The Wolf of Wall Street

I grabbed Nadine’s hand and placed it on the table, as if to show I was speaking for both of us, and said, “When it comes to your theories about the press and how everything’s a pack of lies, I couldn’t agree with you more, Suzanne. The problem is that most people aren’t as insightful as you.” I shook my head gravely.

Patricia picked up her wineglass, took a prodigious gulp, then said, “How convenient it is to feel that way about the press, especially since you’re the one those bloody bastards keep bashing! Wouldn’t you say, my love?”

I smiled at Patricia and said, “Well, that calls for a toast!” I raised my wineglass and waited for everyone to follow suit. After a few seconds I said, “To the lovely Aunt Patricia, who was blessed with the truly remarkable talent of being able to call a horse’s ass a horse’s ass!” With that we all clinked glasses and drank five hundred dollars’ worth of wine in less than a second.

Nadine reached over to me and rubbed my cheek and said, “Oh, honey, we all know that everything they say about you is lies. So don’t you worry, sweetness!”

“Yes,” added Suzanne, “of course it’s all lies. They make it seem as if you alone are doing something wrong. It’s almost laughable when you think about. This all goes back to the Rothschilds, in the 1700s, and to J. P. Morgan and his brood, back in the 1900s. The stock market is just another puppet of the government. You can see…”

Suzanne was off again. I mean, there was no denying she was a little bit kooky—but who wasn’t? And she was smart as a whip. She was a voracious reader, and she’d single-handedly raised Nadine and her younger brother, AJ, doing one hell of a job (at least with Nadine). And the fact that her ex-husband hadn’t given her one ounce of support, financial or otherwise, made her accomplishment that much grander. She was a beautiful woman, Suzanne, with shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. All in all, a good egg.

Just then Starr walked over to the table. He wore a white chef’s jacket and a towering white chef’s hat. He looked like a six-foot-four-inch Pillsbury Doughboy.

“Good evening,” said Starr in warm tones. “Happy Labor Day to all of you!”

My wife, the aspiring people-pleaser, immediately popped up out of her chair like an eager cheerleader and gave Starr a pleasant peck on the cheek. Then she began the process of introducing her family. After a few wonderful minutes of meaningless small talk, Starr began explaining the evening’s specials, starting with his world-famous pan-fried soft-shell crabs. But in less than a millisecond, I stopped listening and started thinking about Todd and Carolyn and my $3 million. How on earth were they going to get it all there without getting caught? And what about the rest of my cash? Perhaps I should have used Saurel’s courier service? But that had seemed risky, hadn’t it? I mean—to meet a complete stranger at a sordid rendezvous point and hand over that much money?

I looked over at Nadine’s mother, who, by chance, was looking at me too. She offered me the warmest of smiles, an altogether loving smile, which I returned without hesitation. I had been very good to Suzanne. In fact, since the day I’d fallen in love with Nadine, Suzanne had never wanted for anything. Nadine and I bought her a car, rented her a beautiful home on the water, and gave her $8,000 a month in spending money. In my book, Suzanne was aces. She had never been anything but supportive of our marriage, and…

…then all at once the most devilish thought occurred to me. Hmmm…it was really too bad that Suzanne and Patricia couldn’t carry some money over to Switzerland. I mean, really—who would ever suspect them? Look at them, in those stupid hats! What would be the chances that a Customs agent would ever stop them? Zero! It had to be! Two old ladies smuggling money? It would be the perfect crime. But I instantly regretted thinking any such thought. Christ! If Suzanne got in trouble—well, Nadine would crucify me! She might even leave me and take Chandler. That was an impossibility! I couldn’t live without them! Not in—

Nadine screamed, “Earth to Jordan! Hello, Jordan!”

I turned to her and gave her a vacant smile.

“You want the swordfish, right, baby?”

I nodded eagerly and kept smiling.

Then she added with great confidence, “And he also wants a Caesar salad with no croutons.” She leaned over and gave me a wet kiss on the cheek, then sat back down in her seat.

Starr thanked us, complimented Nadine, and then went about his business. Aunt Patricia raised her wineglass and said, “I’d like to make another toast, please.”

We all raised our glasses.

In a serious tone, she said, “This toast is to you, Jordan. Without you, none of us would be here tonight. And thanks to you, I’m moving into a larger flat, closer to my grandchildren”—I looked out the corner of my eye at the Duchess to gauge her response. She was chewing on the inside of her mouth! Oh, shit!—“and it’s big enough so they can each have their own bedroom. You’re a truly generous man, my love, and that’s something to be very proud of. To you, my love!”

We all clinked glasses, then Nadine leaned over to me and gave me a warm, wonderful kiss on the lips, which sent the better part of five pints of blood rushing to my loins.

Wow! How wonderful my marriage was! And it was growing stronger every day! Nadine, myself, Chandler—we were a real family. Who could ask for anything more?

Two hours later I was knocking on my own front door, like Fred Flintstone after he’d been locked out by Dino, his pet dinosaur. “Come on, Nadine! Unlock the door and let me in! I’m sorry!”

From the other side of the door, the voice of my wife, dripping with disdain: “You’re sorry? Why—you—little fuck! If I open this door I’m gonna smash your face in!”

