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stockbrokers . . .  So you can understand that if I were to show you a limited partnership opportunity that looks promising, or a start-up company that’s about to go public, I’ve already put a lot of time into it. And time is money, isn’t it?”
    â€œI’ve heard that.”
    â€œSo when you say, at this particular point in time, you’re interviewing me, you have to understand something else.”
    â€œI do? What?”
    â€œThat the chances of my turning you down as a client are far greater than your not accepting me as your financial advisor.”
    â€œJesus,” Chucky said, “and you look like such a nice sweet girl.”
    â€œI am a nice girl,” Kyle said. “Sweet? I don’tknow. If you mean passive, submissive—”
    â€œNo, I understand,” Chucky said. “What you’re saying is you don’t take any shit from anybody, or at least your clients.”
    â€œThere you are,” Kyle said, and gave him a nice-girl smile. “Should we try to be serious, or would you rather not?”
    â€œWhat do you do,” Chucky said, “you scare the shit outta your clients? I have to say, I heard a lot of good things about you.”
    â€œFrom whom?”
    â€œWell, Barry Stam, one. Some others at Leucadendra. I get down there to play golf once in awhile.” He paused and said, “I don’t know if I should be telling you that?”
    â€œWhy, because Barry’s a client of mine?”
    â€œLet me put it this way,” Chucky said, “if you’re going to ask Barry about me, then I might have to open my soul, tell some secrets so as to give you the straight dope”—he grinned, turning it on and off—”so to speak. Yeah, we’re friends, play golf, fool around. But Barry, whether you know it or not, is very impressionable. He likes to—well, he has a certain image of himself and likes to associate with people you don’t ordinarily, you know, find in country club circles. You know what I mean?”
    â€œTell me,” Kyle said.
    â€œHe likes to think he’s on the inside, knows where the action is. That’s why he hangs around the Mutiny, Wolfgang’s, places like that. You follow me?” She seemed to nod. “Anyway, I heard a lot of good things about you; though I don’t know if you can help me out any. See, I’ve talked to advisors, financial planners. These guys, they come in here in their dark-blue three-piece suits, the alligator cases, graphs, all kinds of statistics, and you know what they do? They blow smoke at me. That’s bad enough, trying to understand what they’re talking about. Then, when I go to tell them about my particular situation, explain my plight, so to speak—”
    The phone on the coffee table rang, a light showing.
    Chucky got up. “I have to take that.”
    She seemed surprised he didn’t pick up this phone.
    â€œWould you like me to leave?”
    â€œNo, stay put,” Chucky said, walking away. “I won’t be but a minute.”
    Kyle watched him slide open the glass door, step out on the balcony. There was another phone on the metal patio table. He picked it up and turned to the railing as he began to speak, hunching over now in the privacy of the fifteen-story drop, his shape clearly defined now against the sky. A very strange-looking guy. Big all over, high waisted, narrow throughthe shoulders, the broad hips of a woman . . .  and a sagging crotch. Chucky was a picture.
    She could imagine this Christmas sitting around the table with her dad and her two older brothers—”I’ve got to tell you about Chucky. You won’t believe it”—her mom and her brothers’ wives in the living room while Kyle and the boys talked about stock gambits, swindles, high rollers, placed bets on the Super Bowl, raked over Reagan, David Stockman, the Federal Reserve Board, made