Chapter 11: Wishing Upon a (TV) Star

August 6, 1982, Chicago, Illinois

I had worked both Wednesday and Thursday, and Bev and I had the evenings together, just relaxing while she cared for Heather, and we talked and listened to music. It had been nice, and it had given me time to think about the future, and what it might entail. In the end, practicality and pragmatism had to win out, and Bev and I had agreed that I’d visit her at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and she’d visit the following Summer. We’d also talk once a week, though we’d keep the calls relatively short to hold the long-distance charges in check.

“What do you want to do today?” I asked Bev when we finished breakfast.

“We could just stay in bed all day!” she suggested.

“You’re feeling comfortable?”

“Enough to do it the way we did the first time!”

I chuckled, “But lasting more than about two minutes!”

Bev smirked, “The first time! And you were able to go again almost immediately, and then it was more than ten minutes! And it only got better!”

“Hard or soft?” I asked.

“Depends on my mood,” Bev replied. “I’m in the mood to have you fuck me long and hard and make me scream!”

“I shall endeavor to meet your request, even if it takes numerous attempts!”

“Numerous successful attempts!”

“What about Heather?”

“She’ll sleep most of the time, and if not, it’s not like she understands what’s going on! She’s been in the room with us all night and we’ve fooled around.”

“After you fed her and she was asleep.”

“You do realize that throughout most of history, parents had no privacy for sex, right?” Bev asked.

“And no running water, no indoor plumbing, no vaccines; no phones, no light, no motor cars, not a single luxury!”

“All of that is true, but Heather is a baby! Does it really freak you out that she might wake up while we’re having sex?”

“It’s strange,” I replied, “but I’m not freaked out by it.”

“If you’re reluctant, I’ll toss in an emolument!”

“A what?” I asked.

“A payment in exchange for your labor! You fuck me hard and in exchange, I’ll give you a long, slow, sexy blowjob!”

“I’d be an idiot to pass up an offer like that!”

We went upstairs, and I did as Bev had asked, and then she did what she had promised. She had to feed Heather after that, and then we repeated our previous activities.

“Do you actually like doing that?” I asked Bev when she snuggled close after she’d given me a second blowjob.

“I like doing that for you, Jonny. I never did it for Bob.”

“Whatever happened between you and Bob was between you and Bob,” I said. “It honestly has no impact on us, no matter what.”

“I think Dad was afraid that was why you were reluctant to ask me to marry you.”

“You were reluctant for me to ask!”

“I know, and I discussed it with Mom, but Dad isn’t rational on the topic.”

“I see his point, at least from his perspective. I don’t agree with him, but he’s consistent with how he always felt about the topic.”

“Well, in his view, I was supposed to have a baby without ever having sex!”

I laughed, “That I don’t believe, though I am positive he wanted you to be a virgin on your wedding night. But you know what? He was entitled to his opinion, and you were free to ignore it, which you did!”

“With a little help from my friend!”

“I was a willing partner in crime,” I declared. “Very willing! Though, as I said, you surprised me with the kiss. And I was even more surprised that we went from a first kiss to me being buried in you in less than ten minutes!”

“Worth it!” Bev declared. “If I have one regret, it’s that we didn’t do it more often!”

“If you think about it, it could have overwhelmed our relationship. I think, in the end, we handled that part exactly right. It was not discussing the future that led us to where we are now.”

“Me, in your bed?” Bev asked playfully.

“Yes, but I meant our relationship. Were we really mature enough to decide to marry when I was a Senior and you were a Junior? Because that’s what would have happened.”

“No, we weren’t. Heck, we aren’t ready now, and it’s only my little bundle of joy over there who caused us to think seriously about it. And she’s also the thing that makes it the most difficult. But I would never give her up for some different outcome.”

“Nor would I want you to,” I replied. “If you think about it, that would be saying my mom did the wrong thing in having me and figuring out how to make it work. The big difference is, your dad’s discomfort notwithstanding, you have supportive parents.”

