Chapter 7: A New Low

The trick to buying stocks on the open market was having enough capital to cover unexpected price fluctuations at the market opening. Peter relied on his gut and the market performance of the previous Friday to choose his investments. His strategy was simple: budget to leave at least $150K in capital and divide the remaining capital among his top six favorites—Microsoft, Apple, Advanced Micro Devices, IBM, Intel, and the newest kid on the block, Cisco Systems. CSCO had gone public only three weeks prior, but he had read raving reviews about the silicon giant, and the market agreed, lifting the stock by over 24% on its first day.

He spent over $300,000 from the account in less than twenty minutes and felt dizzy with excitement as he rechecked his orders for the umpteenth time. The NYSE opened at 9:30 am East Coast time or 5:30 am for him. His six share orders were:

10,000 MSFT

1,000 AAPL

5,000 AMD

1,000 IBM

1,000 INTC

5,000 CSCO

It would cost him about $320,000, depending on the opening prices and how many bids were needed to fill his orders. He hesitated and reconsidered his motives before sucking it up and hitting the Enter key. No turning back now. He was an investor!

He stayed up all night, fretting and tossing in his bed, getting up frequently to log back onto his brokerage account to check for changes. At one point during his nervous vigil, at 3:30 am on Monday, March 12th, 1990, he turned 16.

At 6 am, he logged onto ETrade to find all his orders had been executed within the first 30 minutes of trading. He sat dumbfounded with his face in his hands as he reloaded the page repeatedly, waiting for another near-real-time update. By 9 am, his portfolio had gained $6,300, and he spun around in his wheelchair in jubilation, knowing he’d likely lose that and more as the market fluctuated. No problem; the price only mattered when buying or selling his stocks! In the meantime, he owned a small part of each company!

He waited until 10 am before calling Kathy to ask her to buy more disks and envelopes on her way over. He also asked her to get the morning IBD and the weekly Barron’s.

“Sure, baby,” she replied. “Are you okay? You sound funny.”

He giggled maniacally. “Yeah, babe. Everything is awesome! I’m 16, living the dream, and about to see the girl I love!”

“Are you smoking weed?”

“No need, baby! I’m high on life!”

“Hmmph!” she replied and hung up.

After the call, he realized breakfast was still being served and felt his belly rumble as he opened his door and smelled coffee and fresh bread. He wheeled to the usual table he shared with Bob, Frank, and Mike. All three had finished eating and were enjoying their coffee. They greeted him with the usual good mornings. Bob had his voice box removed due to cancer and spoke with an electronic buzzer that looked like a shaver. Frank was a retired fisherman who lost his right arm up to the shoulder. Nobody knew much about Mike because he never spoke and barely acknowledged anyone.

“Saved ya the business column, Pete,” Frank greeted jovially, sliding the paper across the table.

“Thanks, Frank!” he replied excitedly, eagerly spreading it on the table.

“Might wanna grab some grub, Son,” he added. “Kitchen’s ‘bout to close.”

Peter nodded, blushing, and wheeled himself to the stacked trays at the food line’s start. He was curious when the server recognized him and disappeared into the kitchen. He wheeled down the line to the doorway just as all six kitchen staff came out, smiling. They produced a small frosted cake and began singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him as they set it on the counter.

He sat still, blushed as they finished the serenade, and blushed harder when the dining area clapped and cheered. Finally, it died down, and he smiled awkwardly at his caregivers. “Thanks, guys!” he said feebly.

“We would’ve used candles, but they aren’t allowed,” said Harmony, the kitchen head.

“Yeah, I get it,” he replied. “Fire ... oxygen—bad combo.”

He carried his overloaded tray in his lap to rejoin the group.

“It gets worse at 60!” Bob stated with his ‘Vader’ voice.

“60?” scoffed Frank. “Try 64!” He reached into his coat, produced a brown paper bag, and handed it across the table. “Here ya go, kid. I couldn’t wrap it for ya, though. To yer health!”

Peter took the bag curiously and knew it held a glass bottle. He shook it and heard a liquid splash. Oh, boy. He groaned inwardly when he peeked inside and saw an unopened pint of Canadian Mist whiskey. “Um ... thanks, Frank,” he stammered, setting it carefully on the table next to the cake.

“Franky!” A sharp voice called from the kitchen. They saw Esmerelda Jennings, a stocky black woman in her mid-fifties, glaring at them. “I did not just see you trying to slip that boy a bottle of liquor!”

“So, what if I did?” the sexagenarian replied gruffly. “He’s a man now.”

“He’s SIXTEEN!” she screeched, stomping around the counter. “And you know better than to bring that poison water here!” Her accent made it sound like ‘Heh’.

“Ah hell, woman! At sixteen, I was bobbing in the South Pacific after my ship got torpedoed by the goddamn Japs! I didn’t know if I’d get rescued or eaten by black-tips!”

She snatched the brown bag off the table and regarded him with a withering gaze until he looked contrite. “Hmph!” she snorted and stalked away.

Peter pushed his tray slightly, encroaching into Mike’s space as he attempted to eat while reading the financials. He listened absently to the others and nodded when expected without really concentrating. He was raising his loaded fork towards his mouth when a column header caused him to freeze: Microsoft to split 2-for-1 at market close 4/16.

He gasped as he set down his fork and picked up the paper to learn more. It affected all shareholders of record on 3/15/1990! His heart skipped a beat when he realized he had made the cut-off by two days. Next month, he’d own 20,000 shares of the software giant!

