Never Enough

by Harold Robbins

  Bob turned mournful. “It’s the first time you’ve steered me wrong, Dave. Ilmenite! The world is full of the goddamned stuff, and theirs isn’t any better than anybody else’s. I paid eighteen and change for the stock, and it’s down to twelve.”

  “They had a lot of smart people fooled,” said Janelle.

  “Honey, there aren’t any smart people in this world. Not professors, not politicians, not industrialists, and sure as hell not New York investment bankers and securities dealers.”

  “The geologist and chemist they relied on were paid off,” said Dave.

  “So we got suckered. Was it too much to ask that somebody hire an independent examiner to look into these claims about the ilmenite? But they didn’t. And you know why they didn’t? Because these guys in the New York financial district think they are big brains, all but infallible.”

  Dave smiled. “That’s what makes life possible for us, Bob. Isn’t it?”

  “Well, we might not be the smart people either,” Bob said as he poured Perrier over ice. “The movements in Mich and Minn during the week or so when it looked like something big was going to happen didn’t go overlooked by the SEC. We put in money because we thought the value of the stock was going to double. They’re asking why we thought so.”

  “They asked you?”

  “I have a reputation. I didn’t buy much, only a hundred thousand worth; but they thought that was significant. They wanted to know why I bought.”

  “And you said?”

  Bob nibbled on a bit of lettuce. “I said I thought it was a good stock, with potential. Then they asked why I’d never invested in it before. I didn’t have a very good answer. I just said I dabbled in a lot of stocks.”

  “To which … Who was asking?”

  “A guy from the SEC, plus a guy from the New York DA’s office.”

  “How much did they know?”

  “Who could tell? They asked me if I knew a couple of guys named Reinhard Bruning and Friederich Burger. I said I never heard of them. I never did, either.” He stopped and smiled. “I figure one of them is you. Maybe both of them.”

  “I have no idea who they might be,” Dave said.

  “Well … one thing for sure: I didn’t mention you.”

  “How much did these guys, Bruning and Burger put in?”

  “They didn’t say. They weren’t giving out information. They asked the questions.”

  Dave drew and released a deep breath. “I didn’t tell you where the information came from.”

  “I didn’t want to know. Then they can’t force it out of me.”

  “They’ve got nothing on you, Bob. You bought some stock. They suspect you had insider information, but you don’t know where it came from; and so long as you don’t mention me—which I know you won’t—they’ll never figure it out.”

  “If Dave gets in trouble, you’re in trouble, too, Bob,” said Janelle.

  “I know that. But I don’t like how close they’re getting. I’m going to be under a magnifying glass.”

  “You need an overseas account,” said Dave. “Maybe more than one.”

  “I’ve never worked that way.”

  “Well, think about it. And if it makes you feel any better, the guy who supplied the information that turned out wrong lost a big piece of money himself.”

  “And you?”

  Dave grinned. “Me? Would I trade on insider information?”

  II

  As they lay in bed together that night, Janelle asked Dave, “Don’t you ever worry?”

  “I worry. I try not to show it.”

  “You’ve got it all well covered, haven’t you?”

  “I look like an ordinary banker with Harcourt Barnham, a little flamboyant maybe but not a big risk-taker. I pay the taxes on my salary and bonus. We don’t live better than that income would allow—taken with yours as a computer consultant. Unless somebody some way figures out who Bruning and Burger are, we’re safe.”

  “You’re not afraid Alexandra will crack? Emily says she’s completely detached from reality.”

  “The lawyer I’m paying to make her appeal for commutation says she’s settled into being a docile convict. Her reality is a cell, blue or yellow jumpsuits, a job mopping floors—”

  “Does that lawyer stand any chance of getting her out early?”

  “No. But so long as she thinks he has and knows I’m funding the effort, she stays on our side. She would anyway. What would be the percentage for her in jumping the reservation? The only chance she has for a good life when she’s out is the money I’m putting aside for her. I know Alexandra pretty well, you understand. She’s an intelligent, rational woman. I’m her future, and she knows it.”

  “She wasn’t rational when she tried to kill you.”

  “One bad moment, which turned out fortunate for you and me. She’s basically rational—cold, calculating rational—and capable of enduring what she has to endure, particularly since she has no choice.”

  “When she’s out? What happens when she’s out?”

  “It’s a good eight years before we have to think about that. Maybe more. Meanwhile, she’s locked up. She’s out of the way.”

  Janelle shook her head. “Talk about cold, calculating rational.”

  III

  Fourteen-year-old Jenna Jennings sat in the back of a car on its way from Wyckoff to Rockaway, where the high school basketball team was playing that evening. In the backseat with her were Bill Morris and Bob Hupp. None of them was old enough to drive, so they were in a car belonging to the family of Susannah Wilkins, who was sixteen and had her driver’s license. Susannah’s date, Dick Muggrage, sixteen too, sat in the front seat, beside her. Muggrage sat with his arm over the back of his seat, watching what was going on with Jenna and her two boyfriends.

  Jenna had pulled off her sweatshirt and bra and sat with her breasts exposed.

