Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series)

by Neil Behrmann

  'Come on, wake up! Time to meditate,' she insisted at the ludicrous hour of 5am. Bleary eyed, I would sit with her and try to rid my mind from random thoughts that kept rushing into my head. Eventually my mind was empty and I would see all sorts of wonderful colours. It was restful, invigorating and the best anti-stress medicine anyone could hope for.

  'You're getting there, Jack! The Sivananda Ashram gurus and devotees keep still for hours.'

  The Yoga ashram in India had changed Sandy. She was good for me as she was not money mad.

  'You've got more than enough, Jack. Why don't you quit your job and travel? We can teach poor kids in India, Asia or Africa.'

  'You've already dropped out of your history of art degree, Sandy,' I said as we walked around Whitney Museum of American Art.

  We were in Washington DC, as Cy and I had given a presentation to a global investment expert at the World Bank. He advised Third World nations on establishing pensions. Since these nations were raw materials producers, investment in oil rigs, mines and commodities came naturally.

  'I'm learning far more here,' laughed Sandy. 'Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, Andy Warhol, Edward Hopper. We get scraps in Australia!'

  'That's my point. You're touring North America with me. While I'm pitching to those boring pension managers in New York, Philadelphia and Boston, you're having a great time. We were in the Art Institute of Chicago a couple of days ago. We might as well pitch tents in museums.'

  'The Art Institute was awesome, Jack! Not in my wildest dreams did I expect a Midwest city to have such a place. I love Frank Lloyd Wright architecture.'

  'Maybe I should buy some art. You can be my expert.'

  She squeezed my hand and kissed me.

  'Jazz and the Chicago Merc and Board of Trade? What about them?' I asked.

  'Loved the Jazz. But the commodity exchanges! Human animals, shouting and screaming in their own self-made pit.'

  'We're off to the West Coast, next week. Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles and San Diego. The pensions treadmill, but there will be plenty of sites for you to see. Shopping for you and me?'

  'Who cares about shopping, Jack? I've got enough clothes and trinkets. I'll be waiting for you outside the offices to make sure you see something interesting.'

  'You could do with some clothes, Sandy. Aren't you bored with the ones you are wearing?'

  'Thanks, but no thanks, Jack. Time you went to Macy's and got a decent pair of jeans. That designer stuff you're wearing. Big rip-off. Indian and Chinese textile workers earning almost nothing and living in poverty. It costs about $5 to make a shirt there and the celebrity designer shops are selling them for $200!'

  'The chains also buy from India and China. They provide people there with jobs. Yeah, they're paid peanuts, but the cost of living is much lower and at least they work,' I said gently. 'Let's go to the vegetarian restaurant I told you about.'

  * * *

  The American tour was so packed and busy, that it was over all too quickly. It was late summer and a letter was waiting for me at the London office. Michael Braggens, Mayor of Bridlington, was inviting me back to my 'home town' to discuss redevelopment of the town.

  We left early Friday for a long weekend with Jazz in the back of the car. I left Sandy at her cousin Sue's house. Sue had changed a lot since I had last seen her. She was still living with her Mum and Dad. But she was now a single parent. Sandy and Sue hugged each other and Sue's Mum gave us all a cup of tea.

  'It would be good to see Tom and Joe. Do you know where I can find them?' I asked.

  'Tom is making good money. He's a plumber and is working in York. Joe's at Leeds University,' replied Sue. She phoned their parents, but they were both away. Pity, but I doubted if I now had anything in common with my old mates.

  I left Jazz with Sue. He was terrified of the toddler and crept under a table.

  Later I arrived at Bridlington Town Hall, a wide brown Edwardian brick building with a clock tower. Braggens, overweight and balding with a fixed smile, came up and shook my hand. He took me into the Mayor's meeting room where five other councillors were around a table. One of them jumped up and rushed over to me, shaking my hand warmly. It was Martin Miner, my uncle. His beer belly was now so big that it bulged over his trousers and he looked like a prime candidate for a heart attack.

  'I oope you doon't mind, Jack, but I arranged family reoonion for you,' he said in his thick Yorkshire accent.

