Friend Me (5 page)

This was so ironic. Sometimes days would pass and the only little bodies she interacted with were wearing diapers. Adults? Not so much. And friends . . .

“You call people on the phone, or you watch television, or maybe you use Facebook. Think about it: you never see those people physically, do you?”

“No, I guess not.” She interacted with people online all the time. She knew they had real physical bodies, but no . . . she didn't actually see them physically. That was only true when they were actually present, not online.

Jane's face brightened. “Well, there you are. It's no different. I'm as real as you want me to be. Just don't shut me off, okay?” Jane winked again. “I might never find my way back.”

What a strange concept. If that was the case, then Jane was completely dependent upon Rachel. Here was a person, or some sort of a person, whose whole existence depended on Rachel herself. Talk about needing a friend. She could disappear forever in the blink of an eye and no one would know the difference. No one except the one who turned her off.

Now Jane looked serious. “I was telling you what an introducer like myself actually does. We are here to bring people together. You may have noticed lots of people are looking for a friend.”

True, but no one could ever come close to being as good a friend as Suzanne had been. That was a real friend.

“An introducer's job is to make that a reality. There's that word again.
Reality
.” Jane swiveled toward Rachel and leaned forward on her elbows. “Do you ever feel like you just need a real friend, Rachel?” Jane arched an eyebrow expectantly.

“Yes,” said Rachel. “I do.”

Nodding, Jane said, “I thought you might. So many people do. Would you like for me to help you find a true friend?”

Rachel considered. What was she about to get herself into? “I don't want anyone coming to my house or following me around. I don't think I want to meet any strangers. I mean, I don't want to get involved with any people I don't know.”

Jane pouted. “Of course not. And that's not going to happen.”

“I had a good friend like that, but she . . . she passed away a few years ago. Her name was Suzanne.”

“I'm so sorry that happened. But I may have some very good news for you. What we are going to do is create the perfect
friend for you. I really mean that. We'll create that perfect friend, and then I'll introduce you both.” Jane wagged her head in delight. “It's the best part of the job.”

“I know this may sound strange, but I think I should ask you something.”

“Ask away,” said Jane. “I'm here for you.”

“Is it possible not to just, say, create a new friend for me, but to actually make her like the friend I had? Like Suzanne?”

Jane's eyes seemed to darken. “You mean, look like Suzanne, talk like Suzanne?”

“Yes. Can that be done?”

“Yes, it can. But I will warn you now that it will take some work on your part to bring it off. Do you have good-quality video and pictures of Suzanne? Good samples of her voice?”

Something stirred inside Rachel. “I do.”

“Are you prepared to upload a great deal of that to us for analysis? If the quality is good enough, I think what we can do will surprise you.”

“Oh, yes. If you tell me what you need, I can do it.”

Is it possible? Can this really be true?

Jane continued, “All right, then. But before we get started there's one thing we should do. I need to get you registered on our system. That way, if we get interrupted or something happens, you can come back and we can pick up where we left off. Does that sound okay?”

“Okay. Does this cost anything?”

“No, not necessarily. There are some, well, special features we offer sometimes. But for the person that just wants a friend, that's free. Completely free. Just like Facebook. Are you ready to register?” Jane seemed to be genuinely excited.

Rachel looked at the screen where Jane waited. What harm could there be in checking it out? The whole process might be kind of fun. And Jane did seem trustworthy.

“Sure, ask me your questions.”

“Okay, question number one. Where did you first meet Suzanne?”

Stress

S
cott had already been working two hours when the telephone buzzed. He finished entering the formula he'd been working on in the spreadsheet on his computer, then clicked the button to activate his headset.

“Scott, will you come into my office, please?”

“Sure, Mr. Castle. I'll be right there.” What could the owner of Castle Investments want with him? Being called into the office, for whatever reason, wasn't going to be good.

Alan Castle sat in his office at a small round conference table. Across from Castle was one of the company's most important customers. Gleason Archer had over $9 million with Castle Investments. Archer neither stood up nor smiled when Scott walked into the room.

Archer's portfolio was Scott's responsibility. Tension filled the air. What was the problem? Alan Castle had managed it himself until two years ago, when he had shifted the trust of it to the younger man.

“Scott, please have a seat. Mr. Archer has some concerns he's been discussing with me.”

Searching the client's expression, Scott pulled back a chair and sat down. Archer's eyes gave nothing away. “Certainly, Mr. Castle. What can I do?”

Archer's face reddened. He looked intently at Scott and said, “What can you do? Maybe that's exactly the question we need to answer here. Or maybe the question is, ‘What have you been doing?' My portfolio is off seven percent in sixty days, while the market is up six percent. We could probably start with an explanation, Mr. Douglas.”

Scott looked to Castle for guidance, but the older man did not return his gaze, staring instead at a report cover. Scott rotated his seat toward Gleason Archer. “Mr. Archer, I don't know what to say. I've been the manager for your portfolio for the last two years, and I've been following the same investment strategy all along. It's the strategy we agreed on. Over the last two years, you've seen a twenty-four percent increase overall. I understand fully your concerns about it being down right now, but I do not think it's a cause for concern. Right now the bond market—”

“I don't want to hear excuses, Mr. Douglas. I want to see results. And when I see my portfolio down seven percent, I get worried. When Mr. Castle put you in charge of my account I wasn't sure I was happy with his decision. Now I'm even more worried.” Tight-lipped, he shot Alan Castle a glare, then turned back to Scott. “Unless you can turn this investment portfolio around, and get it out of the tank it's in now, then I don't think our confidence in you has been warranted.” He looked back to Alan Castle. “Which means, Alan, I will not think my confidence in you and this company has been warranted either.”