  “You’re something, Jennings,” said Susannah, keeping her eyes on the road and taking an occasional quick glance at the backseat.

  Jenna lifted her butt from the seat and pulled down her jeans and panties. “The guys like it,” she said. “Muggrage likes it, too.”

  “Tell you something more,” said Bob Hupp. “Jennings likes it. She really likes letting us see her.”

  “Right?” Susannah asked.

  “Well … sure. Try it, Wilkins. Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”

  “I’ll do it in private, thank you,” said Susannah.

  “I’m doing it in private, with guys I trust. Which includes you.”

  Susannah glanced again. “You got hair on your pussy,” she said. “I don’t think I had any when I was fourteen.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember. But not a bush like that.”

  “Whatta ya do for Muggrage? You show it to him?”

  “I do better than that,” said Susannah.

  “Like … ?”

  “I jack him off. Don’t I, hon?”

  Dick Muggrage grinned. “You sure do.”

  “Jesus!”

  “Why don’t you jack those guys off?” he asked. “Both of them.”

  Jenna glanced back and forth between Bill Morris and Bob Hupp. They had talked about things. She showed herself to them, but it was still understood among them that they were not to grope her. She had shown them her breasts many times, but they had never touched them. She had shown her pussy, and they had never tried to feel that.

  “Hey,” said Susannah. “Both of them at the same time. Let’s see if you’re ambidextrous.”

  “We never touch each other …” Jenny murmured uncertainly.

  “What are you a prude?” Susannah asked.

  IV

  JUNE, 1994

  Hermann Reitsch began to complain that he had lost control of his corporation and his idea. Dave had turned it into a billion-dollar business, but Reitsch was a man to whom his ideas were more important than the money.

  “Look, damnit. Ships are coming int
o Hong Kong, Rotterdam, Tokyo, and San Francisco, not even to mention New York, on the basis of your computer program. Planes land at Kennedy with pilots practiced on the approaches by your program. Your idea was brilliant. But it would never have gone beyond the experimental stage without money. I raised the goddamned money, Hermann.”

  “It’s a question of—”

  “Don’t tell me what it’s a question of. You’re a wealthy man. You can move out of that apartment and into a fine home.”

  “I don’t know …”

  At the same time, a query came. Liz McAllister, who had worked for the Coopers for a long time, inquired of Cole Jennings if she might not have a place in some enterprise run by Cole and Dave.

  Remembering the enthusiasm with which she had gobbled his cock and balls—though not anxious she should do it again—Cole knew she was a capable woman, knowledgeable about computers; and he suggested to Dave that she be placed with Hermann Reitsch, who might find her less than threatening and a fellow enthusiast about computer science.

  Janelle was as competent, or more, but she was young, beautiful, erotic, and challenging. Maybe Liz would not be. Maybe she was the person who would soothe Reitsch’s apprehensions and keep him on the road to further development.

  Dave accepted the recommendation, and Liz became a vice president of the corporation.

  She remained the exuberantly friendly woman that Cole had met in Houston. She stood behind Reitsch in his chair at his keyboard, leaning against him, her big breasts pressing against his neck and distracting him.

  “You see, honey,” she said, “I’m a practical type. You are a genius, but you aren’t always practical. I think you could make that little thing there work with less memory space. Can I make a suggestion?”

  They worked closely together and it was not long before Liz offered her sexual services.

  “Liz … Sara must never, never find out.”

  “It’s just friendship, Hermann. Friendship between two coworkers. I’H make no demands.”

  V

  AUGUST, 1994

  Ben Haye, distressed at the outcome of the Mich and Minn deal, offered new information. He came one evening to Dave and Janelle’s apartment.

  Janelle had ordered in Chinese food, and they sat over it, with chilled Chablis, and ate with chopsticks. Janelle wore a pink cashmere sweater with a tiny black skirt that crept up and showed her bare legs above the tops of her stockings. If it had crept up a little more he would have seen that she was wearing no panties. She rarely did.

  “You can’t let Leeman in on this,” said Ben. “The SEC watches his every move.”

  “Agreed,” said Dave.

  “Okay. This is not a takeover. We can’t hope to take control of this company. We can only trade in its stock and make a profit.”

  Dave nodded.

  “You know how I know. You know how I found out. This time again, I’ve got to ask you to trade through your European accounts, so it can’t be traced to me.”

  Janelle smiled. “It can’t be traced to us either. Dave’s got that under control.”

  “Great. Now. I lost almost half my three million in the Mich and Minn deal. I’m so sure of this one that I’m willing to risk the rest of it.”

  “I hope you’re right, for Christ’s sake.”

  “All right. Silicon Valley.”

  “Damned risky, that,” said Dave.

  “Not this one. What do you know of the Internet?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “Find out about it, Dave. Within as little as two or three years it’s going to be one of the biggest businesses in the world. Within five years nearly every American will have access to the Internet or will think he has to have access. Internet service providers are going to be a big, big business.”

  “Well, I have read a little about it, now that you bring it up.”

