Chapter 6: Stone Cold Sober

July 13, 1982, Chicago, Illinois

Monday and Tuesday had been fairly routine busy days at work, and we were at a point where Suits were beginning their vacations, though they were never really on vacation, as almost all of them called in every day to speak to their assistants and made calls to clients. I still had eight days of earned vacation, and had to plan some time off.

It made sense to use some of it when Bev visited, some when Huifen returned, and then save some for the time between Christmas and New Year’s. A real vacation, where I went someplace I’d never been, which was basically everywhere, would have to wait for another year. I had no idea where, but it would be someplace interesting and fun, though not too expensive.

I met with Anala on Tuesday evening, and thankfully, she’d agreed to meet me at a diner in the Loop, as I now lived north, instead of south.

“All settled into your new place?” Anala inquired.

“In a sense,” I replied. “But I still need quite a bit of furniture and more stuff for the kitchen. It’s livable, which is what matters, and there’s way more space than I had in my studio apartment. I need to spread out my spending so that I don’t dip further into my reserves. I also want to replenish my reserves before I spend significant amounts of money, though, hopefully, I can use the money I’ve saved towards a car for a computer instead.”

“You’re going to win that wager?”

“Easily. I’m not sure about Chrysler for the long-term, but it’ll hit my target price. I intend to sell once it exceeds my target price. That might leave some money on the table, but I’ll lock in gains of about five times what I paid for the stock. One of the most important lessons I’ve been taught so far is not to fall in love with a stock. Set your target price, then lock in your gains, either with a sale, or with some kind of options play, which serves as downside protection.”

“What kind of car?”

“A red Chrysler LeBaron convertible, because the wager included only cars made by Chrysler.”

“And you’ll be cruising with the top down and the radio playing?”

“At least when it’s warm enough out. How is your internship?”

“It’s fine. It’s basically what you would call a draftsman’s job, so no real design or anything, but that’s how architecture starts, really. The only possible shortcut is to start an independent architectural firm, but that takes significant resources that most new graduates do not have. I plan to apply to Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, who designed the Hancock Center and the Sears Tower. The other is Murphy/Jahn. Jahn studied at IIT. But that’s two years from now.”

“Which is about the timeframe I have for my next promotion, though it could take three, depending on how everything works out.”

“Speaking of the future, how are your friend and her baby?”

“Both doing well. I’ll see her in about two weeks, and we’ll discuss the future.”

“Mind if I ask your thinking?”

“That right now, I don’t think I can make the commitment, nor is it practical. I think Bev agrees, and if we’re meant to be together, it’ll happen when she graduates from college in four years. At that point, I’ll be in a very good position to afford a wife, kids, a house, and so on, and she’ll have her degree so she’ll be able to work as well. I’ll only be twenty-three at that point, which is still kind of young in my mind, but a lot of people get married around that age.”

“Does it matter what other people do?” Anala asked.

“Given I never gave it much thought, except in a general way, until I saw Bev after she got pregnant, I have to work out my own theory, and seeing what other people do can inform that. There’s something like that in trading, though it’s opposite, really, because following the herd is a way to lose your shirt or get trampled when it suddenly reverses!”

“So a negative lesson? That is, what not to do?”

“Correct. Basically, by the time individual investors hear important information, they’ve often missed most of the run-up in price. Not always, but often, and they get burned because the people in the know take their profits, and by the time the individual investor figures it out, they’ve either lost money or made only a fraction of what the professionals have made.”

“Do you think that’s fair?”

“It’s legal, so long as you follow the rules. I don’t think the ‘not fair’ argument is at all effective, and I certainly have never used it, even if some people think I should have. There are always going to be people who have advantages and people who have disadvantages, and in the end, all I can do is make the most of the cards I’ve been dealt and try to improve my life and help my mom as best I’m able. That’s what I’ve tried to do. And if I don’t make it in the investment field for some reason, I won’t whine about it; I’ll find something else to do and try that. And I’ll keep going until I find something at which I can be successful. I’m sure my experience supervising the mailroom would translate to a job similar to Mr. Nelson’s.”

“How do you define success?”

“The same way I did a year ago — a nice house, a family, nice cars, and the ability to take vacations. Anything else is gravy. That said, I won’t stop when I achieve those things, and I’d love to make a ton of money.”

“A shorthand would be that your goal is to be comfortably middle class, which I think makes sense coming from where you started. That said, you won’t stop when you become middle class.”

“I guess I don’t think in those terms, but being comfortable and not having to struggle to make ends meet is a good summary. What about you?”

“To be the best architect in the city after Helmut Jahn!”

“Slacker,” I teased.

“My goal is just as realistic as yours is! You didn’t say you wanted to be the best stock broker in Chicago or have more money than the owner of your firm.”

I laughed, “Because that’s nigh on impossible!”

“And...” Anala asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Point taken. I suppose being second best isn’t TOO bad.”

“You just don’t stop, do you!”

“Not until we’re both satisfied!”