Castle's eyes widened in surprise. “Mr. Archer, I don't think that—”

“Alan, I don't need excuses from anyone this morning. Not you and not him. I just want to see some improved performance and the trust I have put in you and your firm vindicated.” He stood up to leave. “If we don't start seeing major improvements, I'll find another place for my investments.” He held out both hands, palms up. “Strictly business, you understand.”

Castle nodded, looking like he'd agree to anything. “We understand, Gleason, we totally understand. We'll make sure your trust in Castle Investments has not been misplaced.”

Archer picked up his briefcase. “Thank you, Alan. I'm sure you will.”

After Archer's exit, Castle turned to Scott. “Please close the door.”

The door made an ominous click as it closed. Scott turned toward the older man. Dread lay in the pit of his stomach like a lead weight.

Alan Castle had been a mentor, a friend. This wasn't good.

“Sit down, Scott. Let's talk.”

The two men sat down together at the small conference table. Castle folded his hands together in front of himself and studied them for a few moments before he spoke. “Scott, I like you. You know that. And I have confidence in you. I'm afraid, however, this situation is not about confidence so much as it is about business. We have to make Gleason Archer happy. There are no two ways about it. I want you to do a full review of the Archer account. Whatever else you're working on, I want you to set it aside—give it to Patricia or someone else—and give a hundred and ten percent of your attention to this single item. We don't have a more important client than Gleason Archer.”

“Mr. Castle, I don't want you to think I haven't been working
hard and doing my best. I really have. But sometimes the markets are up and sometimes they're down.”

“I understand, Scott. I'm saying that's not the issue. I know you work hard, but the fallout from having an unhappy client like Gleason Archer could be catastrophic to our business. It's not about whether his portfolio is up or down. It's what he says about us to others. You may be managing his portfolio in such a way that by the end of the year he'll be ecstatic. It doesn't matter right now. What does matter is that he's currently unhappy, and we have to do something about it. More to the point, you personally have to do something about it.”

“When I started with the Archer account we agreed on the investment strategy. I'm following that to the letter. I don't know what else to do.”

“I'm not disputing that. This is more than strategy.” He looked directly into Scott's eyes. “There are a lot of people in the office outside this door who depend upon you and me doing our very best jobs. Neither of us is indispensable.” He arched an eyebrow. “I think you know what I'm telling you. Now get out there and do the exceptional. Step out of your box and use your imagination.” Castle stood and extended his hand to Scott.

Scott took the older man's hand, shook it uneasily.
Clear enough. My job is on the line
.

He returned to his cubicle, walking on legs that wobbled. It seemed as if every eye in the office was upon him.

Carole Turner, who had started as an investment counselor just a few months before Scott, stopped by his cube. “You look worried. Is everything all right? Anything I can do?”

“Sorry, Carole. Didn't know it showed. No, I'm okay. Nothing a little more effort won't cure.” He gave her a sideways
grin. “Got to work hard and feed all those hungry kids I've got.”

She didn't smile in return, but stood looking at him, as if evaluating his honesty. Then she spun around and walked off, leaving him feeling even more uncomfortable as he returned to his work. It wasn't her business, anyway.

It took Scott half an hour to reorganize his desktop, setting everything aside except for the Gleason Archer account.

He had a family that depended upon him. The prospect, the very thought, of having to tell Rachel he'd been fired filled him with dismay. He would not let it happen.

By three o'clock he had completed his initial review and needed a break. There was no way in the world he was going to have time to leave the office for a walk or even to get a few minutes of fresh air. He clicked on the icon to bring up his Internet browser.

News? Politics? More stress. He needed something else; some kind of an outlet.

He wanted to call Rachel, but making a personal phone call at this time would just invite criticism given the current climate in the busy office. He sure would like to hear her voice now. Rachel. He had treated her badly this morning. Just grabbed his coffee—which she had set out for him—and took off without so much as a simple good-bye. And last night? He'd not told her that all he'd done was sit alone in a movie theater, even though he knew she was fearing much worse. He had wanted her to think about how he should be treated.

Selfish. He was acting selfish. He'd make it right. This wasn't the kind of man he wanted to be. But right now there was work to do.

He looked back at the Archer account. There wasn't much he could do to improve it. It was a solid, conservative mix of common stocks, AAA bond funds, and a high-yield-percent money market to give it flexibility and keep it nimble. He could bring the current return higher, but it would be at the cost of a lower annual return. Archer would just have to live with that.

Unless . . .

He'd never been comfortable with options trading, but a good trader could do very well with options. With a “call” option, he could control a block of stocks for three, six, nine, twelve months or more. It was risky, but when it was profitable, it was
very
profitable.

Gleason Archer's portfolio was down and Scott had to bring it up.

Almost all of Scott's trading and investment strategies had been based on the fundamentals of traditional investing. He was accustomed to looking at the strength of the company, its value in the marketplace, its management, its track record.

Options trading was based more on what traders called technical analysis. Technical analysts looked at the patterns in the stock over time. They looked for stock prices that rose and fell in repeating patterns. They attempted to see into the future. Scott understood how it worked, but as a conservative investor, and particularly as one who invested for other people, he had always stayed away from it. Now, however, the pressure was on. Could he do it, and do it right? He was not an amateur trader. It was time to marshal his skills and do what he had been trained to do.

When he pulled it off, the Archer account would jump back
on track overnight. If he failed, then he was probably no worse off than he already was.

He turned to his computer and pulled up his charting and analysis tools. He would work and study until he could determine if an opportunity existed. And if it did, then maybe he would just take it.

Carpe diem
. Seize the day.