Our Hotwives

Chapter 1: A Career

December, 2003

Ted walked out onto the trading floor. The sense of crisis and anxiety seemed to blur the air but Ted controlled his nerves. He smiled and complimented the sweater of an admin as he strolled over to the central trading desk. Some salesmen and traders were screaming questions at him but he was calm and ignored them, smiling as if he couldn’t hear.

RXZ shares were up 15% rebounding hard from a week of aggressive short selling on a call Ted had made. RXZ was a midwestern bank that Ted’s investment bank had brought public several years ago. The bank had been founded by and run by a big time cattle rancher. While a colorful character, his bank’s results were always rock steady. Predictable to the penny. But Ted remembered a little fact about the bank that others had forgotten. During his due diligence meetings with the bank, he had asked about a somewhat inconsequential “other income” line. The CFO had given a dismissive answer about ancillary checking fees but Ted did a little back of the envelope math in his head and figured that checking fees wouldn’t come to enough. So he pressed and when he noticed the CFO shift in his chair, he sensed the CFO’s discomfort and knew there was something there. When he saw the CFO alone at the urinal a little later, he pressed his question. The CFO sighed and confessed. The founder is a brilliant rancher and knows cattle markets like no one else. So he trades cattle futures and makes a little extra earnings for the bank every quarter.

Over the past week, stories of “mad cow” disease in the US were dominating the headlines and Ted remembered that disclosure he had pressed for. He guessed that the brilliant rancher couldn’t have predicted a mad cow pandemic and the company’s perfect financial track record was in peril. He told his hedge fund clients the story and they had been shorting the shares all week. This morning, a competing analyst at a much bigger firm had reiterated his buy rating, calling the dip a great opportunity to buy a marquee stock cheap. His clients were getting squeezed.

Ted stepped up to the microphone which would broadcast his voice not only to this trading floor but to those in the firm’s offices in Boston, Dallas, London, Chicago and Los Angeles. He glanced at his image on the video. He was in his early thirties but looked boyish with a slight frame due to his marathon running hobby. His hair was still jet black. He wore a light grey suit, tailored to fit, and a bright red necktie.

He had the numbers in his head but he held his notebook to convey the sense of carrying lots of important numbers. He explained that by looking at the income created by “other income” over recent years and assuming a rate of return, he guessed the dollar amount of the bank’s assets that were exposed. Likely not enough to put the bank under any real financial stress, but certainly enough to spark regulator inquiry, and in the financial world, confidence in an institution was everything. RXZ could face a classic run on the bank. Ted told his traders and salesman that he was doubling down on his sell recommendation.

Almost immediately, the shares' upward momentum peaked and began to fall. At that moment, due to excessive volatility and volume, the shares were halted by the exchange. During the halt, Ted stayed out on the trading desk, taking calls with his firm's major clients. Assuring them of his call. He knew that at that moment, the NYSE was putting in frantic calls to the CEO and CFO of RXZ. There was panic. After twenty minutes, RXZ issued a hasty press release which acknowledged the cattle futures trading, disclosing the dollar amount of assets exposed while reassuring investors (and its customers) that the bank remained financially sound. The last statement a bank customer wants to hear is frantic reassurance that the institution is financially sound. The exchange re-opened trading with the shares down 40% and to the cheers of Ted’s traders, salesmen and customers.





2024, same bank

“The f’ing shares are plummeting! I need to talk to our clients! I got to go out to the trading desk!”

Ted’s face was flustered. He was on the edge of screaming. He could calmly handle the vicious volatility of wall street trading but bureaucratic bullshit sent him over the edge.

“You know there’s an ethics wall, you can’t go out there anymore,” said the compliance officer plainly.

“Ethics wall? Is that what we call it now? That doesn’t even make sense. Chinese Wall wasn’t racist. It just refers to a really big fucking wall in China.”

The in-house legal compliance officer sat there with the hint of smirk on her face. She seemed to be enjoying this. Ted wondered if she does not see that she’s killing her own golden goose or if she just didn’t care.

Ted wondered out loud.

“Can I ask you, incidentally, why I have to come into the office and not work-from-home if I’m not allowed to have face-to-face interactions with the people I work most closely with?”

“But you can talk with other analysts,” she replied, almost tauntingly.

“We work beside each other, not with each other. They cover totally un-related sectors. All we share is our frustrations about you. I need to speak with the traders and salespeople. They need to read my body language. See my confidence. I’m asking them to take a chance on my opinions. They need to feel it on a gut level.”

Silence.

“We put our clients in this stock and they’re losing money. A lot. We need to tell them to buy more or at least re-assure them. Or maybe we need to tell them to cut their losses and get out. We need to do something. Basic customer service. We can’t do nothing!”