I took a deep breath…and slowly exhaled. God, I hated when she called me little! Why did she have to call me that? I wasn’t that little, for Chrissake! “Nae, I was only kidding around! Please! I’m not gonna let your mother carry money over to Switzerland! Now open the door and let me in!”

Nothing. No response, just footsteps. God damn her! What was she so mad about? It wasn’t me who’d suggested that her mother bring a couple of million dollars over to Switzerland! She’d offered! Perhaps I had led her into it, but, still, she had made the official offer!

More forcefully this time: “Nadine! Open up the f**king door and let me in! You’re overreacting!”

I heard more footsteps from inside the house, then the mail slot at waist level opened. Nadine’s voice came through the slot. “If you want to talk to me, then you can talk to me through here.”

What choice did I have? I bent down and—

SPLASH!

“Owwww, shit!” I screamed, wiping my eyeballs with the bottom of my white Ralph Lauren T-shirt. “That water’s piping hot, Nadine! What the f**k is wrong with you? You could’ve burned me!”

The disdainful Duchess: “Could’ve burned you? I’m gonna do more than that before I’m through! How the f**k could you talk my mother into doing that? You don’t think I know you manipulated her? Of course she’s gonna offer after everything you’ve done for her! You just made it so f**king simple for her, you manipulative little bastard! You and your stupid f**king sales tactics or Jedi mind tricks or whatever the f**k you call them! You’re a despicable human being!”

In spite of everything she’d said, it was the word little that wounded me most. “You better watch who you call little, or I’ll smash you one and—”

“Just go ahead and try! If you lift a hand to me, I’ll cut your balls off while you’re sleeping and feed them to you!”

Christ! How could such a beautiful face spew out such terrible venom—and at her own husband! The Duchess had looked like an angel tonight, not to mention that she’d been showering me with kisses all night long! But then, after Patricia had finished making her toast, I caught a glimpse of her and Suzanne from a certain angle in those ridiculous straw hats, and they reminded me of the Pigeon Sisters from the movie The Odd Couple. I figured, what Customs agent in his right mind would stop the Pigeon Sisters? And the fact that both of them carried British passports made the whole idea that much more plausible. So I launched a trial balloon, to see if either of them would be receptive to smuggling money for me.

My wife’s voice, through the slot: “Come down here and look me in the eye and tell me that you won’t let her do it.”

“Come down there? Yeah, right!” I said mockingly. “You want me to look you in the eye? Why? So you can throw more boiling water in my face? What do you think, I’m f**king stupid or something?”

The toneless voice of the Duchess: “I’m not gonna throw more water at you. I swear on Chandler’s eyes.”

I stood my ground.

“You know, the problem is that my mother and Aunt Patricia think this whole thing is a giant f**king game. They both hate the government and they figure it’s all for a good cause. And now that my mother has this thing in her mind, she’s not gonna stop talking about it until you let her do it. I know her like a book. She thinks it’s exciting—to walk through Customs with all that money and not get caught.”

“I won’t let her do it, Nae. I should have never brought it up in the first place. I just had too much wine. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“You didn’t have too much wine; that’s the sad part. Even when you’re straight you’re a little devil. I don’t know why I love you so much. It’s me who’s the crazy one, not you! I really oughta have my head examined—really! I mean, dinner was twenty thousand dollars tonight! Who spends twenty thousand dollars on dinner unless it’s for a wedding or something? Nobody I know! But why would you care about that? You’ve got three million in the closet! And that’s not f**king normal either.

“Contrary to what you might think, Jordan, I don’t need all this. I just want to live a nice, quiet life, away from Stratton and away from all this madness. I think we should move before something bad happens.” She paused. “But you’ll never do it. You’re addicted to all the power—and to all those idiots who call you the King and the Wolf! Christ, the Wolf! What a f**king joke that is!” I could hear the disgust oozing through the keyhole. “My husband, the Wolf of Wall Street! It’s almost too ridiculous for words. But you can’t see that. All you care about is yourself. You’re a selfish little bastard. You really are.”

“Stop calling me little, for Chrissake! What the f**k is wrong with you?”

“Aw, you’re so sensitive,” she said mockingly. “Well, get this, Mr. Sensitive: Tonight you’re sleeping in the guest bedroom! And tomorrow night too! Maybe if you’re lucky I might have sex with you next year! But that’s a long shot!” A moment later I heard the door unlock…then the sound of her high heels clicking their way up the stairs.

Well, I guess I deserved it. But, still, what were the chances of her mother getting caught? Close to zero, one would think! It was just those stupid straw hats that she and Patricia were wearing that had made the thought bubble up to my brain. And the fact that I supported Suzanne financially counted for something, didn’t it? After all, that was why she’d offered in the first place! Her mother was a sharp, decent lady, and deep down she knew that there was some unspoken IOU that I could cash in on if I really needed to. I mean, when all the bullshit was stripped away, nobody just gave out of the goodness of their own heart, did they? There was always some sort of ulterior motive, even if it was nothing more than the personal feeling of satisfaction you received from helping another human being, which in its own way was self-serving too!