Andy’s cell phone. It rang ten times before flipping to voice mail. Same with the condo and office numbers.
Maybe he just didn’t hear it ring .
Lucas stripped off his coat and tie, dumped his wallet and room key on the console, splashed cold water on his face, and came out of the bathroom toweling off. He looked at the clockagain. Only four minutes had passed. Back in Seattle, Andy would be leaving his downtown condo for the short walk to the brokerage where he worked. It was possible he didn’t hear his cell ring because of the traffic noise.
He balled up the towel and threw it on the other bed before dropping into the chair by the window. Damn it, Andy. Where the hell are you?
Andy … gregarious, fun loving, always cracking him up with stupid puns. He drank a little too much at times, but hey, who didn’t? It wasn’t as if it got out of hand. No, it wasn’t the drinking that caused Andy problems.
After graduating Stanford, Andy became a trainee at Merrill Lynch. He sailed through apprenticeship and became an account executive. Lucas signed on as his first client, even though Lucas was scrimping to get through medical school and didn’t have a cent to invest. Andy conned him into starting an IRA, pitching the idea of socking away a fixed amount into a mutual fund every month even if it was only a couple dollars. Dollar cost averaging, Andy called it. And guess what? It worked. Over the years Lucas contributed more as his income grew, never losing sight of the original discipline. That account was now a sizable nest egg. When Andy moved to a small firm, Lucas moved his accounts with him.
Money had always been the major difference between them. Andy’s family was well off. Lucas’s parents made enough to get by, but certainly not enough for the Sun Valley ski vacations and trips to Maui Andy enjoyed. To his credit, Andy never developed that entitlement attitude some other rich kids had. Personal wealth came so naturally to Andy that Lucas wondered if it was a genetic trait. It would’ve been easy for Lucasto envy Andy’s wealth but didn’t. Instead, he let Andy teach him as much as possible about managing money.
“You need to give back,” Andy tells him. They sit in Andy’s office reviewing Lucas’s taxes.
“What do you mean?” Lucas asks.
“You’re now making some money now. Don’t save every penny. Take some and give it to organizations you believe in, like the ASPCA. I know you like that one. You’ll help them and, in the process, feel good about it.”
Lucas checked the clock again. Okay, good. By now Andy should be in his office. He dialed the office number. “This is the office of Andy Baer. I’m either out of …”
Aw, shit . “Andy, pick up, goddamn it!”
Maybe he’s sick.
He dialed Andy’s condo, listened to dead air as the connection worked halfway around the globe, heard the phone ring ten times before, “You’ve reached Andy Baer…” Come on, man, where are you? When the greeting finished, Lucas said, “Hey, Andy, pick up. It’s Lucas.”
He waited, heard a beep and the recording click off.
Then sat in the hum of the AC staring out across the harbor at the Space Museum and Star Ferry Pier. His gut was killing him with worry.
He rummaged through the tiny refrigerator and found a scotch, chugged half. He wanted to stand and sit at the same time, just do anything to make this feeling go away. He inhaled a deep breath and glanced around the room. At the blank television, the worn bedspreads, the beige phone, his open suitcase with the change of clothes set out for the morning. The impersonal hotel room left him feeling alone and isolated and slightly afraid.
He downed the other half of the bottle and decided if there was a flight out within the next couple of hours, he’d take it instead of waiting another sixteen or whatever hours. Hurry and he could be at the airport in, say, an hour. He could sleep on the flight. If he could sleep at all.
On the desk was a
Maybe he just didn’t hear it ring .
Lucas stripped off his coat and tie, dumped his wallet and room key on the console, splashed cold water on his face, and came out of the bathroom toweling off. He looked at the clockagain. Only four minutes had passed. Back in Seattle, Andy would be leaving his downtown condo for the short walk to the brokerage where he worked. It was possible he didn’t hear his cell ring because of the traffic noise.
He balled up the towel and threw it on the other bed before dropping into the chair by the window. Damn it, Andy. Where the hell are you?
Andy … gregarious, fun loving, always cracking him up with stupid puns. He drank a little too much at times, but hey, who didn’t? It wasn’t as if it got out of hand. No, it wasn’t the drinking that caused Andy problems.
After graduating Stanford, Andy became a trainee at Merrill Lynch. He sailed through apprenticeship and became an account executive. Lucas signed on as his first client, even though Lucas was scrimping to get through medical school and didn’t have a cent to invest. Andy conned him into starting an IRA, pitching the idea of socking away a fixed amount into a mutual fund every month even if it was only a couple dollars. Dollar cost averaging, Andy called it. And guess what? It worked. Over the years Lucas contributed more as his income grew, never losing sight of the original discipline. That account was now a sizable nest egg. When Andy moved to a small firm, Lucas moved his accounts with him.
Money had always been the major difference between them. Andy’s family was well off. Lucas’s parents made enough to get by, but certainly not enough for the Sun Valley ski vacations and trips to Maui Andy enjoyed. To his credit, Andy never developed that entitlement attitude some other rich kids had. Personal wealth came so naturally to Andy that Lucas wondered if it was a genetic trait. It would’ve been easy for Lucasto envy Andy’s wealth but didn’t. Instead, he let Andy teach him as much as possible about managing money.
“You need to give back,” Andy tells him. They sit in Andy’s office reviewing Lucas’s taxes.
“What do you mean?” Lucas asks.
“You’re now making some money now. Don’t save every penny. Take some and give it to organizations you believe in, like the ASPCA. I know you like that one. You’ll help them and, in the process, feel good about it.”
Lucas checked the clock again. Okay, good. By now Andy should be in his office. He dialed the office number. “This is the office of Andy Baer. I’m either out of …”
Aw, shit . “Andy, pick up, goddamn it!”
Maybe he’s sick.
He dialed Andy’s condo, listened to dead air as the connection worked halfway around the globe, heard the phone ring ten times before, “You’ve reached Andy Baer…” Come on, man, where are you? When the greeting finished, Lucas said, “Hey, Andy, pick up. It’s Lucas.”
He waited, heard a beep and the recording click off.
Then sat in the hum of the AC staring out across the harbor at the Space Museum and Star Ferry Pier. His gut was killing him with worry.
He rummaged through the tiny refrigerator and found a scotch, chugged half. He wanted to stand and sit at the same time, just do anything to make this feeling go away. He inhaled a deep breath and glanced around the room. At the blank television, the worn bedspreads, the beige phone, his open suitcase with the change of clothes set out for the morning. The impersonal hotel room left him feeling alone and isolated and slightly afraid.
He downed the other half of the bottle and decided if there was a flight out within the next couple of hours, he’d take it instead of waiting another sixteen or whatever hours. Hurry and he could be at the airport in, say, an hour. He could sleep on the flight. If he could sleep at all.
On the desk was a
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