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Fitness was an obligation that had been broadcast at him for decades and, by now, it had become a reflexive habit. His entire self image, his manhood, his sexuality itself, rested on the notion that he could still draw those envious stares from the receptionist at the office. What a difference the Slim in Six program had made!
He flexed a bicep, admiring the peak as he tightened the muscle of his upper arm. He needed to do just a little more work on his back, he thought. He wasn’t into heavy muscle building, but he wanted his body firm and hard, two words that most men aspired to when it came to things physical. He watched his diet with the Slim in Six program, headed off the threat of saddle bagging in his mid section, got regular exercise, and made sure that he gave his body a good maintenance workout at least once a week.
Rod imagined that all his hard work would be well appreciated by everyone at the office. Yes, he was happily married, but it never hurt to know that you could turn the heads of the office girls, or even the other men there, and he often thought of how they were probably stealing glances at his firm tush when he strolled by the stock trading workstations to let them all know he was doing a first rate job as their supervisor. He enjoyed the thought that his infrared suntan, another feature he had built in to his Quantum Sleeper, would draw compliments from the pale white co-workers who shared his unit. He relished the idea that his pearly white smile, bought from a thousand dollar visit to the dentist last December, would never fail to please.
He stretched again, and stepped into the shower. A moment later his body was awash in refreshing jets of steamy water, and he was lavishing a thick palm full of Lever 2000 body wash over his well muscled frame, frothing it up to a rich, luxuriant lather so he would be sure to get the best possible day-long deodorant control for all of his 2000 parts.
Drying off with the fresh cotton towel, he heard his wife Liz switch on the plasma digital television downstairs in the living room. The cavalcade of announcements floated up the steps with the distant sound and smell of Maxwell House gurgling though the filter of the coffee machine in the kitchen. He passed a moment of brief longing for old Juan Valdez, the mythical coffee grower from South America who had ensured that the beans picked for grinding were the richest crop in a decade. Juan was fired when the competition from new coffee blends coming out of Southeast Asia had deflated prices and Maxwell House had been forced to pull its TV ad campaign. Such a loss, he mused.
Now the TV announcer was extolling the virtues of the Magic-Kan, an amazing new plastic container for your household trash. He focused on the words, mindlessly, reflexively, hearing that it was a must have for the kitchen, with a sophisticated design that was guaranteed to match any décor while keeping your trash neat, odorless, and out of sight.
His attention was soon pulled to the marble sink basin where he splashed a bit of lukewarm water on his face to prepare for shaving. What would it be today, he thought as he reached for the Edge protective shaving foam? The gel oozed out into his palm and soon bloomed up into a cool fragrant lather. Would it be the Schick Quattro or the M3 Power Razor? The Quattro sported four blades, so just one swipe of his razor would do twice the work of any normal double bladed razor. But the M3 had all the awesome power than any man could possibly crave. It’s mini-vibe mechanism, operated by a AA battery in the handle, pulsed and vibrated as he stroked the blade, raising even the most stubborn stubble for the three bladed razor to whisk away. With the M3, five-o-clock shadow was a thing of the past.
He chose the awesome power, selecting the M3 and making short work of the whiskers on his neck and chin. He finished up, slapping on a bracing aftershave at the end of his routine. A bit of super-gloss hair gel would be all he would need today, and he quickly ran his glistening fingers through his hair, letting the shape and style have just that touch of the tousled look that was so popular today. Soon he was ready to dress and take on the day.
Liz was channel surfing again. As Robert slipped on his robe and shuffled down the stairs, he saw that the ubiquitous ads had been suddenly interrupted by a hair-raising scene from the Middle East. Christ, was the oil still burning there? Lucky for him he filled the tank on his Lexus the previous day, though it was costing him a fortune to drive these days. Liz clicked her remote, moving on to the local channel to take in the morning news bytes.