“We can’t issue opinions intra-day. You can work on a note, we’ll have the committee review it and we promise a quick turn-around. You could have it published by 4:05 pm, minutes after the market closes.”

“Do you understand what ‘market close’ means? At that point, we may as well publish next week.”

“I’m sorry, these aren’t our rules. We’re just helping you, and our firm, stay within the boundaries of the regulations.”

“By saying nothing, you’re setting up our traders and sales people to fill that void. They’ll each have their own views. We’ll totally lose control of what our firm’s official view is.”

She shrugged. Ted noticed the jiggle of her breasts. A jiggle he didn’t remember and he realized that she’s had a boob job. He then noticed the expensive leather boots. Her body has been sculpted by the upper east side’s best plastic docs. Being in compliance and destroying the firm’s revenues paid her well.

“Ugh. This is why my job doesn’t pay anymore. We don’t provide a service that clients will pay for. And maybe you feel good over there, making more money than me for just being our in-house umpire but your paycheck needs to come from somewhere, too.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

Chapter 2-Home Life

Ted watched Penelope, his beautiful wife of 18 years deftly moving through her morning kitchen routine. Their son was sitting at the island, staring at his phone, silently eating, seemingly unaware of the symphony conductor in his midst. He knew she was juggling their schedules in her mind as she made breakfasts, lunches, arrange rides, practices and club meetings, dinner plans, dry cleaning, and let's not forget the intricacies of her own day in the office ahead.

She was 46 now and sexier than she ever had been. Ted grew up in white Vermont and when he first set his eyes on a latina, it was Penelope and a revelation. She was just 22 years old at the time and he had never seen anything like her. The natural tan, dark eyes, long dark hair and sensual lips and the curves…everywhere curves…her body was a playground. In those early days, she was so sexy that it was easy for him to confuse his lust with love. From the very start of their relationship, he was proud of having her beside him. He liked the lust in other men’s eyes.

But there was more than the sexy. Penelope was smart, very smart. Well-educated from a top liberal arts school and then had earned a PhD in fine arts. She was an intellectual. Then he met her family in a small dusty town in Mexico, south of Tucson, just south of the border. So warm and loving and funny. People on the edge of poverty but somehow full of gratefulness and joy. He couldn’t imagine a happier life than one he would share with her. The best call of his life. Many things in his life hadn’t gone as well as he had once hoped but his marriage proved to be a greater source of happiness than he ever imagined.

His son Jessie worried them. 17, a junior in high school, and extremely anti-social. He got average grades and didn’t cause problems at school but he had no friends. He joined no clubs and no sports. At their insistence that he do “something” with his time, he got a job at REI. His one interest was rock climbing or more specifically, bouldering, which allowed him to climb without the need of a partner to belay him. He was a good kid, too, but seemingly cold. He may have friends but he seemed to honestly not care. A born loner.

Ted reached across the table and warmly squeezed his son’s shoulder but Jessie shrugged it off and gave him a scowl. Ted frowned. He wasn’t one to force warmth but still wanted to let his son know that there was warmth there for him if he wanted it.

“So will you be home in time for dinner tonight? I was thinking of making something simple tonight. Chicken fajitas?” Penelope looked at him questioningly.

“Sounds great.” he said with a warm smile back. “I’m meeting Jerry for a long trail run after work but I’ll be home for dinner.”

“OK, I may be a little late myself. We’re opening the new Thomas Eakins retrospective Friday and we’re running behind.”

“Mom, how will I get home then?” asked Jesse.

“You take the car. Your dad will drive me in on his way to the office this morning and Derek, our summer hire, can give me a ride home.”

Jesse shrugged, happy to get the car.




Later, in the car ride into the city, Ted enjoyed the sight of his wife uncrossing and recrossing her legs, letting her skirt slide up above her knees. She had taken up yoga in recent years and her body may have lost its youthful softness, but she was now thin, firm and muscular.

“How’s Derek been? Did he get into that graduate school program?”

“He did.” Penelope said with a sigh. “He actually starts at the end of the summer. I’m going to miss him. He’s been such a huge help.”

Penelope was a curator at the Museum of American Art in the city. Her dream job. Even Ted thought it was a much cooler job than his own. He had always been a numbers and math guy but he was fascinated with what these artists could express with paints. He was more traditional in his tastes, he didn’t understand the modern abstract works but he felt deep emotion from early American artists. Thomas Eakins was one of his personal favorites.

He noticed Penelope touching up her make up as Ted neared the museum. She adjusted her front button sweater. It was tight and showed off her still attractive form and eye popping chest. He got turned on when she adjusted her button to reveal a slight hint of cleavage. She knew her sexiness and enjoyed it still. He pulled up in front of the museum.