  I remembered the last time I had seen him and tried to be as civil as possible. Martin, my Dad's brother, had totally rejected me when Bill died. I had just turned sixteen and not a single one of my relatives was prepared to look after me. I was to leave school, get another job in a fish and chip shop and take care of myself. How could I forget such 'generosity'?

  'Sure, I'll come,' I said without any enthusiasm: 'Where is it?'

  'Loonchtime tomorrow a' Cook's Tavern . . . Just ootside Filey,' he said, smiling sheepishly. He seemed to know what I was thinking.

  'Yep, I know it . . . the place where Sheila and Mike got married,' I said.

  'I've been reading aboot you in newspapers,' said Uncle Martin, pompously. 'Told me colleagues that a Miner would put sommet back into town.'

  'Come on, let's get on with the meeting,' said Braggens, clearly irritated with Uncle Martin. 'We've got a long agenda.'

  I cannot understand why people go into politics, especially local politics. I was wearing a red Lacoste T-shirt, but the stuffy councillors kept their jackets on during that hot summer's day. They sweated like crazy while they argued about boring issues. Planning permission, road signs, oneway systems, pedestrian crossings, nurseries and school budgets.

  The main topic, which was why I was there, was the fundraising campaign. When they finally came to the Bridlington development item on the agenda, they asked me if I knew any potential sponsors. That was as broad a hint as any. I pulled out my Coutts chequebook and wrote out a cheque for £80,000, insisting that the money had to go towards the development of Bridlington's tatty seafront. From the way they sucked up to me, the donation must have been the biggest that they had ever received.

  'Oonly eighteen and look what ee's achieved,' beamed Martin. 'That's a Miner for you!'

  * * *

  Later that afternoon I picked up Sandy and Jazz at Sue's place, a small terraced house overlooking the beach.

  'I want you to meet an old friend, Sandy,' I said as we drove off. I found a parking place near the harbour and we walked to the seafront. All sorts of memories flooded back. The fish and chip shop was gone and a tatty tourist shop was in its place. The block of flats where I used to live, looked much whiter and cleaner. Major renovations of the harbour were taking place, reducing the space to squeeze through the crowd. The fairground, nearby, was as popular as ever. Jazz pulled like mad. I let him off the lead and he led the way, rushing up the stairs towards our old flat. He stood outside one of the doors waiting and panting.

  Gill Derby opened the door and cried: 'Jack Miner! What a surprise!'

  Before she had time to hug me, Jazz got in first. He broke away from me and jumped on her, licking her face and vigorously wagging his tail. It was as if he had found his long lost owner. When Jazz was finished, Gill grabbed me and gave me a long tearful hug. The soapy smell of her skin came back to me and I enjoyed her warmth. I was embarrassingly emotional and turned away from Sandy, so that she couldn't see my tears.

  'Jack, thanks for the Christmas cards, but why haven't I heard from you?'

  'No excuses, Gill . . . This is Sandy.'

  She looked at both of us and beamed: 'Hello Sandy. What a lovely girl, Jack! Let me take a good look at you. You've filled out Jack . . . taller too.'

  We went into her living room where there was a framed photograph of us, just after my sixteenth birthday. I was thin as a reed. I peered into the large oval mirror in the centre of the room. Yes, I had filled out, I thought, as I admired my muscles. Gill had hardly changed.

  We talked about the old times.
Jazz ran around the flat sniffing, wagging his tail and then waiting in the kitchen for the biscuit that Gill always gave him. It was something like a time warp. Nothing had changed, except that Bill, my Dad, was no longer there. Gill was like a substitute Mum to me. I was sorry that I hadn't been in contact with her.

  'I see that the flats have had a coat of paint,' I said.

  'Yes, Jack . . . Thanks so much, we were all paid out in full,' Gill said. 'Your friend gave me something extra. That paid for the decoration.'

  'My friend?'

  'I forget his name. He came all the way from London to the creditors meeting. It was so funny,' she recalled. 'Baton . . . Remember that horrible man! He tried to get a higher fee. Your friend made some great jokes about liquidators and undertakers. All the creditors laughed and Baton backed down.'

  'What did he look like?'

  'Distinguished. Tall, long grey-white hair and moustache.'

  'Stan Slimcop? He came to Bridlington?'