“And there’s the incorrigible Jonathan I know and love!”

I laughed, finished my coffee, then headed home for a late dinner with Bianca and Shelly, and had them both for dessert.

July 16, 1982, Chicago, Illinois

On Friday evening, right after work, I met Kasia Pucinski at Italian Village for dinner. I had a bit of trepidation, because I still wasn’t sure a relationship with her beyond business was a good idea, but I had promised to have dinner with her.

“Sorry it took two weeks,” I said.

“It’s OK,” Kasia said reassuringly. “You did call on Monday, and this was the first evening we were both available. How is work going?”

“Busy, but that’s a good thing.”

“And your training?”

“Also good. Mostly it’s showing I can be a successful investor. So far, so good. How about you?”

“Managing a dozen properties is challenging, especially given five of them are four-flat buildings. My parents had offers accepted for two more multi-flat buildings, so that’s taking some of my time because I had to inspect them and now I’m arranging for repairs and upgrades, because I expect the sale to close by the end of the month.”

“Where?”

“On the North Side. One of them is in Wrigleyville close to the ballpark, and is pretty nice. The other one is in Rogers Park and fairly run-down. It’ll take quite a bit of work to get it into shape.”

“I believe I mentioned that my uncle is a real estate investor, but he focuses on commercial real estate.”

“Sorry to change topics, I plan to order a bottle of red wine. They won’t card you.”

“Trying to get me drunk?” I asked with a smirk.

“Is that what it would take?” Kasia asked.

“If you manage to get me drunk, the answer is an even more firm ‘no’ than it was when we went out for pizza. And if you’re drunk, it’s even firmer.”

“Did something happen with alcohol in your past?”

“No, but getting drunk has no appeal for me, and having sex with someone who is drunk has even less appeal for me.”

“I’m going to assume you’ve never been to a fraternity or sorority party.”

“You assume correctly. I’m going to assume you have.”

“You also assume correctly. I went to UofI and pledged the Delta Pi chapter of Tri Delta — Delta Delta Delta.”

“I know zero about fraternities and sororities. What’s the point?”

“A group of girls who live together and do service work, in addition to having a social life. Tri Delta does a lot of fundraising for cancer charities.”

“And a lot of parties with a lot of alcohol, given what you said before.”

“Yes.”

“And you got drunk a lot?” I asked.

“Often enough,” she admitted.

The waiter came to take our orders and, as she’d said she would, Kasia ordered a bottle of red wine to go with my chicken Parmigiana and her four-cheese ravioli in tomato sauce. As she’d predicted, the waiter didn’t ask for ID, and simply brought the bottle and poured some in a glass for me to taste.

“No clue,” I said to Kasia after tasting it.

“So long as it doesn’t taste bad, it’s fine, I’m sure,” she said to me, then looked to the waiter, “Go ahead and pour.”

He did, then left.

“What was that about?” I asked. “I mean, you ordered the bottle and he opened it.”

“Mostly it’s a formality these days, but the tradition is that you taste it to make sure it isn’t ‘off’, which can happen if the cork isn’t tight and air gets into the bottle.”

Our salads arrived and we began eating.

“Why get drunk so much?” I asked.

“At first, it was part of initiation, later, because everyone else was drinking.”

“And that was fun?” I asked. “I mean, I like a beer or two, and the occasional Jack and Coke, but that’s my limit.”

“It probably should have been mine, too.”

“What’s ‘initiation’?”

“Just doing a bunch of stuff to show that you’re willing to be part of the group. Drinking games and dumb stunts.”

“Like?”

“One day we all had to wear our underwear outside our regular clothes. That included going to class, and at a party.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. That was the first night I got drunk playing ‘Quarters’ at the party...”

“‘Quarters’?” I asked, interrupting her.

“A game where you try to bounce a quarter into a shot glass and at various points, you have to drink a shot of vodka.”

“Sorry to interrupt. Go on.”

“Then there was a dance contest, and we were all completely sloshed, so you can imagine what that was like.”

“Goofy, I would guess.”

“You would guess correctly,” Kasia said with a wan smile.

“Were there guys at this party? Or was it just the girls?”

“There were guys,” she said. “Unfortunately.”

I could guess where the story was going without her saying anything.

“I ended up losing my virginity that night,” she continued. “And that was the pattern for the rest of my Freshman year and my Sophomore year — get drunk and have sex on Friday nights. My grades suffered, but I got some counseling over the Summer after my Sophomore year, I got my shit together, quit drinking, buckled down, got my grades up, and graduated with a decent GPA.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Well, the getting your shit together, part.”

“Mostly, anyway.”

“You seem to have your act together.”

“Not with guys,” she sighed.

“You’re, what? Twenty-five? It’s been four or five years, right?”

She nodded, “You meant since I got my shit together, but also since I’ve been with a guy. I’ve never had sex sober.”