“Have you seen your grandparents?”

“No. They extended an invitation through my uncle, but I turned it down. If they were to call me or write me and make an apology, I’d probably agree to see them. But without that? I couldn’t do it because I’d rip them a new one for their moronic behavior.”

“You would, too. For supposedly religious people, they sure aren’t behaving like Christians!”

“I find that to be the case pretty often. Anala and another friend both told me about something Gandhi is reported to have said which really fits — ’I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.’ Truer words were never spoken, assuming he actually said it.”

“That’s a really good observation either way.”

“Anala is probably the most intelligent person I know, bar none.”

“She’s also gorgeous!”

“I might have noticed,” I chuckled.

“How could you not? Long black hair, fantastic figure, beautiful brown skin, and liquid brown eyes!”

“Bev Newton, are you thinking of playing for the other team?”

She squealed and smacked my arm, then declared, “I don’t think so! I can notice that a girl is pretty without wanting to have sex with her! Can you?”

“If you don’t count the secretaries at work, probably not!”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“I don’t need the drama and I don’t want to play that game. As far as I can tell, with just a couple of exceptions, all the Suits cheat on their wives, quite often with their secretaries. I could never cheat. Ever.”

“That wouldn’t be you. You’ve always kept your word.”

“If there’s a conflict at work, I suspect it’ll be over something like that, because Mr. Spurgeon is a stickler for following government regulations to the letter.”

“I’m not sure that’s a place I’d want to work.”

“My goal is to learn as much as I can about financial markets. The problem is that, from everything I hear, the entire industry is like this. It’s expected behavior, so to speak.”

“Then you’ll just need to make enough money to start Kane Capital!” Bev declared.

“The key to getting people to allow you to run their money is having a lot of your money in the game, so to speak. The fact that Noel Spurgeon has north of two hundred million of his own money in the firm causes people to trust him, because he’s certainly not going to do anything that would lose his own money.”

“Two hundred million? Seriously?”

“Yes. And that’s not his net worth, either. It’s probably at least half-again as much because he has houses in Saint Martin, Boca Raton, Switzerland, on Long Island, and part of a condo in Monaco. Not to mention his palatial mansion north of Chicago, his cars, the artwork, and so on.”

“How did he amass that much money?”

“He inherited some and invested and built a very successful firm. A top trader can clear two million in salary, bonuses, and commissions. My mentor made slightly less than that last year, but will probably exceed it this year.”

“That’s crazy!”

“Maybe, but I’m learning how they do it, and unlike the Chicago Outfit, it’s all legal and sanctioned by the US government!”

“Maybe I should let you ask me to marry you right now!” Bev teased.

“You are the last person to be a gold digger,” I replied. “Not to mention that kind of money is years away, and only if I’m successful.”

“I think you will be, Jonny. You’re smart, you work hard, you’re loyal, and you’re trustworthy. I’d let you manage my money if I had any!”

“I have to get my securities license first, which will happen in October. But it’s likely two years before I can move to some kind of trading or money management position. It might happen before then, but two years seems about right. And then it’s sink or swim, and if I sink, I’ll have to find something else to do.”

“Not go to another firm?” Bev asked.

“It’s like having the talent to play for the Reds or Bengals — either you have it or you don’t. If you don’t, you don’t try to play Major League Baseball or in the NFL. I can learn all the rules and regulations and be taught how to analyze a company, country, or currency, but that’s not enough. There’s insight and your gut and those have to be right most of the time, or you’ll underperform the market and THAT is the kiss of death.”

“No leeway at all?”

“Not really. If you think about it, you’d be losing money for a paying customer who has trusted you with their wealth, and that is simply not acceptable.”

“What happens if the stock market goes down?”

“There are strategies to make a profit in what’s called a ‘bear’ market. Trading currencies is different, because they only change in value relative to each other. That means you can pick the currencies which will become stronger and go long, or the currencies which will become weaker, and short them, as well as use hedging strategies.”