“Have a wonderful day,” they said together and laughed. They leaned towards each other to kiss and as they did, Ted surreptitiously reached over and undid one more button on her sweater. He really did enjoy her sexiness and the thought of others lusting for her.

Chapter 3-Friendship

Ted was feeling relaxed running beside a straining Jerry through the Mt. Tam trails.

Ted was no longer the 3:58 miler of his college years or even the 2:35 marathoner of his thirties. He felt fat and sluggish. He had once been a runner of “perfect” form weighing just 140 pounds on his 5’ 10 frame. He could run thousands of hard miles on pavement and his only suffering was exhaustion from hundred mile weeks. But after he hit forty, he had been stunned by a series of injuries. One seemed to lead to the next. Now in his early fifties, he had learned to stretch and cross train with yoga. He’d put on an embarrassing belly, a softness round the face and he checked in now at 175. Still, those thousands of miles had built a foundation of running strength so that he could still comfortably run with nearly any “amatuer”.

“So how's that sexy wife of yours doing? Man, what I would give...” joked Jerry.

“She’s doing great. Working on a new exhibition. Thomas Eakins, know him? And what would you give? You know...exactly?” Ted always appreciated that both men spoke and behaved as if nothing had ever happened between Jerry and Penelope.

Jerry replied.

“Penelope might be worth losing your friendship over but I still need your financial advice. Can’t go there. And yeah, I’m an Eakins fan. I’d love to have something of his in my collection but that classic shit doesn’t come up for sale.”

The two entered a winding uphill path that wasn’t wide enough for two people. Ted let Jerry run first so he wouldn't leave him behind unintentionally. While Ted had a natural runner’s build, Jerry played basketball when he was younger and had a large, muscular frame. He’d begun losing his hair years ago and opted to shave it all off. Still, he was in good overall fitness and liked to run road races, but he wasn’t a runner like Ted.

They had met years ago when they were both young analysts at the same firm. They had been friends but Ted had risen faster, earning increasingly senior roles and money and had at one point become Jerry’s manager. But Jerry quit the position and took his shot at the hedge fund business and had done fabulously well. Eventually he started his own small fund which became a big fund. The fund had eventually crashed spectacularly but not due to performance. The SEC wasn’t keen on some of Jerry’s more aggressive business practices and effectively shut him down. Still, even after legal bills and fines, Jerry was enormously wealthy.

Now, Jerry spent his time doing the typical rich asshole things. He paid others to carry him up big mountains in the Himalayas. He gave money to museums and environmental causes. He had affairs, although that led to predictable divorces. He also invested in an art collection.

One of Penelope’s life regrets was the brief affair she had with Jerry, early in her marriage to Ted, although Ted had been supportive. Penelope had come to personally dislike Jerry intensely, she thought him a terrible scum bag, but she never missed a chance to go over to his gargantuan home to drool over his art collection.

Ted and Jerry had remained friends, but their divergent fortunes had caused a distancing in their relationship. Ted envied Jerry’s wealth and lifestyle. People would want Ted to introduce them to Jerry. People who wanted to somehow access Jerry’s money. People somehow thought Jerry must be deeply intelligent, even brilliant, simply because he had wealth. Ted knew that Jerry’s good luck and high appetite for risk were the secrets to his fortune, not intelligence, but still, Ted felt like a highly paid worker bee. Sure, he had a nice home and a nice family, and by any reasonable standard, Ted was a successful one percenter. But the gap between one percent and zero-point-one percent was an unfathomable gulf.

Ted spoke between breaths.

“I’ve always enjoyed those early American painters, too. They’re going to have that self-portrait where he's rowing in the Schuylkill River and staring out towards you, the viewer.”

“You like that one?”

“Yeah. Something in his expression. He’s been rowing. He’s tired. He seems uncertain about why he’s doing it. He’s looking out to you for affirmation. Has he been wasting his time? His life?”

“Yeah, that’s a cool interpretation. Now that really is something I would give something for.”

“Yeah? What's something like that worth to you? What would you pay?”

“In an auction, that would go for $100 million plus. That’s above my means.”

“What would you pay black market?”

Jerry laughed. “Are you and Penelope going to rob the museum?”

“No, just me. I’d borrow her access card.”

The two slowed down as they reached the trail head where they had parked. By their cars, they took sips from water bottles and stretched.

Jerry squinted and looked at Ted a little curiously.

“A painting like that. I’d have to hide it. That’d be international news to get something like that. But I’d get off on it. Maybe keep in the bathroom up at the Tahoe camp. Something like that. It’d be a fucking dream.”

“So what would you pay?”

“I could go as high as $15 million.”

“Good to know. If it falls off the wall into my car trunk, I’ll stop by.”

“You do that buddy.” Jerry smiled and hopped into his Maserati. “And tell that wife of yours that I’m single again.”