  “Okay. There are two companies: US Online Services and Eagle Internet. They are going to merge. It will be a friendly merger. US Online is going to buy Eagle Internet stock and take control. The resulting company will be the biggest single producer of Internet services in the world. The two managements are going to merge. The Eagle guys will get stock and options and golden parachutes. US has agreed to pay 35 for the Eagle stock. It sells right now at 20½. So … we buy Eagle Internet. That is, your overseas accounts buy it.”

  “That’s goddamned obvious insider information, Ben.”

  “You’re well hidden. You know how to keep it hidden.”

  “They’re going to be looking.”

  “Have you got it covered, or not?”

  Dave nodded skeptically. “Fifteen points. No goddamned coup.”

  “I’ll bring you more.”

  “All right. I’ll take a chance on it.”

  VI

  OCTOBER, 1994

  After two years spent mopping floors, Alexandra had been transferred to a typing and filing job in the administrative offices at Bedford Hills. They recognized that she was a literate, educated woman whose skills could be better utilized. She was relieved even of wearing the prison dungarees and sat at a desk in the office wearing a drab gray dress that was conspicuously a uniform but was not the demeaning bright-colored dungarees she had worn for two years. At the end of each workday she had to undergo a strip and body-cavity search, but she had become used to that.

  She had become used to most of it. At first, uncertainty and even fear had plagued her. She had been uncertain about what was going to happen to her next. Now she knew the routine. She knew how she would spend each day. She hated everything about it of course, but she did not fear any longer. She was assimilated to prison life. Each day was one day more.

  Dave had a lawyer working to get her a commutation. She had no confidence in that. It was a remote hope. But that ruthless, manipulative son of a bitch could do anything, just about. Anyway, if the effort was being made, it was being made. It was more than she could do.

  That was the worst of it. She was helpless here. She had no control over anything. She had been a woman who made things happen. Now things happened to her, and she had no influence over them.

  In her cell at night, Alexandra ran her fingers into herself and managed to come. It was all she had. While she was doing it, she filled her mind with images of Dave fucking her. Now he was fucking another woman. She should have understood that he would and learned to live with it.

  An assistant to the superintendent came to her desk.

  “Mrs. Shea, here’s a newspaper article you might be interested in.”

  She handed Alexandra a copy of the day’s New York Times, open to a page where the article appeared.

  Mr. and Mrs. David Shea are shown in the above photo at Kennedy Airport as they boarded the Concorde for a flight to Paris. They described the trip as the honeymoon they never had.

  Mr. Shea is an investment banker with Harcourt Barnham. Mrs. Shea is a computer systems designer and consultant.

  Before leaving for Paris they were hosts at a dinner for some forty friends, held at Four Seasons.

  Mrs. Shea, Janelle, is widely regarded as something of a fashion archetype. She rarely wears any sort of slacks, saying that skirts are more flattering to a woman. She wears stockings and not panty hose, a custom that is coming back into style.

  The couple plan to spend a week in Paris before proceeding on to Rome, then to Venice, Vienna, and finally London.

  VII

  What the newspaper article did not say, because the society writer had no idea of it, was that Dave and Janelle would also visit Zurich.

  “This is small, Dave,” said Axel Schnyder. “And it risks trading in insider information again. Any big move in this stock is going to bring down your SEC. If you will take my advice, you will not do it.”

  Dave nodded. “Very well. But I have an associate who is going to be very upset.”

  “You will risk a great deal for returns that cannot be much.”

  In their hotel room that night, Janelle said to Dave, “
That man is your mentor. Take his advice.”

  “What am I going to say to Ben?”

  “Tell him to quit coming up with peanuts. Tell him we need something big.”

  She was licking his penis. He arched his back and tried to focus on what she was telling him. Janelle …

  TWENTY-ONE

  I

  JANUARY, 1995

  “Dammit!” said Janelle. “I could wind up where Alexandra is.”

  “If Alexandra hadn’t gone nuts, she wouldn’t be where she is,” said Dave. “Everything is covered. You know that. You think I’d risk you? C’mon!”

  “The timing will be critical,” said Ben Haye.

  Mrs. Haye was in the kitchen, happily working on their dinner. This allowed a few minutes business conversation she was not to overhear.

  “Very critical,” Dave agreed.

  It was difficult for Ben to focus on business when Janelle was dressed as she was: in a yellow microskirt, with stockings not panty hose. He had quit pretending he did not stare at her legs.

  “You could buy a call,” said Ben.

  “No. If I exercised an option, that would tell too much. We’ll trade. Fast. I’ll get it all set up. My European—”

  “Are you ever going to tell me who your European contacts are?”

  “No. What you don’t know, you can’t tell … if something went wrong. Which it’s not.”

  “Not like insider information,” said Janelle. “We’re going to make our own information.”

  “And all I have to do is identify the company,” said Ben skeptically.

  “That’s the idea, Ben. That’s the idea. I have companies in mind. But you have others. We’ll work together. I’ll trade for you. You can never be identified.” Dave shrugged. “And neither can I.”

  II

  “Dave wants me to go to Zurich,” Cole said to Emily.

  “Toute de suite. All I have to do is receive certain signals from him and convey them on. He’s gonna make a coup, honey. He’s gonna make a goddamned coup. And we’ll get a piece of it.”