“I have a High School diploma, took calculus, and am going to college to be a teacher and I didn’t understand a word of what you just said!”

“That’s OK,” I chuckled. “Nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to hire me to teach High School English! Everyone has their skills, and society needs all of them.”

“They don’t pay teachers anywhere near what you’re going to earn. Heck, they don’t pay teachers what you make now supervising the mailroom!”

“And I’ll pay significantly more taxes. I know that doesn’t address the core problem of teachers being underpaid, but without the income and property taxes I’ll pay, and others who earn significant amounts of money pay, we couldn’t have a lot of things society wants. I know there are people who use tax avoidance strategies, but it’s still the case that the top ten percent of taxpayers pay something like half of all incomes taxes.”

“It still doesn’t seem fair.”

“I don’t look at it that way,” I replied. “The job is offered at a specific rate of pay with specific benefits. You decide to take it or not.”

“What about people who can only find minimum wage jobs?”

“They need to do what I’ve done — work hard, gain experience, and use that to find a better job. The Personnel Department at Spurgeon called the feed store, the lumber yard, and the landscaping company to check on me. Uncle Alec’s word only went so far, because he doesn’t work at Spurgeon. If he did, he could have pushed them to ignore my work history, so long as he took responsibility for any screw-ups on my part.

“I’m not saying it’s easy, but if I can do it having worked minimum wage jobs in High School and starting literally on the ground below the first rung, anyone can. It’s the American dream — rags to riches — and I aim to live it. But you know what? If I fail at this, I’ll find something else to do. I can certainly get a job supervising a mailroom, go back to school for a degree in management or business, and work my way up that side.

“Granted, there are situations where people truly can’t improve their circumstances due to outside forces or because they’re discriminated against, and that’s where the government steps in to provide temporary assistance or to stop the discrimination, like with affirmative action and civil rights laws. But even those only go so far. You also have to work hard and use any help you get to improve your situation.”

“And if for some reason you can’t? I mean you, specifically, not a generic person.”

“Then I move back home, work hard, and do the best I can. Nobody owes me anything. My mom made it with almost no help. It wasn’t easy, but she did.”

“She never wanted help.”

“I think that was to prove to her parents that she could do it, given the things they appear to have said to her.”

“I can imagine the names that were used for a sixteen-year-old girl who was pregnant in the early 60s.”

“There are quite a few people who still have that attitude,” I said. “And who have 1950s views on sex.”

“My dad!”

“I do recall him instructing me to go upstairs and fuck your brains out!” I chuckled.

Bev laughed, “That is NOT what he said!”

“No, he said ‘Go upstairs and make love to my daughter’ but I put it in YOUR terms!”

“Not that time! I was too pregnant to fuck like bunnies the way we just did!”

“Are we staying in bed all day?”

“Except for lunch and dinner, yes! Even if we just cuddle. Obviously, I’ll have to feed Heather, too.”

August 7, 1982, Chicago, Illinois

Bev and I had a late breakfast on Saturday, and she left for Ohio at 9:30am, which would give her plenty of time to make it home before dark. She promised to call when she arrived, or if she ran into any trouble along the way. Once she’d left, I gathered the sheets and put them in the washer, letting Bianca and Shelly know I had other laundry to do as well.

“Any plans for today or tomorrow?” Shelly asked.

“I was planning to set up the computer today.”

“I was surprised you left it in the boxes for a week!” Bianca declared.

“I didn’t want to be distracted while Bev was here. The only thing I did on the computer was update quotes for my portfolio.”

“Do you want help?” Bianca asked.

“I’d appreciate it, so long as you explain each step so that I can understand it.”

“It’s almost the same as the Atari your friend lent you in terms of setting it up, but yes, I’ll explain anything I do.”

“The other thing I want to do is get an Atari video game system, which I need to do before I see Violet again. That’s one of the things we do.”

