The Wolf of Wall Street

Janet nodded her head. “He was holding the bill in his hand and it was about yea thick.” The gap between her thumb and forefinger was a good three inches.

“Hmmmmm…” I took a moment to ponder the American Express bill, but something caught my eye from way out in the distance. It was floating…floating…what in the hell was it? I squinted. Jesus Christ—someone had brought a red, white, and blue plastic beach ball into the office! It was as if the corporate headquarters of Stratton Oakmont were a stadium, the floor of the boardroom was the orchestra section, and the Rolling Stones were about to give a concert.

“…of all this he’s cleaning his fucking fishbowl!” said Janet. “It’s hard to believe!”

I’d only caught the tail end of what Janet was saying, so I mumbled, “Yeah, well, I know whatya mean—”

“You didn’t hear a word I said,” she muttered, “so don’t pretend you did.”

Jesus! Who else besides my father would speak to me that way! Well, maybe my wife, but in her case I usually deserved it. Still, I loved Janet, in spite of her poisonous tongue. “Very fu

“What I said is that I can’t believe that kid over there”—she pointed to a desk about twenty yards away—“what’s his name, Robert something or other, is cleaning his fishbowl in the middle of all this. I mean, it’s new-issue day! Don’t you think that’s kinda weird?”

I looked in the direction of the alleged perpetrator: a young Strattonite—no, definitely not a Strattonite—a young misfit, with a ferocious mop of curly brown hair and a bow tie. The mere fact that he had a fishbowl on his desk wasn’t all that surprising. Strattonites were allowed to have pets in the office. There were iguanas, ferrets, gerbils, parakeets, turtles, tarantulas, snakes, mongooses, and whatever else these young maniacs could procure with their inflated paychecks. In fact, there was even a macaw with a vocabulary of over fifty English words, who would tell you to go fuck yourself when he wasn’t busy mimicking the young Strattonites pitching stock. The only time I’d put my foot down with the whole pet thing was when a young Strattonite had brought in a chimpanzee wearing roller skates and a diaper.

“Go get Da

Janet nodded and went to fetch Da

Just then I saw Da

Da

And that was appropriate, at least from Da

And what a grim joke that was—considering by the ripe age of thirty-four, Da

Perhaps I should have run the other way right then and there, realizing that a guy like this might bring out the worst in me. Instead, I made Da

Da

Da

“It’s a bad showing, Da

Janet the instigator: “Oh, my God! He’s wearing a bow tie! Can you imagine?”

“That rat fucking bastard!” said Da

After a few seconds the broker started shaking his head no. Then more words were exchanged, and the broker began shaking his head no again. Now Da

Janet, with a pearl of wisdom: “I wonder what they’re saying? I wish I had bionic ears like the Six Million Dollar Woman. You know what I mean?”

I shook my head in disgust. “I won’t even dignify that with a response, Janet. But just for your information, there was no Six Million Dollar Woman. It was the Bionic Woman.”

Just then, Da