“You’re talking about sophisticated investors such as Carl Icahn, Wilbur Ross, and Bill Ackman.”
“I heard of Icahn; my aunt used to work for TWA until it went out of business and she lost her stewardess job.”
“They are a step or two ahead of the curve in calculating the direction of the stock market.”
“So where are these rich guys putting their cash to work?”
“It’s hard to find out. There are analysts known as whale-watchers who spend all their time trying to figure out the answer to that very question.”
“That’s a funny kind of name.”
“In Las Vegas the high-rollers are called whales, Letitia, and on Wall Street the large investors are also called whales.”
“Gotcha.”
“Anyway, these rich guys are very secretive and it’s not easy to discover what they’re up to. They are required to file quarterly reports with the SEC on their holdings, however, by the time this info becomes public, it is stale and could be misleading.”
“So you can’t actually find out what the smart money is doing?”
“No, you can’t, Letitia, not unless you work there.”
“Then what should I do, Eddie, where should the dumb money like me be investing today?”
“I’d put it in gold if I were you.”
“Why gold?”
“Because Governments can print dollars but they can’t print gold.”
“Hmm.”
“If the U.S. Government prints so much money that our paper currency becomes worthless, Letitia, at least you’ll have a precious metal which will hold its value no matter what happens.”
“Come hell or high water?”
“Yeah.”
She straightened up and threw back her broad shoulders. “Eddie, I’m gonna take your advice and do just that, I’m going into gold.”
“Fine, Letitia, I’ll show you how.”
“Do I got to buy gold bars?”
“No, you’ll buy an ETF backed by gold bullion stored in a vault in London.”
“That’s fine with me since I wouldn’t have nowhere safe to store the bars in my crummy neighborhood.”
“Not a problem.”
“But London is so far away and it’s in another country.”
“If the shit hits the fan here, Letitia, it might be best to have your assets in another country so the U.S. Government can’t confiscate them.”
“Washington would just grab my savings without my permission?”
“It might if the situation gets really desperate.”
“Ok, Eddie, I don’t like what you’re saying, but I hear what you’re saying.”
“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Let’s get back to your sleeping situation. I’ll give you a second chance, come stay with me out in Bed-Stuy and stop squatting. You’re too old and sickly to be on-the-bum in New York City.”
“The brothers out there would shoot my honky ass full of holes.”
She smiled, displaying a set of white teeth worthy of a dental commercial on TV. “You’re right, they probably would.”
“I rest my case.”
“Then you need to come with me to an AA meeting, Eddie.”
He took one long, final look out at the harbor. “I can’t, Letitia, I’ve got to meet a guy at the Bull & Bear tonight.”
“Are you cooking up another one of those harebrained deals of yours?”
“A fella has to make a living any way he can.”
“Say hello to Ruthie for me, Eddie, I ain’t seen her since I stopped drinking.”
“I will.”
“She helped me get on the road to sobriety.”
“How did she do that?”
“One time at the bar I got totally wasted and passed out. I had the most horrible dream that I was dying and falling into darkness. It was Ruthie who took my hand in the dream and brought me back into the light. From then on, I always went to her for advice; she helped me to finally quit.”
“Ruthie is a smart lady.”
“My friends told me I could still go to the Bull & Bear as long as I stuck to ginger ale. But Ruthie put the kibosh on that, she kayoed it from the get-go.”
“I see.”
“Ruthie said I wasn’t the kind of recovering alcoholic who could hang in bars because I’d be a falling-down, shit-faced drunk again if I did.”
“I’d have given you the same advice, Letitia.”
She delved deep into him with her eyes. “You mean, Eddie, as one alcoholic talking to another alcoholic?”
“I’m a highly functional heavy drinker, Letitia, I can control myself in the vicinity of alcohol. That’s the critical difference between you and me.”
“You’re in denial, sugar, you’re a boozehound, the same as me.”
A loudspeaker erupted, announcing the arrival of a boat from Jersey City at Slip A.
“No more of your piss-poor excuses, Eddie, come with me to an AA meeting tonight.”
He shook his head. “I’m beyond the point of no return.”
“My sponsor says it’s never too late to get yourself straightened out.”
“I gotta go.”
“Tomorrow night then, Eddie, come to an AA meeting with me tomorrow night.”
He edged away. “We’ll see, Letitia, we’ll see.”
She watched him skedaddle on grasshopper legs down the long pier and then took out her cell phone.
*
Pump-and-Dump
Ethel Kramowitz, 39, brown-bagged her lunch as usual and sat at her desk eating the chicken sandwich on rye with mayonnaise and onion she had prepared earlier in her Brooklyn studio apartment. A short, plump woman with impossibly frizzy black hair, she had skin blemishes, huge hips, deep-set dark eyes, a crooked nose, thunder thighs, and a chest as flat as a pancake. In sharp contrast, all the women pictured in the pages of the Vogue magazine open on her lap were tall and slender with pouty lips, high cheekbones, straight hair, fair skin and wearing expensive bodysuits.
For the past three years Ethel had been saving her money so she could have plastic surgery to correct the damage that Mother Nature and Father Time had done to her body. The surgery she wanted – breast implants, liposuction, and a tummy tuck -- was elective so her medical insurance carrier refused to cover the $19,000 cost. She also wanted a Rhinoplasty procedure - a nose job - that would cost an additional $10,000 to reduce its size and correct a deviated septum. And she also wanted $12,000 in cosmetic dental surgery to improve her come-hither smile, a critical necessity if she was going to be able to pick up men.
After the surgery, she’d still be short in stature, however, her large new boobs, thinner body, and reworked features should help compensate. And for the first time she’d have cleavage, something her mother and grandmother never had.