Two of the guys from one of our limited partners are always floating around the offices at the beginning of a new quarter. I feel like they always show up a few days after our investor letter goes out. I haven't watched too carefully, but I suspect that if I started sampling data I would find that they start with the girl who runs investor relations, before drifting into the office of one of the more senior partners. I don't need to do any more sampling with respect to where they end up. That's easy because I've seen it almost half a dozen times. They end up orbiting around or sitting in Laura the Debt Bitch's office.
"Fitz and Sam," as I will call them, always seem to arrive around 3:30 or 4:00, and their pre-Debt Bitch business seems to occupy them for about an hour or 90 minutes. Of course, this puts them right in the zone for the quick afterthought of a watch-check and the kind of "subtle" hint drop that sounds something like, "Hey, Laura, we are headed out for an early drink. Care to join us?" Of course, and despite the fact that she typically works until at least 7:00 (or if she leaves earlier than that it is to stroke percentage points out of one or another debt provider over martinis) she normally takes them up on their offer.
On this last occasion I happened to be sitting in Laura's office when the drink solicitors dropped by. They drifted past Laura's office slowly, careful not to look, paused briefly almost totally past her office, as if to consult each other on something totally unrelated in any way to the fact that they were, actually, mostly standing outside Laura's office, and then, as if on cue, Fitz checked his watch.
"Oh boy," The Debt Bitch chimed in. "Here we go."
"What's that?" I asked. My back was to her office window, and though I could see their ethereal and substance-less forms framed in translucent reflection on the surface of The Debt Bitch's external window, I pretended not to notice. I didn't really want Laura to know I paid this much attention to the likes of Fitz and Sam.
"Frick and Frack are about to ask us to head out for a drink," she didn't even look up from the white legal pad she was scratching out "to do" items on.
Laura uses a ruler and a black, extra fine Uniball pen to draw perfect strikethrough lines through the to-do list items she keeps on a running legal pad- white 8.5" x 14", dated at the top of each sheet and not a single sheet torn off. Instead, she folds them back behind the pad and holds the old sheets there with a binder clip. Once I asked her why she kept them all she replied, "If any of those fuckers try to fire me for incompetence or related bullshit then I have quite a compelling bunch of exhibits to fuck them right back in court with." Makes all the sense in the world when you hear it that way and remember the mantra "Don't fuck with the Debt Bitch." Still, the pads seem sort of strange, until you see a completed to-do list. Very methodically filled with to-do items eviscerated with the brutal finality of a perfectly drawn strikethrough gutting them from crotch to head. Very satisfying. All that remains is a neatly un-struckthrough date of completion next to each item. I suspect if she could, and though it might finally trigger the fifth indicator in the "If your employee exhibits any five of these ten symptoms of mental collapse, call the New York Police SWAT team immediately"-list that some human resources professional is doubtlessly checking Laura against on a regular basis, The Debt Bitch would use a straight razor to kill her to-do items.
"They never ask me anywhere, thank god." I point out.
"Oh, they will now."
"Why would they bother?" Really, this is an honest and un-self deprecating question when I ask it. I just consider myself beneath their notice (because they are mostly beneath mine). If they were in the habit of hitting on anyone else besides The Debt Bitch I probably wouldn't even know they exist.
"Because you are sitting in my office. They will rightly conclude that they have to ask us both out if they ask me out or I will think them rude. Plus, there are two of them. One or the other one, probably Frack (she means Sam) will glom onto you because he is tired of losing me to Frick's more engaging conversation on every outing." Laura is barely done getting this sentence out of her mouth before they make their move. I watch their thin reflections look at each other, suddenly seem to "notice," they are standing outside of Laura's office and reach for her door to knock. Laura waves them in with a sigh that only I can hear and that happens to be the precursor to the little chirp of surprise she emanates like some pleasantly startled cat suddenly away and happy to see you after a long absence. Of course, she manufactures this chirp expertly, and solely for their benefit.
"Why hello," Fitz offers in return.
"Yes, yes, hello to you too." She barely contains her annoyance here, a slip to be sure, but she manages to candy coat it with a perfectly delivered bit of plausible, if pompous, sarcasm. "Have you completed your latest tour of our world-class, alpha inspiring, value creation facilities?"
"Yes... yes... I think... we have." Listening to anything Fitz says is this kind of breathy, unsure until the last clause of his sentence of what his conclusion will be, sort of pondersome experience. As if everything before the "we have," was just a very elongated and multi-sylable "hmmmmmmmm."