…. A mass murder suspect in Bakersfield, the crazed 2020 Olympic Bomber trial, new cases of SARS at a hotel—mostly bottom of the hour filler before the breaking news headlines yet to come. Robert sighed as the news cast rolled on. The stock report crowded on the heels of that headline, and the ‘tale of the tape’ seemed bright this morning, as advances outpaced decliners by a hefty margin, mostly in the distressed energy sector. The transportation sector was getting hammered, however. It was no longer cheap or easy to fly anywhere these days. America was no longer “free to move about the country” as one airline put it in their TV ads. Below this, in the slow, steady crawl of the news ticker at the bottom of the screen, Robert saw that the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico was continuing unabated, the war in Asia was heating up again after that volcano imposed a brief time out, the Maine Potato Blossom Fest was in full swing and featuring a ladies’ bikini mashed potatoes wrestling contest! Food to wrestle in, he thought. What a country.
The news segment wound up, but the cordial host threw out a teaser to keep everyone waiting for more. "Another threat from Al Qaeda," she said glibly, "We'll tell you which city needs to be on the alert when we come back."
The hook was in, with just a little barb of fear at the end. So now they would just have to wait. Robert thought how easy it would have been for her to simply reveal the city's name, but then the lure of the tease would be lost. Now the whole nation would have to wait breathlessly through the next commercial segment to find out if they were the threatened city. And the commercial would most likely be a slick presentation by a drug company. They loved to litter the news segments and pushed the drugs hard and heavy each evening news hour. What would NBC do without Pfizer to bankroll them with all that commercial money?
From the sound of things the news was going from bad to worse but, whatever it was, the danger could not be all that great, because the commercials started rolling, with one fifteen second spot crowding after another—like people squeezing into a bus at a quick stop. The TV volume increased by 30% and the announcer stared out at the unseen audience with more dire warnings. “You could be missing out! It’s a fact: Mortgage rates are at an all time low, but they could go up at any moment.” It was time, therefore, to refinance the $750,000 home he lived in, thought Robert. With all the distress in the market he was probably well underwater by now. The announcer confirmed that fact with a clear directive: “Do it now!”
He resisted the urge to go to the phone and begin dialing, even though he knew that operators were standing by, waiting for his call. They would just have to wait a little longer, he thought. Then the next commercial elbowed its way onto the screen, and this offer made the last one pale. He learned that he could enter the new Capital One giveaway contest just by using his credit card for regular every day expenses and purchases. He could instantly win his own island—yes, a complete island that he could wander at his leisure any time he choose, a place to create his own paradise away from the hustle of city life, a lush tropical getaway. He passed a moment’s reflection on the disastrous investments made in Dubai, but nonetheless made a mental note to make sure to charge as much as he could on that card this weekend. This was even better than the monthly promise of endless riches at the Lotto! Yes, the 29.9% interest rate might pinch a bit, But he’d sell a few shares of the AIG stock he bottom fished for the other day when it took off again, and make all well.
An ad for Glad Plug-Ins soon followed, with a great new feature! The new sleek design would not block your electrical outlets. Now he could have a summer fresh home all day and never have to worry about getting something plugged in again! Gerber was next, with fat, happy babies getting their doughy cheeks stuf
fed fatter yet with the processed puree of plenitude in a convenient new package that you could take with you anywhere you went.
Herbal Essence quickly demonstrated how easy it would be to apply sun-golden streaks to any hair style. Oil of Olay wanted everyone to know how complicated and confusing skin care was, and that loss of firmness was as bad as wrinkles for spoiling that smooth, youthful complexion we all strive for. Thankfully, they now had an automated computer program standing ready to make expert recommendations on which Olay products he needed to buy. Then a white garbed chef was taking the perfect boccacia bread from the oven—just what you needed for a scrumptious chicken sandwich. As if taking a cue, the next ad showed mounds of steaming crab legs on special for the Lobster House Cajun Week. A happy black couple was beaming as they stuffed the succulent crab meat into their smiling mouths, wiping a dribble of thick, rich butter away with a wink and a nod. Half the world was starving, but not in the good old USA.
