children. The house is huge, and I found myself lost in it. There were pictures of the two of us everywhere, mostly of us on our trips, and I couldn’t take the constant reminders and the loneliness. I’ve thought about selling the thing, but I haven’t gotten around to it. Anyway, one Sunday morning a few weeks after his death I saw an article in the Post about day trading. On a whim I decided to try it. Now I’m hooked.”
“Just on a whim?”
“Yup, that’s me. Impulsive to a fault.”
I shake my head and smile. I wish I could be like that, but I’m a deliberate man. It took me years to pull the trigger on day trading.
“Augustus?”
“Yeah?”
“I haven’t told anyone else in the office what I just told you. About Jacob and me, I mean. About the fact that he died. So please keep it to yourself.”
“Why haven’t you told anyone?”
“I want people thinking I’m married. Men think single women are vulnerable, which is why I still wear these,” she says, flashing her jewels. “You know it would be more complicated if they thought I was available.” She finishes her wine. “Not that being married keeps men completely away, but it helps.”
“Why did you tell me about Jacob?”
“Because you seem like a nice man.” She looks away, and the sadness I saw before passes over her face once more. “It’s been hard these last seven months without him.”
“I’m sure it has,” I say quietly, thinking about the loneliness I’ve felt over the last few weeks.
“And it feels good to talk about it with someone,” she says, reaching for my hand. “I’ve kept it bottled up inside and that’s been hard.”
“I’m glad you felt like you could open up to me.”
“I told you, I had a strong feeling about you when Seaver brought you out to meet us last week. It was immediate for me.”
I smile at her. Mary has a nice way about her.
“Don’t worry about Slammer,” she says, changing the subject as she reaches for her empty wineglass.
“I’m not worried about him,” I answer defensively. “I could take him with one arm tied behind my back.”
“I’m sure you could,” she agrees, grinning at my reaction, “but that isn’t what I was talking about.”
“Oh.”
“I meant that you shouldn’t think anything of the fact that he and I are going out for drinks tonight. He’s just a friend.”
“That’s none of my business.”
“He’s one of the reasons I wear these rings. I’m sure he’d like to get to know me better, but my diamonds will keep him away.”
“Don’t count on it,” I mutter. I’m about to explain to her how some men are undeterred by a woman’s marital status—men like Vincent—but the waiter returns. Mary orders a Caesar salad and another glass of wine, I order a club sandwich, and then the young man is off, striding purposefully back toward the kitchen.
“So you’ve been at Bedford now for a few months,” I say, trying to distract her. The melancholy look in her eyes tells me that she’s dwelling on Jacob’s death, and I’ve had enough of death. “How’s the trading going?”
She grimaces. “Not very well. It’s not as easy to make money in the stock market as I thought it would be.”
It’s exactly as all of the magazines warn. Most people who get into the day trading game lose. “What do you mean, not very well? How bad has it been?”
She sighs. “In four months I’ve lost a million dollars.”
A million dollars. I’m only just beginning to understand what it might be like to have a million dollars, let alone to lose it.
“Pretty sad, huh?” Mary picks up the second glass of wine the waiter placed on our table a few moments ago. “But I’ve still got plenty left, and things will turn around,” she says optimistically. “Fortunately I’ve got the capital to ride out this bad streak.”
She sounds like an amateur gambler who naively believes that if she can just stay at the table long enough, the odds will turn in her
“Just on a whim?”
“Yup, that’s me. Impulsive to a fault.”
I shake my head and smile. I wish I could be like that, but I’m a deliberate man. It took me years to pull the trigger on day trading.
“Augustus?”
“Yeah?”
“I haven’t told anyone else in the office what I just told you. About Jacob and me, I mean. About the fact that he died. So please keep it to yourself.”
“Why haven’t you told anyone?”
“I want people thinking I’m married. Men think single women are vulnerable, which is why I still wear these,” she says, flashing her jewels. “You know it would be more complicated if they thought I was available.” She finishes her wine. “Not that being married keeps men completely away, but it helps.”
“Why did you tell me about Jacob?”
“Because you seem like a nice man.” She looks away, and the sadness I saw before passes over her face once more. “It’s been hard these last seven months without him.”
“I’m sure it has,” I say quietly, thinking about the loneliness I’ve felt over the last few weeks.
“And it feels good to talk about it with someone,” she says, reaching for my hand. “I’ve kept it bottled up inside and that’s been hard.”
“I’m glad you felt like you could open up to me.”
“I told you, I had a strong feeling about you when Seaver brought you out to meet us last week. It was immediate for me.”
I smile at her. Mary has a nice way about her.
“Don’t worry about Slammer,” she says, changing the subject as she reaches for her empty wineglass.
“I’m not worried about him,” I answer defensively. “I could take him with one arm tied behind my back.”
“I’m sure you could,” she agrees, grinning at my reaction, “but that isn’t what I was talking about.”
“Oh.”
“I meant that you shouldn’t think anything of the fact that he and I are going out for drinks tonight. He’s just a friend.”
“That’s none of my business.”
“He’s one of the reasons I wear these rings. I’m sure he’d like to get to know me better, but my diamonds will keep him away.”
“Don’t count on it,” I mutter. I’m about to explain to her how some men are undeterred by a woman’s marital status—men like Vincent—but the waiter returns. Mary orders a Caesar salad and another glass of wine, I order a club sandwich, and then the young man is off, striding purposefully back toward the kitchen.
“So you’ve been at Bedford now for a few months,” I say, trying to distract her. The melancholy look in her eyes tells me that she’s dwelling on Jacob’s death, and I’ve had enough of death. “How’s the trading going?”
She grimaces. “Not very well. It’s not as easy to make money in the stock market as I thought it would be.”
It’s exactly as all of the magazines warn. Most people who get into the day trading game lose. “What do you mean, not very well? How bad has it been?”
She sighs. “In four months I’ve lost a million dollars.”
A million dollars. I’m only just beginning to understand what it might be like to have a million dollars, let alone to lose it.
“Pretty sad, huh?” Mary picks up the second glass of wine the waiter placed on our table a few moments ago. “But I’ve still got plenty left, and things will turn around,” she says optimistically. “Fortunately I’ve got the capital to ride out this bad streak.”
She sounds like an amateur gambler who naively believes that if she can just stay at the table long enough, the odds will turn in her
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