The Day Trader (26 page)

“Did you know that the gun was empty, Roger?” Mary asks.

“Sure I did. Augustus just got to him first.” Roger glances at me. “You know, I’ve been thinking. We should sue Michael Seaver,” he says, changing the subject. “He has some liability for what happened today.”

“How’s that?” I ask.

“He should have known Slammer was dangerous.”

“How could he have known that?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” Roger says, frustrated with me for not jumping on his bandwagon. “Maybe he should have been out on the trading floor more often to oversee what was going on, not holed up in his office figuring out who was late on their monthly payments. Maybe he should have offered a training program before letting anyone trade. I’m sure an attorney could tell us more about that. I, for one, plan to explore my legal options. Even if it’s a quick settlement of fifty or a hundred thousand bucks, I’m going to pursue it.”

“Don’t stoop to that level,” I say. “Maybe Seaver ought to be more diligent about what happens on the trading floor, but let it go. Be glad you’re alive, and give Roger Junior and Alexis an extra special hug when you get home.”

“I agree,” Mary chimes in. “Let it go.”

“Oh, I’ll hug them all right,” he says, “but I’m not going to miss a golden opportunity to make some money either.”

“Write a book about what happened or sell TV movie rights.”

At my suggestion his long neck all but disappears as his head sinks down between his shoulders. “Nah.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not the Hollywood type,” he says, sliding out of the booth and standing up. “I’m getting out of here. See you two later.”

“Roger,” I call after him.

He’s already a few unsteady strides from the table. He had seven beers while we sat here. “What is it?” he asks, seemingly irritated that he’s had to stop and turn around.

“What year did you graduate from the University of Maryland?”

“Pardon me?” he asks after a few seconds.

I know he heard me. He’s trying to figure out why I asked the question. “You told me you went to the University of Maryland and I was just curious about what year you graduated. Like I told you before, I have some friends who went there. If it turns out they were there around the same time, I want to see if they remember you.”

“Maryland’s a big school,” he answers. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have known any of your friends.”

“You never know.”

“I do,” Roger says flatly, turning to go.

“One more thing.”

“What?” he snaps.

“You told me you worked at the Department of Energy before coming to Bedford, right?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“What area did you say you worked in again?”

Roger forces a thin smile. “Look, I’m tired and I’m going home. It’s been a terrible day. I’ll see you both later.” He stalks off without another word.

“What was that all about?” Mary asks when he’s gone.

“Just curious about a few things,” I answer, guzzling scotch as I look into her eyes. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, the world is spinning, and she’s looking better and better to me. The last time Melanie and I had sex there was snow on the ground, and I’m desperate to feel that wonderful sensation of a woman wrapped around me again.

“Those questions were kind of out of nowhere.”

“I guess, but given how much I’ve had to drink in the past couple of hours,” I say, holding up my glass and smiling, “I don’t think I can be held responsible for my words or my actions.” I give her a long look.

“I love those green eyes of yours,” she says softly, gazing back at me the same way. “I’ve always wanted eyes like that. Can I have them?”

“It’ll cost you.”

She inches closer to me on the seat and puts her hand on my thigh again. “How much? I have a lot more to spend thanks to you and Teletekk.” She squeezes my leg seductively.

“I wasn’t thinking money.” The alcohol is leading me toward a slippery slope.

“What
were
you thinking?” Mary takes her hand from my leg, turns toward me, and puts her elbow on my shoulder so that our faces are very close. “Hmm?”

Suddenly I get the feeling that Mary is a tigress in bed. I don’t have much experience to back up my hunch, but I’ve listened to Vincent tell me for years how every once in a while he’ll coax a divorcée of a certain age into bed. Divorced women know what men want, he claims, and they’ll do whatever it takes to please you, as opposed to the twenty-two-year-old with the perfect body who knows every man in the place wants her. Vincent says divorcées are more willing to look at sex like men do—like an amusement park ride. A wild time with no commitment. As I look at Mary, I try hard to convince myself that she falls into that category.

“Tell me,” she whispers.