That explained a LOT, and it also meant that there was no chance I was going to have sex with her after dinner, if that was what she had planned. If it ever did happen, it would be a day when she’d had no alcohol of any kind. I didn’t know what to say, so I just ate my salad and sipped some of my wine.

“Say something,” she pleaded about five minutes later.

“I’m not sure what to say,” I replied.

“You aren’t going to want to see me again, are you,” she asked, sounding depressed.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“Your reaction.”

“I know I’ve told you I’m direct, and I usually am, but when I don’t know what to say, I tend to keep my mouth shut. In this situation, I had no clue what to say, and I didn’t want to hurt you or offend you or say something that made me sound like a jerk. Obviously, keeping quiet didn’t work, either. May I ask a question?”

“At this point? Why not?”

“Why tell me?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I just needed to say it to someone, I guess.”

“Your counselor?”

“Once I got my shit together, I didn’t see him again. I wasn’t drinking and I was doing really well in school, so I didn’t need to.”

“Female friend?”

“The same ones who I got drunk with every Friday night?”

“OK, after you graduated.”

“I didn’t want to talk about that part of my life.”

“OK, I can understand that, but then why me?”

“I guess the same reason I asked you to have pizza that night — you’re an interesting guy, you’re successful, tall, decent looking, smart and logical, and you seem like a really nice guy.”

“I think I might have had it backwards earlier,” I said.

“What?”

“It wasn’t me who you wanted to be drunk tonight,” I said.

“Jesus!” she gasped, shaking her head. “You are blunt and direct.”

“I call them as I see them,” I said. “Would you prefer I was dishonest and kept what I was thinking to myself? And then possibly decided not to see you again, or just say what I’m thinking and discuss it?”

“Do you know the word ‘tact’?”

“Of course. But at this point, given what you told me, and the accusation that I wouldn’t want to see you again, why dance around it?”

“Accusation?”

“If not that, then what?”

“I guess it was,” she sighed.

“Is that how you expect a nice guy to behave?”

“Shit,” she sighed. “I don’t actually know.”

I had a decent idea as to why she was ‘between boyfriends’ and that was another warning sign for what I now was sure she had intended, if not the night of our pizza date, but after this date. And that was not going to happen.

A busboy cleared away our salad dishes and a moment later the waiter brought our main courses. Both of us began eating, and I thought about waiting for her to speak, but that had ended badly the first time.

“Just so there are no misconceptions, this date doesn’t end in any way except us each going home alone.”

“Date?”

“I don’t know what else to call it, really. It’s not a business meeting, and you obviously had some notion of how it would end.”

“Cold analysis, again.”

I nodded, “That is my way.”

“No emotions? No doing something just because you feel like it?”

“I do have emotions,” I replied. “I just try to keep them in check. As for doing something just because I felt like doing it, that was never really possible growing up. I did what I had to do for my mom and me to make ends meet. There wasn’t time for much besides school and working two or three jobs. What little time I did have I spent with my friend, Bev. That’s not a complaint, by the way, just a statement of facts.”

“Bev is your girlfriend?”

“Was, is, who knows?” I said. “It’s super-complicated because we never acknowledged being a couple, though in hindsight we were, and she started seeing someone when I left Ohio. She ended up pregnant by him, and had her baby last month. We’ve seen each other a few times, and I was with her when she gave birth, but I don’t know what that means at this point.”

“No cold logic?”

I smiled, “Plenty of it, but my emotions are playing havoc with my cold logic.”

“Interesting. And the girls you’re living with?”

“Just friends,” I replied. “There’s a girl I’ve been seeing quite a bit, who is a college student, but she’s home in California for the Summer.”

“Can I ask you a question and get an honest answer?”

“Seriously? After all this, you don’t think I’d answer a question honestly, and most likely directly and bluntly?”

“Sorry,” Kasia said. “You’re, well, different.”

“Ask your question.”

“Does that fact that I’ve been with ... well, so many guys, bother you?”

“Does the fact that I’ve been with a lot of girls bother you?”

“It’s different for guys and girls.”

“Bullshit!” I declared. “Pure, unadulterated bullshit!”

“Not according to society.”

“Well, society is wrong,” I replied. “There is no way I’ll hold you to a different standard from the one to which I hold myself. I honestly don’t care how many guys you’ve been with, or girls for that matter.”

Kasia laughed, “Yeah, that’s not happening!”

“I wasn’t actually implying that you would. My point was, I don’t judge.”

“What would it take for this date, as you called it, to end with us not going home alone.”

“There’s no possibility of that,” I replied. “And not because of your behavior during your first two years of college, but because you’re my landlord. And while I make no promises that I would change my mind in the future, one thing is absolutely certain — you would have to be stone-cold sober before we even got to first base.”

“You have that much of a problem with alcohol?”

“No, but you do.”

Kasia frowned, “I’m not sure I can handle the blunt talk.”

“It’s the only way I know to be,” I replied.

“Ever heard of diplomacy?”

“Sure. I had history classes. And vague, flowery language led to huge conflicts where a curt, blunt statement might well have prevented them.”