Mike Offit - Nothing Personal - A Novel of Wall Street

“I know, that’s what I said too. You might be the only truly nice guy in this business. But, let’s just… I tell you what. I’ll take you two out alone. What do you say? No Karen, no stress. okay?” Frank sounded buoyant.

“Okay. Next week. I’ll check in with you.” They agreed and hung up. Warren sat and contemplated for a moment. He had wanted Karen to meet Sam, get a good look at her and report to Larisa. Why? What good would it do? It was hard for him to sort out his feelings about Larisa, but throwing Sam in her face for no reason would be pointless and mean to both of them. Maybe Frank knew that and was trying to avoid being involved in such a stupid plan. He was a great guy—maybe Frank was wrong about Warren and he wasn’t so nice after all.

As luck would have it, it all made little difference. A week later, Warren called Sam up and said he’d be a little late at the office. He asked her if she would meet him for a drink, and maybe a bite. She agreed and came by on schedule at six thirty. He showed her around the empty floor, then escorted her downstairs and into the bar of the charming Italian place just across the street. He ordered two dry martinis, then two more, and was nuzzling Sam’s neck and talking about skipping dinner, which Sam rejected, when a big group of Weldon Brothers finance people came through the front door. Warren saw Larisa before she saw him and quickly became fully absorbed in what Sam was saying. He could actually feel it when Larisa’s glance fell on them.

She surprised him. She strode right up to the bar, and smiled at him. “Well, Warren Hament. I’ll be damned.” She laughed warmly and patted his arm. “How are you?”

“Oh. Umm, great. Great! Larisa, this is Sam. Larisa’s an old friend.” Sam threw him a fiery look, then turned and greeted Larisa with a firm handshake and a smile. He watched the two take each other in. His own comparison confirmed his feelings. Sam was a little older than Larisa, and life had given her more reason to be jaded and bitter, but it didn’t show. There was, at once, strength and vulnerability. He knew Larisa could see it too. Sam was formidable. She was smart, beautiful, and confident.

“Hi. Warren has told me quite a bit about you. It’s nice to meet you.” Sam disengaged her hand and tossed her hair slightly. “He says you’re the smartest woman he knows.”

Larisa smiled at the comment and looked at Warren. “Well, maybe he doesn’t know that many women.”

“I’ve always been of the opinion that one can never really know a woman anyway,” Warren said, and dipped his head a little as if dodging a punch.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Sam. And good to see you, Warren. I’ve got to join the group. Keep in touch.” Larisa’s jocularity was so practiced that it took a sharp ear to hear that it was forced in any way.

Sam watched Larisa as she walked away. “Well, now I know why you brought me here. Want to tell me what this was all about?” Sam looked at him, more curious than angry.

“I swear to God, I had no idea she would come in here!” Warren had had a tight smile pasted to his face, which now faded to an exhausted grimace.

“Come on. Cut the crap. What was this all about? You have something going on. I want to know.” Sam prodded him with a finger.

“No, I really don’t. I’m not that strategic a thinker.”

“Maybe you should be. She seems to be, from what you’ve told me. Man, I wouldn’t want to piss her off. Anyway, she certainly is attractive. Great calves.”

Warren was always amazed at the details women noticed about other women. He figured whatever they were self-conscious about on their own body was what they noticed in others.

“Are you kidding me? You’ve got the best legs in Christendom. Much better than hers. A national treasure!” Warren wasn’t passing an idle comment. Sam’s legs were a great natural resource, her upper thighs thin and muscled, almost concave.

“Flatterer. I’m starved. No way I’m skipping dinner. Can we eat somewhere else?” Sam nodded her head toward the back.

Warren didn’t reply. He was lost in thought. Strategic thought, he mused. Something had just lit up the inside of his skull like a bonfire.

“Hellooo? Food? I’m asking for sustenance? Anyone home?” Sam waved her hand in front of his eyes.

“Wait. Gimme a sec. I’m thinking about something.” Warren put up a finger.

“Hah! I thought I smelled something burning.” Sam shrugged and contemplated her drink for a second, then fished the last olive out of his glass.

Warren came back to life with a start. “You know, I suddenly got this idea. If I’m right, maybe the pressure is off. If I’m wrong, all I did was piss off an old girlfriend. Trust me?” He drained what was left of his martini. Sam stared at him for a moment, sifting his tone, the look in his eyes. She broke the eye contact first. “Whatever it is, I’m in. I’ve come this far. To hell with it, you only live once, right?”

“That’s what they say.”

“I always thought the lottery was for suckers,” she said, still chewing.

“Ever win anything?” he asked, more than a little edginess in his voice.

“Two bucks, once. One of those instant poker games.”

“This is a bigger ticket. And it costs more than a buck to play.” Warren tried to force a grin.

“And I think we’ve overextended that metaphor just about to death. Just let me know when it’s over, okay?” Sam plopped her napkin on the bar in the universal signal that it was time to go.

“Hey, you know what? I think you’re going to be there. I think you’re going to know.”

“Oh, boy. Something to look forward to,” she said sarcastically. “What I’m thinking is lobster.”

Like most social engagements for people in their business, five or six weeks passed, but Frank called Warren, and reminded him about that dinner. Karen wanted to come after all. The Post House is just off Park Avenue on East Sixty-Third Street, an elegant version of the traditional New York steak house, befitting its location in the middle of the most expensive residential real estate in Manhattan. The two couples arrived almost simultaneously and checked their coats. Karen lingered a moment to be certain that her fur got a wood hanger, then they headed into the dining room. Every male head swiveled when she and Sam led the foursome to their table. Karen’s height and blond hair made her an obvious object of admiration, but Sam was dazzling. She had, at Warren’s insistence, tied her hair back with a black velvet bow and worn a short and tight dark green velvet dress they’d picked out at Valentino, with her new earrings. She wouldn’t let Warren pay for it, as usual. She wore almost no makeup and looked elegant, sophisticated, and sexy. The two men couldn’t help but swagger a bit as they followed along.

The first half of the meal saw the two friends playing catch-up after that entrance. Sam snagged the wine list and after a brief perusal commanded a magnum of Château Palmer, 1966. The captain’s eyebrows went up, not so much at the price tag, but at the sophistication of the choice. It was actually a bargain, an unreplaceable gem from a good vineyard.

Sam looked at Warren with a sly grin. “Hey, before my ex stole all my dough, he taught me how to spend it on what I drank. Oh,” she added, turning back to the captain, “please open that right away and decant it. And be sure that the glasses are rinsed and dried before you pour it.”

“Now, I forgot, which one were you again, Ernest or Julio?” Frank cracked with a smile.

“In this town, more like Joey and Kid Blast,” Sam rejoined.

Warren never ceased to be amazed by Sam’s library of arcane facts. “Jesus, how do you know about the Gallo brothers?”