“I don’t know,” I say, taking a deep breath and looking down into my drink. Suddenly I feel the same way I did at lunch when I told her about Teletekk. Even though the tip turned out very well for her, I didn’t know it would at the time. I was telling her about it just to make myself feel better. And I know that’s why I’d have sex with her.

She runs her fingers through my hair, gives me a little smile, then backs off. She must have glimpsed the telltale reluctance in my expression. Or maybe it was guilt. “So why the fascination with Roger? Why all the questions?”

I take another sip of scotch before answering, carefully considering how much I should tell her. “I don’t think Roger is who he says he is.”

“I beg your pardon?”

I’m going to take a calculated risk—though, given how drunk I am, I don’t know how
well
calculated. “I don’t think he’s really married and I don’t think he has any children. I doubt he ever attended the University of Maryland,” I continue, “and I’m certain he didn’t work at the Department of Energy before showing up at Bedford.”

Mary raises her eyebrows. “I didn’t even know he claimed to have been at the Department of Energy before he came to Bedford. I saw the pictures of his wife and children in his cubicle, but—”

“Those aren’t his children.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me his daughter’s name was Alice a few days ago. When he thought Slammer was going to kill him in the conference room he moaned about never seeing Alicia again. You just heard me call her Alexis a minute ago.”

“I think you’re reading too much into that,” Mary says firmly. “Roger probably had no idea what he was even saying in the conference room. And maybe Alicia is his daughter’s nickname. For all his talk about being ready to go at Slammer himself, I don’t think Roger is a very brave man.” She moves close again. “And maybe he didn’t hear you when you said Alexis,” she adds.

“His name isn’t Roger either.” This gets her attention.

“Really? How do you know?”

“I saw his driver’s license.”

“When?”

“He and I went to dinner last Monday, after his first day at Bedford. After the markets closed I helped him set up his Trader One, then we went over a few of the basics. He took me to dinner as thanks.”

“And he told you his name wasn’t Roger at dinner?”

“No.”

“Then how did you find out?”

I hesitate. “While we were there, he got up to go to the men’s room, and his wallet fell out of his pocket. I picked it up, and while he was gone I looked at his driver’s license. I just wanted to see what he looked like in his picture.” I laugh, trying to convince her that my intent wasn’t to pry. “Those pictures never turn out well, you know?”

She nods. “I know. Mine’s terrible.”

“Well, he looked a little different in the picture. His hair was different and he didn’t have a beard. He looked a lot younger too, but I could still tell it was him. Anyway, the name on the license wasn’t Roger Smith.”

“What was it?”

“John Embry.” I take a deep breath. “It was an Ohio license that had expired ten years ago.”

“How strange.”

“And neither name shows up on the University of Maryland’s computer list of past students. I called and asked.”

“Really?”

I lean forward and run my finger around the rim of my glass. “Roger keeps asking me for details about an inheritance I told him I’m about to come into. He’s asked me about it five times if he’s asked me once.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to be friendly. He’s not the most gifted conversationalist. . . .”

“I don’t know,” I answer as her voice trails off.

I look away, trying hard to resist the temptation of asking Mary to come home with me. I can only imagine how awkward it could be when she realizes I have no long-term interest in her, and we still have to work side by side. For all I know Vincent’s theory about divorced women being more casual about sex is totally wrong. It seems to me they ought to be even
more
careful.

“Have you ever noticed that Roger wears a toupee?” I ask.

“Sure. It’s so obvious.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“I didn’t notice until somebody pointed it out to me.”

“That’s probably why his hair looked different in the picture on his license. It was probably thinner, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Women pick up on things like that more quickly than men. I think we’re more observant about our surroundings.” She smiles coyly. “So, how big is that inheritance of yours?”

“Just a token from a distant relative.”

“Oh.”

“You want to know something else? Roger hasn’t executed a single trade since he came to Bedford. It’s been an entire week, and he hasn’t bought or sold one share.”

“I wonder why.”

“Probably because the five-thousand-dollar check he wrote to open his brokerage account bounced.”

“How did you find that out?”

“Did you know that Anna keeps the books for Seaver?”

