I smelled blood in the water and I followed it. I made Omar’s father a lot of money.
When I was 28, I sat at the controls of a $3 billion dollar hedge fund. I was bringing in industry standard 2 and 20. It was easy. I found a kid out of Poly Tech who wrote an algorithm. It was genius. I smiled. He worked hard. I smelled blood in the water. At lunch I brought in more money. The algorithm made it work. The hours ticked away, I learned to play golf.
Someone gave me a copy of Rolling Stone. There was a story inside. It was about me. Taibbi said I was young and ambitious; that I was like a shark. I would have told him I could smell blood in the water. He never asked. He said the system is failing. My success should be indicative of that failure. Taibbi is right. But so am I. The DOJ and CFTC say so. We all have our part to play. But I get paid more. My smile is electric. Taibbi wants to see change. He writes about it. He is passionate. He works really hard. But no one really cares. They listen to me. They trust my smile. It’s easy.
I went to a black tie event earlier this year. Some guy who smiles like I do was having a birthday. He was spending a lot of money on the party. I received an invite. I had never heard of him. But I went anyway. I could smell blood in the water. It was easy. I mean, really easy. A black tie event with me and Jessica, I couldn’t lose. I flashed my toothy grin and shook hands; Jessica sparkled and glimmered. Her hair was pinned. There were diamond studs in her ears, a teardrop around her throat; it weighed 5 carats. Vera wrapped her in envy. I never blinked.
The man was turning 60. Sixty years old. You would have thought he was having a sweet sixteen. Some things can be understood if they are rationale. What goes up must come down. An object in motion will stay in motion until acted upon by an outside force. Grass is green and the sky is blue. Why a 60 year old man with the means to change history cares enough to throw himself a birthday party, is well not rationale. But when figures are thrown around rationale thought goes out the window.
Jessica and I floated about the room, slicing through the crowd, nodding to some, speaking to others, conversing with no one. When I say conversing I mean talking about anything of substance or meaning. Sure we talked about the trivial things. Houses, cars yachts, country clubs, the Hamptons in general terms, Palm Beach, the Outer Banks. One man who I had recognized from CNBC or Bloomberg, told us about a home he had built in the mountains of North Carolina. He had never been to the property and suggested he wasn’t even sure where it was but figured he needed a place down there; for something. We smiled and moved on.
An older woman, clad in light blue, a pearl necklace and matching earrings, several carats on either hand, grasp
ed Jessica by the elbow and gushed over her dress. She reminisced about a time when she too was elegant and mingled with others knowing the eye of desire was always upon her. She wished Jessica and I well and moved off still to another young couple, probably to share the same tired story.
These gatherings are hardly of use for anything other than status. Take a moment and think about that. The party is not about celebrating a man who is turning 60. The party is to celebrate his wealth and stature in the community. And by community I mean the country. These are, I am, representative of the people who truly are the leaders of this country. We, us, come to these gatherings and show off the wealth we have accumulated. And we don’t make any excuses. I’m starting to think about the usefulness of it all. I smell blood in the water.
As the party began dying down, after the Godiva fountain stopped flowing and the Veuve Clicquot became Gray Goose and Johnny Walker Blue, Jessica and I decided to call it an evening. We gathered our coats and headed for the door. Once there we were each presented with a small wrapped box, Jessica’s in pink, mine in blue. A party favor of sorts. We smiled and said thank you. We were greeted with smiles and nods.
A man in a red jacket waited outside the front door and took the stub I had been carrying in my pocket. Moments later he wheeled my Range Rover to the curb. I handed him a $100 bill. He smiled and nodded.
I looked at Jessica as I drove down the driveway, she smiled. I told her to open the box. She did. Inside was a Gucci watch, she smiled. Something similar was in mine. I tossed it out the window onto the lawn. Jessica gasped then did likewise. We looked at each other and smiled. I smelled blood in the water. Jessica loved my toothy grin.
Today, I woke early and walked down to the beach. Jessica was still sleeping. She looked peaceful. I smiled. I should be going to the office, but it was summer time and I was supposed to be at the beach. Other’s needed to see me doing as they did; keeping up appearances, some say. But my staff was in the office. They didn’t have the same smile as me. They worked hard. I called into my secretary.
Louise, it’s John.
Good morning Mr. Cole.
