Chapter 8

Sixty million at a reasonable rate ... for 1982 ... of 9% is Five Million, Four Hundred Thousand and no change.

$5,400,000 per year. In 1983, 9% is a cheap interest rate ... especially if it’s locked in. Banks loaning out my money are collecting 13 percent ... by the time rates peaked they were doubling their money. 9% for me, 9% for them. They didn’t know that in 1983 ... I didn’t know that in 1983 ... things looked like they were going to stay that way forever. Surely the rate wouldn’t fall below 10% for the next 50 years. They were assured of 2% at 10%. 2% of five million four hundred thousand is a hundred and four thousand ... the bank president didn’t clear that much per annum. And I could live on the interest and never touch the 60 million principal.

And...

I hadn’t figured in the half of the 22 million Monster Ball I won two years ago.

On advice of counsel ... daddy ... I took the payout, rather than the annuity... 11 million before tax... 4,356000 after. That was invested in RISKY stocks.

“You have a good income ... you have no student loans ... we don’t work you any harder than any other law clerk just starting out ... invest, invest, invest,” said daddy. “Rainy days are coming.”

“Yessir,” I replied ... just like a good gofer.

That all changed when I won my first court case.

“Harrumph,” daddy grunted. Convinced of her guilt, he had turned the woman away but I took her case and won.

Six months later the perpetrator, a rogue cop, was apprehended in the act and went down in a blaze of gunfire at the courthouse. His apartment was a den of trophies.

“Harrumph,” I cleared my throat ... it wasn’t an I told you so but close enough.

Austin and Smythe, Attorneys became Austin, Smythe, and Austin and I got a raise ... if 25% instead of 60,000 a year is a raise.

Life marched ... ran ... sprinted ... and 30 ... the dreaded 30th was upon me. Still single ... unattached even. My 29th was the hardest year ... My college motto Don’t trust anyone over Thirty was coming back to haunt me.

Shit, shit shit. I have to grow up.

The firm threw a BASH ... a Birthday bash ... open bar ... downtown ... formal and white tie ... not that I wore a tie. Nope ... emerald green, sparkly and so slinky I couldn’t wear underwear ... no lines.

I could still wear my Senior Year Prom dress ... unlike my peers who had “Spread.” Nope.

Svelte and still centerfold material. Take that! Ann Marie Henderson! You tub! Revenge!

So ... during my fitting, while I was standing on a stool, the haute couture and prêt-à-porter designer stood back and looked, “Ravishing,” he said. Left arm around his waist supporting his right elbow, he rubbed his chin and continued, “You need a bauble for the throat.”

<The watch on the mantle.> buzzed through my head.

“I have just the thing,” I said, “I haven’t looked at it in years.

“Maddie?”

“Yes?”

“The watch on the mantle? Next to the meteorite? Would you fetch it, please?”

“When did you break your leg?”

We both laughed but she went. He was aghast.

“She’s been with me since I came out,” I explained.

“Ah,” and a nod.

“A watch?” he asked.

“Not just any watch ... you’ll see.” I said.

Puffing slightly, Maddie stepped through the door, watch in hand.

My designer held out his hand, palm up.

Maddie placed the 1890 Blue & Multi-Colored Enamel Lady’s Hunter Case Breguet Lapel or Pendant Watch With Keys on his hand.

He squinted, gasped ... looked much closer.

“Do you know what this is?”

“Yes, it’s eighteen thousand seven hundred seventy seven dollars any time I decide to sell. And its broke.”

He commanded, I raised my hair, bent and he slipped the gold filigree chain over my head. I stood erect on my stool.

“Perfect,” he breathed.

One modification I had made to my room ... a corner full length mirror. I stepped off the stool and strode to the corner. The antique watch drew attention to my graceful neck and alabaster shoulders. It also drew my attention to the vast display of flesh before the dress began.

“It does look nice, doesn’t it?”

Maddie sighed.