Mike Offit - Nothing Personal - A Novel of Wall Street

“You really think it’s so easy? Seems to me you can’t even keep your notes straight.” Larisa had made fun of the notebooks Warren was trying to keep. No matter how diligent he was, his organizational skills stank. He kept forgetting to take notes, or losing the whole book. “But what an amazing opportunity!”

“I don’t know about easy,” Warren said, taking a sip of his glass of Domaines Ott rosé. “But these senior guys literally make millions a year, and it seems like their most stressful decision is whether to order the Lafite or the Petrus at a client dinner. Plus, management doesn’t ride them like traders or finance geeks.”

“Now that’s the kind of sex talk a woman like me wants to hear,” Larisa said, leaning over the table and stroking his thigh. “Maybe tonight I can teach you a little lesson about dealing with management the right way.”

Warren felt himself respond immediately. Her hair tumbled around her face in the soft lighting, which set her hair ablaze, caught her high cheekbones and emphasized her full lips. She had gotten even wilder in the bedroom after that first night in Florida. She liked to be physical, in control, and when he was with her, the rest of the world just disappeared. Every encounter was an amazing, exhausting workout, and she wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed to do anything.

“In your case, I don’t mind being… well, you know… managed,” he said, leaning over to her and kissing her.

“Mmmmm. Do you think there’s something wrong with me? Some guys can’t handle that kind of thing.” Her hand was under the table now, working its way higher.

“Some guys? You do this a lot?” Warren was only half joking. He didn’t know a lot about Larisa’s past.

The hand suddenly disappeared from his thigh and reappeared on the table.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She tossed her hair and sat up straighter.

“Umm… come on! Nothing! I mean the way you said that. It’s like…” Warren was fumbling for words, realizing there was no way to avoid digging an even deeper hole for himself. So he stopped talking.

“It’s like what? Like I’m a slut or something? Like I fuck every guy who looks at me? You know a lot of guys do look at me.” She was flushed red, and her eyes were tearing.

“No, no. God, no! I was just kidding! I mean, you said, ‘Some guys can’t handle that kind of thing.’ I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean anything like that!”

It didn’t matter, she was crying now.

“Please, please, Larisa, forget it! It was just banter. It must be because I spend my day with a bunch of crude assholes. God, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, come on! I know how lucky I am. I’m in love with you. You know that.” He was getting upset now too. He could not stand to see her crying, angry, hurt.

Her hand went from her face and took his, interlacing fingers. She tried to start speaking, but had to stop and take a sip of water.

“I’m in love with you too,” she said. “But this is not easy for me. You need to understand that.”

He didn’t. But he was willing to try. “I want to make it easy. What do I need to do? You are an amazing girl, and I want to make everything easy for you.”

“Warren, I am not as amazing as you think I am. I’m just me. I’m not that smart, and I’m not that special. You’re doing so great with everything. I have a long way to go.” She was wiping her eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about? You get straight A’s at Columbia, you’re gorgeous, you’re funny, you’re generous—did I mention gorgeous? Oh, and you’re gorgeous too.” He pulled her hand toward him and reached out with his other to smooth her hair. “And I love you. If I love you, you have to be pretty goddamn amazing.”

She laughed a little, then wiped her eyes and nose with her napkin. “You are so good to me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Stop saying that. Why would you say that?” Warren was mystified. So many of the world’s most spectacular women seemed to think so little of themselves.

“If you really knew my family, maybe you would understand more.”

Warren didn’t say anything. He only knew her family from pictures in her apartment—her stunning older sister who lived in South Africa, but would be coming back to New York soon; her father, who looked like a German movie star; and her mother, who could have been Garbo’s sister. There was also a boy in one picture of the whole family, but he had no idea who he might be, and she had never mentioned him..

“Why do you say that? I know your parents are incredibly proud of you. I hear you on the phone with them.”

“Yeah. Great. They’re proud of me. I’ll be rich someday, maybe. Or marry a rich guy who can take care of me,” she said derisively. “My fucking family.”

Warren was more than a little stunned. This was totally new ground. As if on cue, the waiter deposited their entrées and, with an innate Gallic sense of privacy, somehow picked up on the moment and retreated immediately, without even asking if they wanted fresh pepper.

Warren pushed his plate of duck aside and leaned in closer. “What’s going on? I don’t understand. I know they’re divorced, but you seem to get along great.”

She looked as if she had turned to crystal, all the color gone from her face. It was as if at any moment she could break—shatter—into fine, glistening shards. “Have I ever told you about my brother?” she asked almost defiantly.

“Your brother? No. You never told me you had a brother. I know about your sister….”

“Yeah, my sister. She got to take off to Le Rosey in Switzerland in ninth grade. I got to stay home and deal with the jocks and Jamie. Jamie Mueller,” Larisa said, spitting out her brother’s name as if it were sour milk.

“What do you mean? Was he younger or older?” Warren asked.

“He was two years older than me. But he was out of control. Lazy, arrogant… impossible. And my parents just left it to me to deal with him. I was little Miss Perfect. Straight A’s, sports, yearbook editor… he smoked dope and liked to shoot squirrels and birds with his stupid, fucking pellet gun. He was kept back twice and kicked out of all three private schools in Charlottesville.” She had put down her silverware and was trembling a little.

“Wow. How could they leave it up to you? You were his younger sister, not his mother.” Warren tried to imagine a teenaged girl attempting to control a difficult boy her own age.

“They were too busy with their own careers. And my dad was always screwing around with a TA or someone. JJ looked just like my dad, too. I think that just pissed Mom off even more.” Warren was about to ask why she used the past tense, but Larisa kept on. “So, I tried to keep him from getting drunk, or driving and getting arrested, or breaking into people’s houses for fun. I swear, boys are the most pathetic little animals on the planet. So we had this big argument in senior year. He was in the same year as me, for God’s sake. He wasn’t going to get into any decent college anywhere, and even UVA told my dad Charlottesville was out because of his arrest record, not to mention his academic issues. Even though my mom was in their HR department! I told Jamie he was lazy and stupid and had no ambition, and that Mom and Dad were ashamed of him.”

“Sounds like you told him the truth,” Warren added, trying to be supportive.

“Yeah, I told him the truth.” Larisa shook her head. “He went in and had a huge fight with my dad, who called him a loser. So he proved I was wrong. Guess what that moron did?”

“I don’t know. Rob a bank?” Warren shrugged.

“Hah! If only. No, he went and enlisted in the army the next day. My dad tried to get them to release him, but Jamie told him to butt out. It was 1974. The fucking war was over! But old JJ wouldn’t have made it to Vietnam, anyway. My dad’s panic was for nothing. He got drunk the night before parachute training and somehow screwed up his equipment and died in a field somewhere in Kentucky.”