I need you to do something for me.
Of course. What can I do?
Call Liam Gardener over at Pinnacle. Tell him I want to meet him for lunch at the club. 12:30pm. Only call me back if he can’t make it.
Yes Mr. Cole. Will there be anything else?
Not now Louise. Thank you.
Have a nice day Mr. Cole.
Good by Louise.
I don’t hear from Louise. I tell Jessica I have a business luncheon at the club. She raises an eyebrow but smiles all the same. I have a private beach. What’s not to smile about? I kiss her gently and wish her well. She smiles and blows me a kiss. I dress casually in slacks and a Polo. I look the part. My Range Rover and Ray-Bans close the deal.
I arrive at the club at 12:15. A man in a red shirt hands me a stub and takes my Range Rover. I keep my Ray-Ban’s on. They keep me in character. I ask to sit outside. My table over-looks the ocean. I breathe deep as I gaze upon the bay, a few small sailboats under half sail. I think of what I am about to say, and I smile. I see blood in the water. I order a scotch and soda.
Liam arrives a few minutes past 12:30pm. I order another scotch and soda. Liam asks for beer and a glass. He is dressed similar, slacks and a Polo. He too is wearing Ray-Ban’s. We look the part of a fashion ad in some men’s magazine. Except we probably own the magazine. But who knows exactly. What we own, I mean. I could never say for sure. Liam probably doesn’t know either. We don’t get paid to know that stuff. Just to smile and shake hands; that, we know how to do. Our drinks are served and I ask the waitress to come back later with menus. I begin speaking.
I think I’m ready. I’ve given it much thought. Are you willing?
Liam Gardener was a lacrosse player from Virginia. His family had old money. But when his father passed away unexpectedly he witnessed the consolidation of a family not out of mourning but out of survival. What he saw sickened him. He knew there was something inherently wrong and wanted to play a role in fixing the problem. Unlike lacrosse, with rules and roles, he felt out of place. He didn’t know how to make a difference. We met over golf a few years back. We’ve been close, but at a distance.
The thoughts are always in my head John. But it is too big to take on alone. I knew you would come to see things sooner than later. The signs are hard to miss. We will probably not survive the outcome but I think the risk is too important to pass up.
Have you spoken with George?
George Tannehill lost everything the day Lehman Brothers closed its doors. George came from a well respected family in Kentucky. He chose to leave the area and study up north. He used his charm to overcome the prejudice relative to his accent. He was a brilliant story teller and knew how to work a meeting to his advantage. George was second in line to head the Investment Banking Division at Lehman. Now he oversees the trading operations at a small firm that specializes in high frequency trading.
Not recently. He’s been traveling some. The last time I spoke with him he said he was planning to see Yuri. He must be close to where we are too. He wouldn’t have mentioned Yuri otherwise.
Yuri Antonov is a Senior Managing Director for Gazprov Germania, the trading arm of Gazprom the Russian Natural Gas giant. Yuri was George’s college roommate. The iron curtain held back most but not all, especially those who were thoroughly connected. Yuri was the easiest to convince. He saw what the Revolution had done to his country, to his people. Yuri worked hard. He didn’t smile like we did. But people wanted him on their side. Maybe it was a fear factor. But we knew Yuri. And he made us smile. He created blood in the water.
And so it begins. Liam and I enjoy a lunch of shrimp cocktail, a fresh salad of fennel, prosciutto, and pomegranate, and a lightly seared mahi mahi. The lifestyle is so easy to embrace but change is a mysterious date worth courting. We will not make the mistake of Long-Term Capital Management. I’ve studied them. We will not cause the fuss that was The Flash Crash. George knows what to do. There is no reason to trust in one another. But we do. We all smell blood in the water.
I drive home as the sun is setting over the bay. The Ray-Ban’s shield my eyes as I navigate my Range Rover towards the beach house. Jessica will be tanned and refreshed from a late afternoon shower. She will smell of flowers. I will forget for the moment the scent of blood and smile. We will embrace and enjoy a moment. Maybe we will go for lobster. Maybe just a pizza. But we will both be smiling and enjoying the time we have. Because that’s all we can do. All we should do. Before long, things will change. And a smile won’t save me. Jessica will always be okay. She’s beautiful and innocent. I hope she can forgive me. After all, it’s my smile she loves, not my money.
***
