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Bakers and Brokers
The staff at the Poisson d'Argent wondered where Dan got his money. A baker, no matter how talented, didn't make a whole lot--and there weren't any tips either. Yet Dan drove a Lexus, and he'd just purchased a house on the beach. Mickey and a couple of the line-guys helped him move. They were still talking about the spa on the deck. Since he worked through the night Dan had little contact with the rest of the staff. Only the swampers and the early prep shift saw him and then only in passing. Everybody had theories, but speculating was more fun than knowing. Some thought he was a silver-spooner, getting his money from family. Others thought he was dealing drugs in the wee hours of the morning. The truth was more interesting. Dan had a circle of phantom friends. They didn't know his name, nor he theirs, but they lunched together regularly. Dan started his shift at one am, working hard to get the dough made, cut, and in the proof box by five. This meant he could sit down to his 'lunch' by five-thirty at the Dive-Inn down the block. He always sat in the middle of the counter and ordered the same thing. Two eggs-over easy, a stack of oatmeal pancakes, and 4 strips of bacon--extra crispy. Just as Dan was finishing his breakfast those friends began arriving in their tailored Brook's Brothers, perfectly pressed button downs, and imported shoes. With everything timed to the market opening in New York, broker's days started early on the West Coast. Dan nodded to a few, pushed his plate aside, and settled in to read the paper. He scanned the front page and then skipped directly to the business section, but it could have been the gardening page, the comics, or upside down, Dan wouldn't have noticed. All around him people were talking. The Dive-Inn was buzzing with business news; tips on who was leaving which company, hints on commodities, margin calls, short, long, precious metals and fiber optics. That particular morning the table behind him was having a spirited discussion on new opportunities opening up in China. Everybody ignored Dan, perched on his stool, doodling in the margins of the paper, oblivious, a kitchen slug on break. That's what they thought, but they were wrong. Dan was busy, working straight through his lunch break. When he got back to the kitchen he logged onto the computer in the office and continued his research. By the second round of baking he'd chosen his targets and begun trading. All through the shift he followed the market news, working his portfolio and dancing to the rhythm of bakers. Pulling perfect loaves from the proof box, slashing the tops with a razor, and sliding them into the oven. In between sets he bought and sold in large parcels. When the prep crew rolled in at seven, Dan was slipping the last loaves out of the oven. An hour later he'd tidied up and logged off. In the parking lot Dan settled into his glove leather bucket and turned on the radio. Corning had signed a contract in China and Dan heard in surround-sound that the stock was up twenty-eight points. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Dan decided it was going to be a nice day for a soak in the hot tub on his new deck. --Janet Fouts |
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