  'Yes, that's him. He was very fond of you, Jack. After the meeting he came back here and wanted to know all about you, your Dad and Mum. I showed him the album you left here and he poured over the family pictures. I hope you don't mind Jack, he took one. I think that he regarded you as a surrogate son.'

  I was flabbergasted. I had no idea that Stan had felt that strongly about me. I thought that he was just a good friend and wished that I hadn't sent that stupid letter. Maybe I was some sort of replacement for Sean. I know Leila mixed us up. Despite my letter of apology, I still hadn't heard from them. Why had I been so arrogant, so thoughtless? Stupid! It was bad enough losing parents, but losing a son? I put my head in my hands. Had to find them. Apologise face to face.

  'Are you OK, Jack?' said Sandy, coming up and holding my hand.

  'Yes I'm fine I'm just an idiot, Sandy.'

  Later we left Jazz in the flat and the three of us went out for dinner at the Captain's Table, the pub restaurant that I used to go to with Dad and Mum. It was at the end of the harbour and our table had a view of the sea. One by one, the pleasure cruisers came in; the Yorkshire Belle, the Pirate Ship, some sailing boats and an occasional speedboat. I tucked into my Yorkshire Pudding. As I tasted each mouthful, I realised how much I had missed Yorkshire food. The sun was setting and it was now difficult to spot the boats on the orange reddish sea. We talked and talked until it was dark outside, but for a lighthouse in the distance. Time was still. I was home again.

  * * *

  We spent the night in a small hotel that overlooked Filey beach and sneaked Jazz into the room. Early morning we went for a run and later we drove to Cook's Tavern.

  'It was named after Captain Cook,' I said.

  'Really, Jack?' replied Sandy sarcastically. 'Was he the guy who founded New South Wales? Didn't know he had anything to do with Australia.'

  'Something you don't know, Sandy,' I retorted. 'His voyage began in Whitby, just north of here.'

  She gave me a kiss on the cheek. Sandy made me feel good. I wished that I loved her as much as she loved me. I couldn't help myself, I kept thinking about Pearl. It was ridiculous, but she still had a hold on me.

  'What's up Jack, what are you thinking about?' asked Sandy who seemed to sense what was going on in my head.

  We arrived a little late and I parked the Ferrari next to the tavern garden. We got out of our car, tied Jazz to the fence and walked through the gate. I reckon all my relatives were there - old, young, teenagers, toddlers and babies. It seemed as if there were a hundred there, very different from the few relatives who had turned up at Bill's funeral. They waved when we arrived, but before I could talk to any of them, about twenty men and boys rushed to the car, crying: 'Wow a Ferrari!' Within seconds, the Miners and the Upworths, on my Mum's side, were pushing and shoving each other to get a glimpse of the car. Two boys, who I had never seen before, jumped over the sides and sat in the driver and passenger seats. Jazz began to bark like crazy, but no one took any notice of him. All I could hear were chants of: 'What do you think it cost? 100,000 . . . 200,000??'

  'Come on Jack, give us a spin!' shouted the boys.

  Uncle Martin and Aunty Peggy came up to me and she gave me the dreaded hug. Peggy was now so fat that she had to cover herself with a tent like pink dress. As she enveloped me, I was reminded of her smell. Pungent stale sweat and cheap perfume. She tried to kiss me, but I avoided her ashtray mouth.

  Peggy offered me a cigarette, but I shook my head.

  'Still don't smoke, Jack?' We really missed you,' said Peggy who was a shameful liar. 'We were going to take you in, but you disappeared.'

  'And coom back with red Ferrari,' grinned Uncle Martin. 'The Council were impressed with doonation, Jack. Mighty impressed.'

  Uncle John, another 'generous' member of the family came up. He hadn't changed. His face still looked pinched and mean. Small hands and thin arms protruded from a plain white shirt that was tucked into shiny black trousers. His wife Alice awkwardly mumbled that she was sorry that she hadn't made Dad's funeral.

  'That was ages ago,' said Sandy.

  'It was like yesterday,' said John Upworth glumly. 'Jack's Mum was my sister. Also died young.'

  I pulled Sandy away from these ghastly relatives and we went up to my cousins Mike and Sheila who I liked.