"You guys are our favorites," Sam beams. Sam is as plain and afraid of conflict as Fitz is pensive. One day I will do the research, but I suspect I will find that Sam was one of those analysts back in the "good old days" who had a two-word recommendation vocabulary: "buy" and "strong buy." You know the one, prone to ask a difficult question on an earnings call but the mere hint of displeasure by the management team in responding to him and he is all apologies and "I see, I see. Yes, of course"'s. Always looking to see if the company he covers is also an investment banking client. Spineless and, on top of it all, very guilty about that too. Ok, so I take it back. I'm never going to bother to do that research.
"You knooooooooow," Fitz begins, with a hushed tone and a sideways glance in my direction, as if perhaps three kilos of cocaine are about to trade hands in that office but he's not sure if I'm "cool" with it. "We were... sort of... perhaps thinking of heading out... well..." and here a strained look, "...EARLY for a few cocktails." Again, the last clause, clear as a bell after a long swim through chilled maple syrup. "If... you ladies... would want to...."
The Debt Bitch is in no mood for dalliances. I don't blame her, we could be here all day.
"Yeah, let's go to the Peninsula." Again with the Peninsula, I think to myself. Laura is always taking me there. I suppose that's not a bad thing. It's a nice enough spot, pleasant seating and makes for nice conversation.
The four of us are sitting, just after the drinks have arrived and The Debt Bitch has asked for a larger martini. The waiter just brings another martini and puts the still half-full shaker on the table next to it the second time.
Sam has put a stack of documents from other funds on the smallish table and Laura reaches over and grabs them when the drinks come. This strikes me as rude, after all, are we supposed to know what other funds our limited is pondering? Sam looks about ready to protest but Laura has him wrapped around her pinky toe and instead he just sits watching her, helplessly, with his mouth slightly ajar while Laura shamelessly peruses them, chuckling occasionally as if to say "Ha! You are investing with them?"
She comes to a few colorful leave behinds and holds them up for us all to see. They are from a fund with a rather elemental name that astute Going Private readers certainly would recognize. But that's not what is amusing. What is amusing is that they are laminated.
Everyone looks at her before Fitz chimes in.
"Yeah... that... it is... sort of... well... unusual... that they would be laminated."
Laura laughs out loud. "You dolts. You don't get the subtext?" Everyone looks dumbfounded. I do my best to just look impassive and cover myself by starting to sip my drink.
"You are supposed to be so enthralled by the documents and so enraptured by all the money you are going to make that you can't help but drool and ejaculate all over the paper right on the spot, and then how are you going to give it to the investment committee with your 'recommendation,' so to speak?"
I almost snort my drink right out my nose and onto the table.
Sam looks like one of those effete foils in a Humphrey Bogart film that simply cannot believe you just slapped them and has no idea what to do next and may, in fact, have just forgotten their lines.
Fitz starts an extended "hmmmmmm" that is going exactly nowhere fast and is composed mostly of words like "incredible" "doubtful" "rather not what I expected."
My drink has now reversed course and wants to head down my throat which I am desperately trying to prevent less I descend into a fit of coughing. Laura gives a cute little snort and with a short little "excuse me," drops the papers on the table, gets her purse and heads in the direction of the ladies room. I am stuck with Frick and Frack and their stammering or silent disbelief.
After about five minutes I realize that my phone has buzzed me three or four times. I try to be subtle about looking at my texts but I'm still really concentrating on not coughing up a lung. It's The Debt Bitch on SMS.
Coming?
Where are you?
Equity?
I can't wait forever.
I type back. "Where are you?"
"Downstairs, nimrod. C'mon."
I type back again, "Oh, we didn't know we were leaving." I am about to ask for the check when I get another SMS from Laura.
"Answer your phone." I barely finished reading when my phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Oh my god, the FBI just raided the office!"
"The FBI?" I hiss.
"Yes It's every girl for herself now sweetheart. Look, I've been wanting to tell you for a long time. I'm totally in love with you. All the other boys have just been a sad attempt to convince myself and others that I am anything but totally, irrevocably in love and lust with you. I'm on the 10:15 to the Cayman Islands from JFK. I have a bag full of money. Let's go, just you and me."
I am as lame as they come this time. It took me this long to catch the joke. I am quiet for a long time before Laura speaks again.
"Wait a minute, did they just hear you say 'The FBI'?" I look up at Fitz and Sam. They are both staring right at me, wordlessly, no attempt to conceal the shock on their face.
"Uh huh," I manage. Laura starts laughing hysterically. "C'mon you idiot, tell them you have an emergency and let's go do some real drinking."
I stand up with the phone still in my ear. "Guy, I really have to go."
They both nod in violent agreement. "Of course. Of course."
I am such an idiot.
