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“A regular Duncan Hines.” Norman looks around. “Where is he? Is he here?”
“No. I think he went to the beach.”
“Nice life,” Norman sneers.
Julia folds her hands in her lap. “You’re too hard on the boy.”
“And you’re too soft. But I didn’t come here to talk about Mark.”
“Whydidyou come?”
“Because you’re my mother and I’m worried about you.”
“Well, as you can see, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“You collapsed. You were in the hospital.”
“I stood up too quickly and I fainted. That’s all. I have low blood pressure. I used to faint all the time when I was younger.”
“Well, you’re not young anymore. And you’re damn lucky you didn’t hit your head when you fell.”
“I’m damn lucky Mark was here,” Julia corrects. She and her grandson have decided not to tell Norman the real reason she passed out. No point in upsetting him more than she already has. “Now tell me,” she continues, “what exactlyisa hedge fund?”
Norman shakes his head. “Seriously?”
“Indulge me.”
Another shake of his head. A long, deep exhale. A nod of defeat. “A hedge fund is a pool of money put together by a group of investors and run by a fund manager—me—whose job it is to maximize returns while eliminating risks.”
“That’s quite a mouthful,” Julia says. “And how exactly does one eliminate risks while maximizing returns?”
“By investing in different assets, call them alternative investments, if you will,” Norman elaborates, warming to his subject, “with the hope of either beating the market or providing ahedgein the event of unforeseen market change. We’ll buy or short any asset.”
“What do you mean, ‘short’?” Julia asks, more interested than she thought she’d be.
Norman takes a deep breath. “Shorting a stock is when an investor sells shares that he doesn’t own at the time, and then buys the equivalent amount of those shares at a later date when, hopefully, the price of those shares has gone down. This way the investor makes a profit even though the market price has fallen.”
“So, what you’re really saying is that you’re a gambler.”
“I prefer the word ‘speculator.’ ”
“Fascinating. Really. Quite fascinating. Tell me, does your wife understand any of this?”
“Not a word,” he concedes. “And she doesn’t try. One of the many things I love about her.”
“What are the others?” Julia asks.
“Excuse me?”
“What are the other things you love about Poopsy…Poopy…Sorry…Poppy.”
“You’re serious?”
“I am.”
“Well, for starters, she’s obviously very beautiful.”
“She is.”