Mary’s eyes narrow. “Anna told you about Roger bouncing a check? That doesn’t seem like the kind of information she ought to be disclosing,” she snaps.

“I didn’t say she did.”

“Anna’s a little tramp,” Mary says spitefully. “Those skimpy outfits she wears are outrageous. Seaver ought to do something about that. After all, Bedford is a place of business, not an escort service.”

“Whoa, what’s she ever done to you?”

“If she’s willing to give out confidential information about Roger, I’m sure she’d say things about me too.”

“I never said she gave out any information.”

“You said—”

“I asked if you knew that she kept the books. I happened to see a notice about Roger’s bounced check on her desk one day. Anna never showed me anything.”

“Oh.” Mary crosses her arms over her chest, embarrassed. “You seem to dig up a lot of things on people, don’t you?”

I try to catch her eye, but she won’t look at me. “You’re jealous of Anna.”

“I am not!”

“Yes, you are.”

“Well, what woman my age wouldn’t be?” she asks, finally turning to look at me. “She thinks she’s God’s gift to men. I’ve seen you ogle her just like all the rest of the guys on the trading floor.”

“Of course you have. That’s only natural. We’re programmed to do that when we drop out of the womb,” I say, stealing Roger’s line. “Anna’s a gorgeous woman. There’s no denying that. But she’s not my type.” Anna’s everybody’s type, but I know what Mary wants to hear.

Mary looks up. “She’s not?”

“No. I like blondes.” I reach up and push her hair back over her ear, caressing her neck for a moment before taking my hand away. “And I like you.”

“I like you too,” she says, her voice low. She takes my hand in hers and kisses it. “Very much.”

We’re silent for a long time. “Will you walk me to my car?” she finally asks.

“You’re leaving?” I glance at my watch. “It’s only a little after four.”

“I’ve had enough to drink. Any more and I won’t be able to walk, let alone drive,” she says, pushing me gently out of the booth.

When we get to the front door the sky is black. Another thunderstorm is bearing down on northern Virginia, and rain is already starting to sprinkle the parking lot. As we stand there a jagged flash splits the sky, followed by a blast of thunder. Mary clutches my arm and pulls herself tightly against me.

“Should we chance it?” I ask. The clouds look like they could let loose at any moment. “Or do you want to go back inside and wait out the storm?”

“Let’s take a chance,” she says, grabbing my hand.

“My car is over that way,” I shout above another rumble of thunder, pointing in the opposite direction from the way she’s pulling me. All three of us drove to the bar in our own cars. I got here after Mary and Roger because the police had a few last questions for me.

“I’ll give you a lift to your car,” she says, dragging me along.

Suddenly the clouds open up and the rain comes pouring down. I follow her, sprinting as best I can with all of the alcohol in my system.

By the time we reach her car and fall inside, we’re drenched. The rain beats a deafening rhythm on the roof and hood of the aging hatchback. Then it starts to hail. Marble-sized balls of ice pelt the car, and the combination of rain and hail obscures everything around us. Even the cars on either side of Mary’s are difficult to see through the downpour.

“I thought Jacob left you a Jaguar,” I say, pushing wet hair from my eyes. This car reminds me a lot of my own. It’s old and the seat fabric is wearing thin.

“He did. It’s still in the shop,” she explains, wiping moisture from her face as she looks at herself in the rearview mirror.

“But you told me yesterday on the phone it was fixed and that you had picked it up.”

“I had to take it right back again,” she says distractedly, still looking at herself in the mirror as the rain pours down. “God, I look awful.”

She’s arching her back as she looks in the mirror, pushing her chest out against the thin cotton of her drenched white blouse. “I would have to disagree,” I murmur. “You look wonderful.” I glance up and she’s gazing back at me. “You really do,” I whisper.

She looks deeply into my eyes and reaches out to caress my cheek, then brings her fingers to the top button of her blouse and undoes it. Then she undoes the second and the third buttons and spreads the blouse, so now I can see the outline of her nipples beneath her bra. Slowly she slips her hands around my neck, leans forward, and kisses me deeply.