Mike Offit: Nothing Personal: A Novel of Wall Street

The sun, exercise, and wine overtook him, the open windows admitted the sea breeze, and the sound of the fountain gently crested the surf, lulling him inexorably to sleep.

Warren woke to a perfect Florida morning, and breakfast was served on the patio by the pool. A uniformed man brought Warren coffee and juice, and a table was laid with a big bowl of fresh raspberries and strawberries, and a selection of cereals poured into soup tureens. Warren ladled out some Rice Krispies and Rice Chex, dumped the berries on top, then filled his bowl with milk. Several copies of The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal were on the table, and Warren idly perused the basketball standings. The Knicks were in fourth place and going nowhere. He flipped to the front of the paper and read about a bus crash in India. It did seem there were an awful lot of them. A kid at Brown had collected each news item in a notebook, and he had well over a hundred.

Chas came bounding onto the terrace from the beach, dripping wet and drying himself with a huge, yellow towel. He plopped down at the table and drained a glass of juice.

“Okay, how far did you swim?” Warren knew Harper had almost unbelievable stamina, and an absolute devotion to the endless repetition of any endurance sport.

“Don’t know. Maybe three miles. Not much surf today. Did a couple hundred sit-ups though. Push-ups too.” Chas loved to tease Warren about his lack of commitment to working out.

“You’re amazing. What, did you get up at five o’clock?” Warren shook his head.

“Nope. Quarter to six. How’d you get so lazy?”

“Mine are a cerebral people. We exercise our minds and rest our bodies.” Next to Chas, he felt indolent.

“Yeah, that’s how Israel got built in the middle of the desert. Well, eat up, our first match is at nine thirty, second round’s at one. Semis and finals tomorrow. No time to dawdle.” Chas hopped to his feet. “I’m taking a shower. I’ll meet you out front in forty-five minutes.”

Warren put his sunglasses on and grinned up at Chas. “Yassir, boss.”

Harper tossed his damp towel lightly into Warren’s face and waved. “Aloha.”

Warren stretched out in the chair, soaking in the warm sun. He could never figure out why his father had settled in the Northeast. Florida, California, Arizona— those he could understand for a tennis pro and coach, but New York? He idly contemplated what life would have been like growing up where it was always summer.

His reverie was interrupted by the dripping of cold water onto his forehead. He opened his eyes and saw Larisa’s face, upside down, holding a melting ice cube over him. He groaned.

“Wake up, lazy bones! It’s a beautiful day!” She had a big smile on her face, and Warren sat upright. She was wearing a one-piece, black Speedo bathing suit cut high on the hip, which showed her body off to good advantage. Her legs were long and slim, her stomach flat, her breasts full. There was a sleekness to her that seemed almost seal-like. She pivoted away from him, took three long strides, and executed a graceful dive into the pool. There was barely a splash, and she didn’t surface until she’d reached the far side.

“Do you have gills or something?” Warren doubted he could make it halfway to the other side underwater. He had to shout.

She swam back briskly, with the smooth form that seemed more than casual. She looked up at him, her hair now slicked back from her face.

“You look like you swim a lot.”

“Actually, I was a rhythmic gymnast in school.”

“Wow. That’s amazing. I have absolutely no idea what that means, but it sounds like it could be very painful.”

“Not really. C’mon, come in. I’ll race you.”

Warren got out of the chair. “What is it around here? Everyone wants to compete. ’Let’s race,’ ’Straight sets from the Karrs.’ Whatever happened to sport for sport’s sake?”

“It’s more fun when you’re trying to beat someone.”

“As long as you win, right?”

“It’s better.”

“I suppose. The Olympian ideal. I’m supposed to race a rhythmic mermaid. Hah!” He eased himself into the pool and swam a lap, which still left him a little winded. He begged off the race. They climbed out and stretched on the warm stone coping, the air still except for the sound of the surf drifting in. Warren peeked at her, lying still, the water beaded on her legs, which were slightly flushed from the exercise and the sun. He rolled onto his stomach and crawled the three feet to her. He leaned over and, as she started from the sudden shadow blocking the sun from her face, kissed her. She kissed back and put a hand behind his neck.

“I’m glad I met you, Larisa Mueller,” he said, withdrawing slightly.

“Mmm. Me too.” She smiled smugly and closed her eyes again.

“You coming to see the tennis?”

“Nope, I’m going to work on my tan. I have faith in you two. Bring us home a medal, a prize, a trophy.”

“I will make the fair lady proud.” He stretched.

She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, her eyes meeting his in a even gaze. “Can you believe anyone would ever leave here?” She broke an arm free and swept it broadly around the pool and house.

“It is kind of hard to assimilate. I keep thinking we’re at some big hotel in the off-season, so no one else is around.”

“The service is better than at any hotel I’ve ever been in.”

“I guess that while some people were thinking about Vietnam or Korea or marching on Washington, there was a whole class of people who just kept the money machine rolling. Now, all the others have decided to buy in, but all the good seats are taken. It’s like Corelli says, the masses will be left hunting for grubs.”

“Are you really going to try to get a job in one of the investment banks?” She cocked her head to one side.

“Sure. It’s not like I have any kind of a head for real business. I barely made it through all those case studies and systems analysis courses in school. There’s really nothing productive I can do for a big company that actually makes something. So, I’d rather just sit down at the card table every day and see what I can do with whatever I’m dealt.”

“You think it’s like gambling?”

“I don’t really know. Trading commodities was nothing but gambling. It seems that the guys who trade bonds at least have to use their minds sometimes.”

“Yeah, and it happens to pay well.”

“That’s a big plus. I never really thought about money until I made some, and now it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. I tried the art world, and it seemed like the only honest places are the museums, and I just don’t know enough for that. What about you? What are you going to do? Are your motives so pure?”

“I’m not sure. I may wind up interviewing for an investment banking job. I definitely like the idea of getting paid well. I mean, I went to law school at UVA for two years, but I hated it, and it was so expensive, so I took a job at Sandoz in international marketing and reporting. Anyway, I probably could adapt to Wall Street pretty well. I had to deal with them all the time. What a pack of animals.”

“Ha!” Warren laughed. “I don’t know if the Street could adapt to you.”

“How’s that?” Her forehead crinkled.

“Smart. Articulate. Beautiful. Gentle. I don’t know how they’d handle it.”

“Oh, you don’t know me. I’m not so gentle all the time.” A slightly evil smile played across her lips.

“Are you saying that you’ll do anything to get what you want?” He grinned at her and feigned horror.

“Absolutely. Ruthlessly.”

“And when do I find out if I’m something you want?”