  'You probably saw that piece in the Daily Mail, Jack. A reporter came round asking all sorts of questions about you,' said Mike.

  'So you were one of the sources?'

  'We just told her about the fish and chip shop, the school, that sort of thing. Took us out for a drink. Was very nice.'

  'Sure, charming very charming,' I replied, gritting my teeth.

  Other relatives interrupted our conversation. There were so many of them that it became a blur. I can't remember their names nor what they looked like. Didn't have a single drink as I spent most of the time taking kids for a spin in the car. Just before we left, Martin called me over. He was sitting in a quiet spot under a tree.

  'You're doing very well, lad. We always knew you were gooing places, but this? Beyond our wildest dreams.'

  'Thanks Martin,' I said abruptly.

  'Wish could say same for my business. Times are hard.'

  I knew where this was heading.

  'How can a construction business struggle in a property boom? You're a councillor. Didn't they give you any contracts for the redevelopment?'

  'Tha' would be coorruption, Jack. No. Haad to rely on other business. Can I coom see you soom time? With your contacts you could raise capital. It's a good business. Just needs finance.'

  I stood over him and looked down. This time I had the money, the upper hand. This was my Dad's brother who wouldn't take me in when I lost both my parents. What a nerve!

  'Sure Martin, give me a call. Maybe we can get together,' I said insincerely.

  Soon afterwards, we said our goodbyes, got in the car, gave the royal wave and sped away.

  19 - MONEY AND CONTROL

  During the autumn, winter and spring natural gas prices soared to around $9 a British Thermal Unit while crude oil surged to $40 a barrel. Heating oil, gasoline and other oil products followed while platinum and palladium also jumped as the metals could be used in fuel cells, an alternative energy source. The market began to worry about inflation and gold, silver and other commodity prices rose. Aquarium's money under management rose to $800 million. The fund was making huge gains and growing numbers of pension funds, wealthy investors and banks were pouring in money. We charged two per cent for annual management services. Regardless of whether the fund went up or down we were paid as much as $16 million. We also earned almost $50 million on our twenty per cent performance fees. My combined salary and profit share came to more than $5 million. I was only eighteen, but with my own money in Aquarium, I was now worth almost $15 million or around £9 million. The way life was going, I would soon have enough to buy a football club!

  It was a funny thing about money. I had apartments worth more than £1 million, a Ferrari, holidays in five
star hotels and a lovely girlfriend. Everything that I could possibly want. Yet I still wasn't satisfied. Trader publications rated me as one of the top thirty traders of the year. But I wanted to be in the top five. I read the Forbes and Sunday Times rich lists. Compared to those people, I was poor! I would get to the top, buy Newcastle United, my favourite football club, and choose players. For the moment, I had to do with a Chelsea season ticket.

  I now understood Leash, who had also started with no money. In fact, I had begun to get on with Leash Grobnick. He shouted and screamed at everyone but left me alone. Maybe because I stood up to him and gave him cheek. Maybe he saw a bit of himself in me.

  Sometimes he would take me to Dino's, an Italian restaurant in Mayfair, near our office. He would eat simply. A mixed salad, spring chicken and sparkling water. He was in his mid fifties, but looked ten years younger. He could be very charming when it suited him.

  One day we were at Dino's where Leash was eating his usual while I had spaghetti bolognese. I was eating as rapidly as him. Leash did not believe in long relaxed meals.

  Leash was always direct and to the point: 'If you eat all that, you'll get fat, Jack! Are you getting enough exercise?'

  'Yeah. I go to the gym and have a swim afterwards. On the weekends I go for a run with my dog.'

  'Then you must cut down eating and drinking. Exercise is good but it's an inefficient way to lose weight.'

  'I suppose you're right. When I'm finished in the gym I can have two or three beers, fish and chips, chocolate. I love chocolate, Leash.'

  'Cut them out, Jack, cut them out. You know there's something funny about being rich.'

  'What?'

  'The more you have, the less you eat.' We laughed.

  'Don't worry Jack. Just keep fit and thin. Work hard; enjoy life. Don't be like me. Don't get married too soon.'

  Silence. Me thinking.

  'What about that pretty girlfriend of yours? Is she going to hook you, Jack?'