When Kat arrived, she brought another 80 orders, which they worked on together until after lunch, and shared his birthday cake. He updated the spreadsheet and entered the expenses for her gas plus what she’d paid for the floppies and envelopes. “We’ve brought in almost $7,000 in gross revenue so far! Not bad!” he said as she gathered the shipping packages into her bag.

“I can’t believe this is happening!” she replied, coming to sit in his lap. He held her back and indicated the bed, where they commenced snuggling a minute later. “None of this would be happening without you, Baby.”

“I don’t know,” he replied sheepishly. “I just paid attention in AP Business and Finance and asked a lot of questions.”

She plopped herself on top of him and gazed lovingly down at his face. “You must’ve taken good notes because you knew exactly how to get here, and I love you for it.”

“I knew it wasn’t just my looks and sporty wheelchair,” he grinned, earning a painful poke in the side.

“Not funny, jerk!” she growled. “Want the truth? I fell in love with you years ago. I was quietly plotting Brittney’s untimely death before the shallow twit dumped you for getting hurt.”

“Truth?” he replied. “I dumped her the day she visited. Her simpering pity party and need for her friends’ support made me sick.”

“Hmm,” she purred as they kissed again. She felt him growing hard against her groin and moaned as she rubbed herself against him. “God, I want to get nasty with you!”

“They could walk in,” he cautioned.

“I know,” she grumbled, rising on her knees and straddling him again.

He slipped his hands inside her shirt and traced his fingertips up the warm skin of her belly, sending shivers through her body. “Oh, God!” he whispered, cupping her breasts.

She gasped and reached for the waistband of his sweats, slipping her fingers inside. He convulsed beneath her as she traced her lacquered nails along his pelvis.

He hissed sharply as she tugged his sweatpants lower until only the thin material of her panties separated them. “Oh God! Is this really happening?” he groaned. He released her breasts and grabbed her hips. He bucked upward, lifting her body above him. When they sank back together, he did it again, causing her to clutch his chest to steady herself.

She gasped when he began bucking against her rapidly. His face grimaced with exertion, and her eyes widened when she felt his body spasm beneath her. He grunted, and her eyes widened as he bucked once more. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed.

“I’m sorry!” he gasped as another spasm racked him. “I can’t stop.” He gripped her hips tightly, and she collapsed over him, crooning with pleasure, feeling the warm moisture on her belly.

“It’s okay, baby.” she encouraged him, feeling a weaker spasm beneath her. “Holy shit!” she whispered, staring into his incredulous eyes as he relaxed. She felt between them and laughed delightedly, “Jesus! I need a towel!” She rolled off of him and the bed, dashing into his bathroom. The light went on, and he heard her rummaging as he sheepishly pulled his sweats back up. His shirt was soaked.

He heard water running, and then she burst out laughing. “Damn, Sonny!” she called out. “You hosed me!” She continued giggling and reappeared, holding a damp washcloth. Her eyes were glowing with pleasure as she knelt before him. “Here, let me clean you up,” she said softly as she helped him peel off his shirt and wipe his belly. When she returned, Peter had changed his shirt. “That was something else,” she said. “Have you done that before?”

He shook his head and climbed into his wheelchair. “Never.”

“You and Brittney...?” she pried, laying back on the bed.

He shook his head. “Just kissed a couple of times,” he replied. “That was ... wow! Babe.” He shuddered as she touched his bare chest.

She lay on her side facing him, staring at his face curiously. “Was ... what?” she asked. Her hand touched his throat where his Adam’s apple moved up and down.

He looked into her eyes, sighed, and leaned closer to her. “Kat...” he paused before the mature him took over. “I’ve been falling in love with you for a while. I can’t tell you how much you mean to me for being here and supporting me.”

Her eyes teared up as she listened to his words.

“But now ... this,” he coughed nervously. “It’s way more than that now. I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I know I’m still a kid, but I don’t think I could ever want anything else—”

His words were cut off as she grabbed his face and locked her lips against his. He felt her tears drop onto his cheek as he held her tightly. They embraced for several minutes before she pulled away and wiped her eyes. “I love you so much, Peter!” she sniffed. “I swear to God I will never leave your side.”

Overall, it was the best birthday present ever.

A loud knock interrupted their make-out session, and Kat pulled away as the door opened. They both stared in astonishment at the figure in the doorway. He was over six feet tall, with skin like old leather. His silver-white hair spilled to his shoulders from beneath a black Stetson Rustler hat with a silver and turquoise tribal band. He wore ostrich skin pants with side lacing, supported by a wide leather belt with an enormous hand-crafted silver buckle supported them. His ivory muslin shirt was paired with a brown leather vest fastened with thong loops and bone ties. His polished alligator skin boots shone. He held an alligator skin attaché case in his left hand and, in his right, a shiny ebony walking stick with an ornate curved silver handle. A thin waxed mustache covered his lip, and a pointed goatee covered his face, making his age indeterminant. Peter would never forget his first impression of the man, likening him to a gambler or gunfighter straight out of the Wild West.

He turned and gaped at his girlfriend, matching her surprised expression before returning to the visitor. He sat up and pulled the wheelchair closer to the bed.

“Mornin’,” the man said, “might you be Peter Elliot Shipley?” His voice was deep and thick with a Southern accent.

“Uh,” Peter stammered, settling into the chair. “Um, yeah. That’s me.” He felt insecure in the overwhelming presence of the man.