The tummy trouble had started with that bender the week before. After fooling around in those bars in France and Germany right across the border from Basel until four in the morning, how could it have been avoided? That guy from Geneva sure had known them alclass="underline" all the places, all the girls. And could he drink. Brother! Funny that the stomach business was hanging on so long. But still, it had been worth it. Anything would have been worth getting away from that hotel in Basel. Christ, what a stiff dump. And the manager! Boy, if looks could have killed when we turned up with those gals. Probably a fairy.
“Hey.”
The head waiter stared at him.
“Hey. Gimme the check, will you?”
The head waiter approached.
“Sir?”
“Look, just gimme the check. I’m expecting a phone call upstairs.”
Ten minutes later he got the check, and as he entered his suite, slightly peeved, the phone was ringing.
“Your party in New York,” said the operator.
“Stanley, is that you? It’s me, Harry Stahl.”
God, thought Rosen, that guy will never learn that you don’t have to yell to be heard across the Atlantic. Typical New York jerk.
“Yes, Harry, it’s me. Now just talk normal, will you. I can hear you fine. How are things going?”
“Fine, fine,” screamed Harry. “How come I haven’t heard from you? I was worried sick that something bad had happened.”
“Harry, you worry too much. I’ve always told you that. And stop screaming into the phone.”
“O.K. Stanley, don’t get worked up. Did you do the deal with the Arabs?” Harry pronounced it A-rabs.
“I sure did. Fantastic thing. I’m onto something very, very big, Harry. The biggest idea yet.”
“Like what?”
“Harry, I don’t want to discuss it on the phone. You understand. Just do one thing for me, right away. Have the First National Bank of Nassau transfer $50 million to the General Bank of Switzerland, head office in Zurich, attention Kellermann.”
“Wait a minute. Attention who?”
“Kellermann.” He spelled it, with one n, and then continued. “Get the guys in Nassau on the phone and stress that it has to be a cable transfer. I want no screwups. The funds have to be good here not later than eight tomorrow morning, Swiss time. That gives you almost all day to arrange it on your side of the ocean.”
“Fifty million?”
“Fifty million.”
“Out of what accounts?”
“Take five million out of our personal one, Harry. And do the rest pro rata from some of the other really big ones. The guys from St. Louis should be good for five. The Las Vegas group’s account should be good for another five. Just use your judgment. We’ve got lots of cash sitting around in the Bahamas.”
“You sound awfully sure of yourself this time, Stanley. Shouldn’t I, perhaps, come over quick, so we can talk this over?”
“Look, Harry, I’d like to. But this must move fast. It’s not the sort of thing we can sit around debating about. But don’t worry. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“That’s going to put every one of our operations pretty short of cash.”
“I know. But not for long. This is a quick in and out. And it will involve zero downside risk where our Bahamas money is concerned. I just need that for a very short-term, very high-interest loan, to back up the operation here.”
“Well, remember, Stanley, it’s both our necks. Rumour has it that some of our clients play pretty rough if something gets screwed up where their money is concerned.”
“I know,” was Rosen’s only response, although he did have to admit to himself that Stahl had a point.
“Where are you calling from, Stanley?”
“The Baur au Lac in Zurich. But I’ll be checking out of here on Friday. Moving back to Basel for the weekend. Usual place.”
“O.K., Stanley. If anything gets messed up in Nassau, just call me. When do you expect to be back?”
“End of next week.”
“O.K., Stan. Take care, and believe me, I really mean that!”
“Bye, Harry. And thanks, buddy.”
He hung up. Great guy, that Harry Stahl. A worrier though. Still, he’s a guy who will stick it out, even if he doesn’t have a clue as to what’s going on. He picked up the phone again.
“Fräulein,” he said, “give me the General Bank of Switzerland, head office. I forget the number. I’ll wait.”
Why these idiots don’t install direct dial phones in hotels was an eternal mystery.
“General Bank of Switzerland.”
“I’d like to speak to Director Kellermann.”
“Just one moment, please.”
Come on. Come on.
“Kellermann,” came the deep voice.
“Herr Kellermann, this is Stanley Rosen. You’ll have your $50 million in good funds tomorrow morning.”
“Well—”
Rosen interrupted, “So I expect you to start proceeding on my orders immediately.”
“But Mr. Rosen—”
Again Stanley cut in. “I don’t think there is room for any more ‘buts,’ Herr Kellermann. You agreed to accept my order, and you further agreed to start immediately on the bullion purchases and short dollar sales. Frankly, you broke your commitment when you asked for the additional cash margin, but I understand your position. I’m producing the extra cash. Now I expect you to keep your word.”
Rosen, unknowingly, had hit upon Kellermann’s weak spot: he had given his word.
“Agreed, Mr. Rosen. I shall proceed.”
“Fine. The funds will be coming by cable from the First National in Nassau. If you don’t have them by nine tomorrow morning, call me up. I’m at the Baur au Lac, Room 718. In any case I’ll be keeping in touch the next few days.”
And that was that. Now Beirut. He placed the call and then undressed and stepped into the shower.
The shower dribbled, like most European showers. Probably because, when you come right down to it, these birds over here still have an aversion toward water—at least too much of it at one time. That’s why the bidets, probably. And the looks of horror when you order some ice water in Paris on a scorching hot summer day. At least the towels were big. Huge in fact. The phone rang. In the bathroom.
Why not? thought Stanley Rosen and picked up the dainty pink receiver.
“Your call to Beirut, sir. You did place one, didn’t you?”
“That’s right. I’ll hang on.”
A minute went by and Rosen still hung. Onto a pink telephone, in the bathroom of a Swiss hotel, calling an Arab, to talk about buying gold and selling the dollar, by the millions. It had been a long way from New Jersey.
But, he thought, it was time to drop New Jersey, and Miami, and Las Vegas, and the rest of it. Very, very slowly and very, very carefully. Because in the investment business there is no such thing as lasting success. There were merely high points—and then nothing. That’s the lesson the go-go boys in the fund business, the hot-shots in the brokerage game, the hot-wind artists in the savings and loan industry would never learn. So after three or maybe five years, they ended up on the same pavement they started from. There is a very definite cycle to success in any business. Rosen was convinced of this. It was obvious to any fool in industry. From the transistor to the colour TV to fast-back car to miniskirts. They started as an innovation, soared to unbelievable heights within a short time, and ended up overproduced, market-saturated, and ordinary. As time progressed, the life cycles were becoming shorter and shorter and shorter, from sensational birth to ignominious commonplaceness. The same was true with ideas in the financial business. Growth, hot new issues, performance—the gospel of a bright new generation, the obvious solution, the modern way of life—if one expected to live for three years. Capital preservation, yield, interest—the new philosophy of a new permanent approach to investments. Life expectancy: two years. International diversification, natural resources, ecology—the magic formula for the next well-spring to eternal financial success. Interest span: eighteen months. The problem was, as Stanley so well knew, you had to sell the clients on something. And no sooner were they sold, the something was passé. But if you did not sell them, somebody else right in the middle of the current product cycle would, and no more clients. A rat race.