He sipped his martini slowly. I didn't know why he was drinking it at that pace. He was usually a chugger. He would drain his drink in record time and was typically on his second by the time I was on my third sip. He must have been building tension, leading up to his big pitch, which I was confident was surely coming.
"What do you know about derivatives?" he asked finally.
"Absolutely nothing," I said. "Why?"
"There's a guy out there that I just invested in, my own money, that's turning twenty-five percent returns quarter after quarter."
"And?"
"And he deals in derivatives. That's why I asked."
"Well, that's interesting. And what would that possibly have to do with me?"
Eric took a sip of his drink then spoke. "His firm is always looking for investors. It's like investing in a mutual fund or the stock market. He's sort of a wealth manager but one with big returns. Anyway, they only let people invest by referral. I figured you might be in the market, so to speak, for a wealth manager or a good investment at the very least. So I'm letting you know."
Now I'm not educated on the ins and outs of derivatives, but I do recognize that turning twenty-five percent returns quarter after quarter is good. Hell, it's very good. It's even great. For any business. But it had to be risky. I was guessing that it could all come crumbling down at any point. Regardless, I wanted to hear a little more.
"I appreciate it, Eric. I'm always looking. For what, I don't know."
"Funny, Max. This one might be worth your time."
"And money," I said.
"Of course. Money makes money."
"So, big shot, how much did you put in, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I put in the minimum."
"And that would be?"
"Two mil."
"Two million?"
"Yeah, but I've already made 500 K."
"On paper," I said.
I knew all about paper money. I've made plenty of it and lost plenty of it. Millions on paper doesn't mean a thing. Cash is king. And it always will be.
He laughed. "Isn't everything paper money? Zeros and ones on a computer screen digitally floating between people, banks, companies, countries."
"I like my money in cash. Where I can go to the bank and take it out."
"You can pull out any time. I've seen it, even in the past few months. Guy I know pulled out four million."
"Really?"
"Yup, he probably paid a small penalty, but who cares? Made a couple of million bucks and called it a day."
"I'm intrigued," I said.
"Listen, let me get you his info, and you can look into it. When you're ready to invest, just let them know I referred you," he said.
The perks of a country club, I guess. They say that all big deals are made on the golf course. They never say anything about making deals on the patio looking out at one. I took another sip of wine, and Eric threw back the rest of his martini. That's the Eric I know. Attaboy.
"Thanks," I said.
"You going to be around in a bit?"
I told him that we'd hang around and that in an hour or so I'd be in the main clubhouse with Ginny, having a drink. He promised to meet me there and to drop off the information. I thanked him again, and then we walked back over to the ladies.
Imogen and Shannon looked like they were engrossed in some riveting conversation that I was sure I didn't want any part of, so Eric and I chatted a bit more by the side of the table while Eric ordered another martini that he proceeded to drain rapidly. We discussed the weather, the club, the Yankees, and then we were ready for the checks. I signed mine. Eric signed his, and then we all dispensed some pleasantries as well as hugs, handshakes, and air kisses. Then we were done. I was a little tipsy. More like drunk, so I asked Mike for a golf cart shuttle to take us over to the main clubhouse. He ordered us one—it arrived—and off went Imogen and me at fifteen miles per hour on our way to see Bill.