After a good half hour of amazed questions, about Nina’s father, the amount of money, and so on, that problem was what Joe addressed. “Eric, if you put any of that money into my portfolio, it’s unfair for me not to benefit from the gains.”
“I’m sorry, Joe, if you buy IBM for your clients, that can’t stop me from doing it.”
“You’re being unfair. I’ve trained you, you participated in my clients’ money. I deserve at least, at the very least, to get the retail commission profits. You’re collecting an incentive fee from your father-in-law and a percentage of my profits. You’re being very greedy.”
“You did not train me in any of the important things, Joe. Sammy’s been taught how to analyze a company, how to arbitrage. I’ve been taught how to schmooze.”
“That’s not true! You didn’t want to learn. You’re not interested in the tedious work of discovering value. You want the action.”
“I’ll settle for the action if that’s all there is. If you’d made it easy for me, if you’d opened the door at all, I—”
“Nonsense. I’m here. I’m available. You didn’t ask.”
“What’s the point of arguing?” Eric said. “We’re both so full of shit we couldn’t tell the truth if someone paid us to.”
This put a stop to the sputtering, outraged Joe. His thin eyebrows disappeared into his forehead; his dull brown eyes seemed to shrink and gleam. Then he burst out laughing, and pulled on his thick red wool tie, as if grasping a leash to keep his head from bolting off his torso. When Joe was through laughing, he cleared his throat, looked at the ceiling, and said, “I’ll work more closely with you. I’ll get rid of Carlton. But I must participate in the profits.”
They worked it out. Eric told Joe to keep Carlton. He calculated (correctly, as it turned out) that Carlton would become Joe’s whipping boy, relegated to handle the most wearying and least ambitious of Joe’s investors. Eric gave Joe half of his incentive fee in return for no reduction in his base salary, and kept for himself the significant premium between the wholesale cost of the floor broker and the retail commission charge that would be levied against Tom’s account. But it was understood that no actions could be taken in the account without Eric’s approval and that Eric was not obliged to suffer ridicule if he made losing picks. For the first time, in the true sense, he and Joe were partners.
The year and three-quarters since this arrangement had been Eric’s happiest time at work. Joe began to invite Eric along on lunches with his bigger investors and with some of his old cronies from the large brokerage houses. And once a week Joe would have a strategy session with Eric, from which even Sammy was excluded. It was a deep, warming broth to the lifelong chill in the belly of Eric’s self-esteem.
All these changes didn’t happen at once. When between them, Eric and Joe increased the value of Tom’s portfolio to a little over three million dollars in the first nine months, Tom gave Eric another two million to handle. Now Eric was managing a five-million-dollar portfolio, small potatoes to the big boys down the street, but a thick, aromatic steak to Eric. It was then that Eric became Joe’s favorite son, power-lunch companion, and tactical confidant.
“Fifteen minutes,” Sammy said, and turned on the electronic ticker. Sammy looked thinner. He had taken up jogging, or so he claimed, and his starved face now had the look of a greyhound’s. Since the change in Eric’s fortunes, Sammy was cool to Eric, although more respectful.
“Where’s Carlton?” Joe said.
“How the fuck should I know?” Sammy mumbled, and threw himself into his chair. “Convincing some widow to buy Telephone.”
“Fred Tatter for you,” Irene said to Eric. In the days before Tom’s money, she answered only Joe’s phone. Now she doubled as Eric’s secretary.
Eric put his finger under the receiver and pushed down, flipping it like a pancake in the air. He caught the floating phone in his left hand and brought it to his ear. “Hello, Fred. You’re my first call.”
“I should be working,” Fred said.
Fred was a best-selling novelist. After the second of his successes, Fred had opened a quarter-of-a-million-dollar account with Joe, who had been recommended to Fred by his father. There would be long stretches when Fred wouldn’t call, presumably while he was at work on a new book, and then months of frantic activity (happy months in a way, since Fred was easy to churn, and even if he lost money, they made a lot on the commissions), orchestrated by many infuriating calls. Fred had been inactive for a while. Recently, with his newfound confidence, Eric had initiated a trade for Fred. When Eric persuaded Fred to buy an over-the-counter computer stock, New Systems, that was a first for Eric — because he had discovered the stock himself. Fred was reluctant, but had finally agreed to let Eric buy five hundred shares at nine. Now, three months later, the stock was up ten points to nineteen.“Well,” Eric said. “If you’d bought more of New Systems—”
“I know, I know. Don’t tell me. I’ve been kicking myself.”
“You’re making money. You bought five hundred — that’s five grand.”
“Yeah, but if only I’d really trusted your judgment. I’m not trusting enough! You get so fucked around in my business, everything’s so — uh, uh, compromised.”
“Well, you know the old saying about Wall Street. All we’ve got is our word. If there’s no trust, there’s no trading.”
Sammy swung his chair to face Eric and began to masturbate an invisible penis in the air. His hand moved in long strokes and he made a mocking face of an ecstatic expression. Eric smiled at Sammy, but Joe, his face reddening, whispered furiously: “How dare you! Do your work, instead of making fun.”
Meanwhile, Fred was almost shouting in Eric’s ear. “I know, I know, that’s the way it is in the real world. Just my crazy business. Anyway, why don’t we buy some more? Say five thousand shares.”
“Whoa! That’s almost a hundred thousand dollars.”
Fred sounded firm, manly. “Well, no risk, no gain.”
“That’s no pain, no gain. And this could be painful. Stock drops five points and you’re out twenty-five grand.”
“I thought you liked this stock.”
“I liked the stock at nine. It’s more than doubled.”
Joe looked, somewhat fiercely, at Eric. Joe waved off Irene, who was indicating she had a call for him. “Don’t you think it’s going up more?” Fred said, innocent confusion in his voice.
Eric said, “Could you hang on for a second?”
“For my favorite broker, you bet.”
Eric covered the receiver and said to Joe. “What?”
“He wants to buy, let him buy,” Joe said.
“We’re looking to get out,” Eric said. “I’m ready to close out half the Winningham account if it gets to twenty.”
“That’s five thousand shares,” Joe said. “This is a thin stock. His order could get it up to twenty. Then you get the Winningham account out.”
“What’s the point? If Fred ends up losing.”
“We don’t get an incentive fee with Mr. Tatter. We get commissions. He trades on and off. He’s small fish. You protect your own. Winningham is family.” Joe, evidently convinced he had closed the subject, took his phone call.
“He’s big family!” Sammy said, rubbing his fingers together to indicate money.