“She doesn’t want to play with your joystick? Have your firmware in her software?”

“Please do not joke about her that way,” I requested.

“Sorry,” Bianca replied. “She’s not here, so I figured it was OK.”

“And if you were to slip up when she was, it could be a disaster.”

“Something very bad happened to her, didn’t it?” Shelly asked.

“I can’t say,” I replied. “Just let it go, please, and remember, she’s a friend.”

“Sorry,” Bianca said again. “I’ll remember. Computer?”

“Yes.”

We went up to the attic bedroom, and I began to unpack the Apple II+ from its box.

“Did you print out your spreadsheet data?” Bianca asked. “You’ll be hooking the TV to the new computer.”

“Let me do that now,” I said.

“You also need to print out the formulas you put in each cell.”

“OK.”

I turned on the Atari 800, brought up VisiCalc, then turned on the printer. With a bit of help from Bianca, I printed the raw data from the spreadsheet in a format that would be easy to use to type the data into the Apple II+. It would take some time, but the $250 it would have cost for a one-time transfer of data made no sense to me. Once I had the printout and verified that it was legible, I unhooked the Atari 800 from the TV, then moved it and its add-on equipment, which Bianca called ‘peripherals’ out of the way, then began setting up the Apple II+.

“Why is it just sitting there?” I asked, after turning it on.

“You need to either put the DOS diskette in Drive 0 or press control and reset to enter Applesoft BASIC. But if you do that, you can only save or load via cassette tape.”

I found the DOS diskette and put it into the drive, and then the computer screen displayed the startup ‘HELLO’ message.

“You can remove the DOS diskette and put the new VisiCalc diskette in Drive 0 and a blank diskette in Drive 1.”

I did that and started VisiCalc. As a test, I entered the formulas, which took nearly an hour to complete, then entered one page of printout data as a test. I printed a graph, and everything looked good, so Bianca and I packed up the Atari equipment and I called Jeri to arrange to see her and return the equipment.

“My parents are out of town Thursday through Monday,” she said. “How about dinner on Thursday?”

“Dinner on Thursday is fine.”

“I’ll send James for you. I assume your new place because you won’t want to try to lug that equipment to work on the L.”

“You assume correctly!”

“6:00pm on Thursday,” Jeri confirmed. “He’ll have you home before midnight.”

“That’ll work.”

We said ‘goodbye’ and hung up.

“It’s going to take you quite some time to enter all the data,” Bianca observed.

“So you’ve said. But I’ll enter the buys and sells, so I’ll know my current progress, even if I don’t have daily detail until I enter all the data. That covers the reports I have to run each month. If it takes six months to get the rest entered, it’s no big deal.”

“Want to get pizza for dinner? The place that’s walking distance?”

“Sounds good!”

August 9, 1982, Chicago, Illinois

“Morning Mr. Nelson!” I said when I arrived on Monday morning.

“Morning, Kane! You got your wish!”

“Farrah Fawcett-Majors wants to date me as soon as her divorce from the Six Million Dollar Man is final?”

Mr. Nelson laughed, “She’s a bit older than you!”

“Like I’d care? Would you?”

“If she were fifteen years older than me, she’d be around seventy!”

“Which wish?”

“A third person as of September 1st. We can interview, but the start date can’t be before the 13th because the 1st is a Wednesday and they don’t like to do that unless it’s a Suit, and the next Monday is Labor Day. Know where we can find a clone of Clinton?”

“Not off the top of my head. Most of my friends are either college students or firemen or work for the city. Let me think about it. Is anyone sending a name down?”

“Mandy sent me the approved employee requisition form on Friday. It’ll be posted today.”

“Let’s hope for no ‘idiot sons’,” I replied. “Or daughters, for that matter.”

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting their daughter to work in this shark tank, can you?”

“No. I guess Rachel Kealty was the exception.”

“Thiele has enough pull that he could put her ‘off limits’ and make it stick.”