Chapter 35: Want To?

August 11, 1984, Chicago, Illinois

Krissy's flight was about twenty minutes late, and when she came out of the gate, she greeted me with a quick hug.

"I have two large bags and a box, in addition to my carry-on," she said.

"Then let's go to the baggage claim."

We began walking towards the escalator that would take us down to the baggage claim.

"How was your flight?" I asked.

"Other than leaving a few minutes late, fine. There was no turbulence, and the seat next to me was empty."

"Did you enjoy your Summer?"

"I worked and hung out with friends who were home from college; I really enjoyed being back in Ontario for the Summer. How about you?"

"Work, obviously, and school, as well as taking care of my daughter. I think the big news is one of my housemates got a cat who seems to have imprinted on me."

"Cats are weird, and nobody can explain them! My dad says dogs have owners, but cats have staff!"

"A friend said, 'servants', but same difference. Neither your dad nor my friend is wrong. Misty basically gets what she wants when she wants it."

"She's obviously an indoor cat; ours is indoor, but we let him outside when he asks. When he wants to come back inside, he climbs up on a fountain outside the side window so we can see him from the kitchen."

"My biggest concern is her rubbing against my legs when I'm trying to walk, especially up the stairs."

"Cats rub their faces on you to tag you as part of their territory. I'm not sure the exact mechanism, but some kind of oil on their fur is transferred. Have you seen her blink slowly when looking at you?"

"Yes. Does that have some significance?"

"If you repeat the gesture, it's a signal of love and acceptance."

I laughed, "Seriously? She's a cat!"

"You don't think animals can have emotions? I can tell you exactly what your cat is thinking or how she's feeling just by looking at her! For example, if she's happy and wants attention, she'll hold her tail straight up to make herself more noticeable. If she's scared, her back will be arched. If she's angry or threatened, her tail hair will spread out, and she'll hiss. And so on. Cats are far more sophisticated than dogs, which tend to be dumber than a box of rocks!"

I smiled and said, "Perhaps that's a bit of an overstatement, as I've seen trained police dogs and hunting dogs."

Krissy smirked, "Nobody had to train your cat to hunt! She'll do it naturally! In fact, you should get some squeaky toys and a ball, as well as some string to play with her. I'm sure you know you can leave your cat alone for a long time without her destroying your condo! Try that with a dog! Or try leaving a dog a week's worth of food and going away. The dog will eat it all on the first day and get sick, then starve for the rest of the week. The cat will only eat what he or she needs to for a given day."

"You must be what they call a 'cat person'!"

"Obviously!"

We reached the baggage claim, and I retrieved a cart for her bags and box, as that would make it easier to get everything to my Saab.

"Are we having dinner?" Krissy asked.

"We certainly could," I said. "We can go out, or we can eat at my condo with Bianca and her girlfriend. They rented Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, so we could watch with them, if you wanted. I'm OK either way."

"Dinner at your condo sounds great," Krissy said. "I saw that movie at the theatre, and it's a good one, so I'll watch it."

"Let me call Bianca and let her know we'll join them. We'll probably get Chinese takeout, as it's our default choice when cooking seems like too much effort. Is there anything you don't like?"

"Not really."

"Let me make the call."

I walked over to the bank of pay phones and dropped in a quarter. I dialed the condo, and Bianca answered.

"Krissy and I will join you for dinner. She said she's OK with whatever we want to order from the Chinese place."

"I'll order four different things to share, plus egg rolls and hot-and-sour soup."

"Sounds like a plan," I said. "We're at the baggage claim, so we'll be home to eat at 6:00pm with no problem."

"See you then!"

After we said 'goodbye', I hung up and returned to where Krissy was waiting.

"All set," I said.

A light flashed and a buzzer sounded, and the baggage belt began to move. Ten minutes later, we had Krissy's two large suitcases and a sturdy box on the cart. We made our way to the parking garage and loaded everything in the back of my Saab.

"Nice car!" Krissy exclaimed when we got in.

"Thanks. I bought it at the beginning of June after my car was stolen when I was in Cincinnati."

"That stinks, but this car is better, right?"

"Yes, though the original car was a reward for being right about a particular stock's rise in value."

"Your company gave you a car for that?!"

"Not the company; my boss."

"Gave you a car? For doing your job?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how crazy that sounds?" Krissy asked, shaking her head.

I stopped to pay for parking, then set out for the Loop to take Krissy to her dorm.

"Outside the financial services industry? Yes. Inside it? It's not uncommon. My new watch was a gift for proposing a solution to prevent one of our funds from taking a loss for the year."

"What kind of watch?"

"A Rolex," I replied.

"Those are super-expensive! And your boss gave you one?"

"The owner of the firm did, yes. If my plan works, and it should, it'll save him millions."

"And all you got was the watch?!" Krissy asked.

"I'll get a taste of the profits, but it isn't my money, nor is it money I raised. I get a significant percentage of the fees and profits from money in my fund that I convinced clients to allow me to manage."

"How much do you manage now?"

"Either directly or indirectly, about $700 million, but only about a third of that is in my fund."

"Seven. Hundred. Million. Dollars!"

"Yes."

"At age twenty-one?"

"Yes.

"Unreal," Krissy said, shaking her head. "I'm going to ask a totally rude question that is none of my business, but how much are you worth?"

"If you factor in the mortgages on the properties I own, and allow for taxes on money that is considered long-term capital gains, it will be around $1.5 million by the end of the year."

"And you were basically dirt poor when you arrived in Chicago?"

I nodded, "I had about $800 to my name, and nothing more than my clothes and a few personal items, like my inexpensive Timex watch."

"What I said at your condo is still true," Krissy said.

"Which part? That you want to be my girlfriend? That you seriously considered asking to spend the night? That you aren't mercenary or a gold digger? That you seriously offered to move in? That you have trepidation because of my situation? That the best path was to go home, come back, go on a second date, and see where things led?"

"You have a really good memory!"

"I pay very close attention to what people say and do, both for work and in my personal life. Which thing?"

"The girlfriend part," Krissy replied. "What would that take?"

Displacing Violet, which was not going to happen, unless Violet changed her mind, which was in the area of so improbable as to discount it.

"You mean exclusively, rather than just dating?"

"Obviously! That's what 'girlfriend' means."

"First, I'm not ready to get into an exclusive relationship because I haven't figured out what that would look like. Second, I have commitments that I would have to break to do that today. Third, we haven't even had our second date as yet!"

"Will you explain? I mean, obviously, you don't have to, but I'm not sure what you mean by figuring out what it would look like."

"I think the simplest way to explain is that I committed to being cremated and interred next to Keiko when I die."

"Not next to your wife?"

"That right there is exactly the point — Keiko is my wife, and didn't cease to be when she died. I mean, sure, OK, legally, she's not, and I'm free to marry, but that doesn't change our relationship. To be frank, I don't foresee changing that decision."

"That says a whole lot," Krissy observed. "I mentioned when I was at your condo that you're still grieving."

I nodded, "I am. The commitment I made was out of respect for Keiko, her parents, her grandparents, and the Shinto tradition we followed. There's already a stele with my name on it, though painted red so as to show I'm still living. But, in the end, grieving or not, that is what I intend, and it's written into my will and other end-of-life documents."

"I'm not sure what to say about that."

"You're not the only one," I replied. "That is part of the reason I'm not ready to enter into an exclusive relationship."