Mike Offit - Nothing Personal - A Novel of Wall Street

“ Desire. That and Blood on the Tracks are probably Dylan’s greatest albums,” Sam replied.

“‘ Born in Red Hook, Brooklyn, in the year of who knows when…, ’” Frank sang in a nasal imitation of Bob Dylan.

“‘King of the streets,’ Joey Gallo,” Warren added. “Great song!”

“Well, maybe you’ll be King of the Street, anyway.” Frank laughed as he said it. “Until someone comes and blows you away.”

“Well, Sam already does that,” Warren responded, and took Sam’s hand as he said it.

“Awwwwwwwww,” Sam said, and leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. The sommelier arrived with a large bottle of wine and made a ceremony out of preparing the neck of the bottle and operating a simple corkscrew.

“An excellent choice, madam,” he intoned ceremonially as he handed her the cork.

“Yeah,” Karen chimed in, “it’s nice to have someone along who knows more than just the highest price.”

“Hey, given what’s been going on, blowing away you Wall Street guys is no joke anymore,” Sam said, nodding to the server. He began decanting the wine into a crystal carafe while examining the thin red stream in front of a lit candle on his tray.

Frank looked at Warren and shrugged. Sam and Karen launched into an analysis of the menu, debating lobsters versus steaks versus lamb chops. Sam suggested that women who weren’t sexually satisfied generally ordered steaks. Karen said she felt like the double-cut porterhouse. Sam called the busboy over and asked if she could have a whole-rib roast. He looked at her in utter confusion.

“Okay, okay, you two, c’mon. We give up.” Warren waved his napkin like a white flag. Then he steered the conversation to the trip that Frank and Karen were planning to Anguilla. Frank could be counted to be on the cutting edge of resorts—if it was about to become a hot spot, he’d just gotten back.

“Yeah, well, last year we went to this neat place on the Pacific coast of Mexico. It was built by Goldsmith’s daughter—you know, the Englishman who owns about a thousand square miles down there. It was great, but the water was too rough. This year, we’re trying this spot called Malliouhana if it opens on time. Sounds more laid-back.”

“The beach looks great, the rooms are supposed to be amazing, and we’re just going to go and relax,” Karen added.

“Sounds awesome. It is interesting, though, how one of the big topics of conversation in this town is getting out of here.” Sam had noticed this about New Yorkers. “I mean, in LA everyone’s always talking about real estate or movie parts or other people’s sex lives. Here it’s all about vacations and summer houses.”

“Well, generally, that’s because life is so miserable here that the only thing that makes it worthwhile is going away,” Warren explained.

“And no one except us has a sex life,” Frank chimed in.

“So why don’t you just live somewhere else?” Sam replied.

“Because it’s the only place we can do what we do and get paid so much to do it,” Frank said with a grimace.

“Do you really like living in LA so much?” Karen asked Sam.

“No. I actually hate it. But I was doing pretty well there, then my boyfriend ran off with my life savings, and I’m stuck with a house I can’t sell in this market, and that’s where my car business is. So, I’ve gotta stick around there, for now.” Sam took her first sip of the wine, which had been breathing for a few minutes. “Wow!” She nodded approval and the sommelier poured everyone a bloodred glass.

“Where would you rather live?” Frank asked pointedly.

“Well”—Sam looked at Warren—“I kind of like New York, except for the cold weather. San Diego is nice. I could live just about anywhere, to be honest. I love Europe too. Didn’t you live in Geneva?” Sam lobbed the conversation back to Karen, and it bounced around through the crab cocktails and well into the steaks and the dregs of the wine, which grew into a massive, powerful, and mature claret the equal of any of the great first growths. Sam and Frank had a too-long debate over what had led to the downfall of the LA Rams as a franchise, and then everyone had agreed to split a single piece of cheesecake with coffee.

Out in the cold air, they paired off, with the two men smoking good-size Cuban Romeo y Julieta cigars that Frank had brought in from Montreal, and Karen and Sam strolling about twenty paces ahead. The car that Warren had hired for the night followed them as they walked up Madison Avenue.

“That’s some hell of a girl you found yourself there, pal,” Frank said, exhaling a cloud of fragrant smoke over his shoulder.

“Yeah. I think so too. You think that Karen will be able to tolerate her?” Warren had noticed her warming up to Sam as the evening progressed.

“Well, like you said, it was Larisa who was screwing around. I mean, loyalty to your sister is a great thing, but, in this case, I think she’ll get past it.”

“What do you think she’ll tell Larisa?”

“I’m sure she’ll tell her you two look like a match. She knows it won’t serve any purpose to try to protect Larisa’s feelings, if she still has any. That ain’t exactly what I’d call a sensitive Susie.” Frank smiled and tried, unsuccessfully, to blow a smoke ring.

Warren snapped off two perfect halos and flicked the ash off his cigar. “That’s the understatement of the year. It’s funny how I seem to have totally misjudged her. I guess people aren’t who or what you want to believe they are.”

They walked on in silence.

“It seems like you two guys may be in it for the long haul,” Warren broke in.

“It could be. It very well could be. It’s a frightening concept.” Frank rolled the cigar in his fingers. “I never thought I’d even consider a second shot.”

“Hey, that’s what marriage is all about, right? You’ll never know unless you take a chance.” Warren thought about his parents. They had seemed so perfectly complementary, and yet it didn’t last.

“Now, let me see. Do I detect a hint of rationalization in that statement? Am I imagining things, ahem , or are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Frank elbowed the smaller man in the side, and he stumbled to regain his balance.

“Well, we haven’t talked about it or anything, but it’s a distinct possibility. Hey, I’m circling thirty. That’s old enough.”

“I think that’d be great. Listen, I had some SC buddies check her out. This girl has a sterling rep. One of them almost had a heart attack when I told him my friend was seeing her. Word is she told Warren Beatty to get lost once when she was like eighteen! Hey, we could do one of those double ceremonies. Very sixties.” Frank waved his hands in the air in a gesture evidently meant to be psychedelic.

“Nah, I’m too young for that. If I get married, I’m going to have it performed by some shaman from a primitive tribe somewhere where there’s lots of ocean and blue sky. With maybe six people there.”

Up ahead of them, Sam and Karen were having a similar conversation. Karen had confessed that she wanted to marry Frank, and that she would have Warren to thank for the introduction.

“Warren set you guys up?” Sam was a bit surprised.

“Yup. He was dating Larisa then, and Frank had been divorced from his first wife for a while. She left him for his boss. It was pretty ugly.”

Sam hugged herself against a cold blast of wind and idly stared at a display of wild, unwearable clothes in the window of the Gianni Versace boutique. “What happened with Warren and Larisa? He doesn’t talk about it much.”

“Well, from what she tells me, he dumped her right before he met you. From what Frank tells me, Warren caught her having an affair with someone else. Knowing my sister, he probably did catch her, but she probably wanted to have her cake and eat it too. She always knew how to pick a winner, but also hedge her bets. I personally think she made a big mistake. Warren’s a pretty great guy. Are you two serious? It seems like it to me.”