The images of endless food on colorfully prepared serving platters made him very hungry, but Robert didn’t need to worry. Whenever he wanted to come up with a quick snack, or cook an easy satisfying breakfast, all he had to do was turn on his Express Cooker, a Teflon coated appliance that streamlined his meal preparation by providing even heating from both above and below. Instead of frying or baking, he could fully enclose his fresh cracked eggs in the Express Cooker, with two convenient cooking bays that whipped up breakfast for two in no time at all.
He wandered in to the kitchen, and did exactly that. His Easy Chopper quickly consumed a few slices of onion and green pepper, and he threw the whole lot into the Express Cooker for a perfect omelet in just three minutes. Other people might be out rushing to breakfast, waiting in line, struggling with confusing menus, and paying exorbitant prices, but not Robert. He had 101 convenient recipes in a little booklet that came with his cooker, and he had picked the whole thing up at the “As Seen on TV store” at the mall. A few moments later he had his delicious breakfast in hand and was off to the den to check his e-mail before heading to work in his SUV Explorer.
The iPad was waiting patiently in the nook by the kitchen. He settled into the chair and tapped the icon to activate his blazing fast cable modem Internet account. A moment later his only concern was the rush of unwanted SPAM messages littering his inbox.
As if timed by fate itself, the TV ad in the next room was showing a spot where another young man was settling in to read his e-mail, just as Robert was. An errant fly alighted impudently on the screen. Just as it was flicked away, three more arrived, then a dozen more, until the screen was darkened by flies as if it were a reenactment of some black evil from the exorcist.
“Bugged by junk e-mail and pop-up ads?” The TV announcer asked. Robert swiveled to pay attention, in full agreement. Thankfully, the solution was close at hand. “Why not try our fast new Internet service, with free pop-up blocker, SPAM filter and virus checker, so you never have to wait to read your e-mail again.”
Those damn flies were now all over the house in the TV ad, chased frantically by the lovely couple on the screen, their arms flailing about with frustration and annoyance. Robert pivoted back to his own screen, inwardly flicking at the litany of junk messages there… Advertisements claiming he could increase the size of his penis and keep it constantly erect with Viagra. He could unleash the power of his digital cable, fulfill all his pharmacy needs, visit with college co-eds as they stripped for the cameras, and so much more. Flies, he thought, damn little annoying flies buzzing about his screen.
But on second thought, he decided to click on the link to those teenage strippers. His wife would never have to know.
It was what he didn’t know that would soon bring an end to the sumptuous pixel driven life of luxury he had been enjoying. The markets didn’t like the news cycle, and that was just the beginning. The Chinese were dumping more than missiles on Taiwan. It was going to get much, much worse.
Chapter 12
There was much more than war and oil on the news that morning. Other dark matter was being discussed that was going to cut close to the bone for Robert. The Treasury Secretary was huddling with bankers again, only days after another massive fund infusion supporting the banking industry. This time it was Wall Street investment house Goldman Sachs on the rocks, the maestros of the market who had heretofore navigated the roiling waters of the financial tempest with uncanny skill. They had made a killing in 2008-2009, selling investors bogusly rated AAA securities at one desk while aggressively hedging this with a raft of shorts on those same securities at another desk. When other houses like Lehman failed and AIG was on the ropes, they were able to extract 100 cents on the dollar for their swap deals. Then they deftly morphed into a “bank” in a few days time and went merrily on with yet more government bailout money that almost directly equaled their enormous bonus payouts that year.
But it wasn’t the news from the troubled Caspian superfields or the outbreak of fighting in the Black Sea that was vexing the bankers now. This time something had happened in the wine dark sea of derivatives, where Goldman’s exposure was astronomical. Word was that the Chinese were backing out of derivatives contracts, en masse, simply ordering their people to default and describing the whole scheme in the clearest possible terms—fraud. It was deemed part of their ‘war effort’ but the fact remained that it was now going to have a tremendous effect on the financial markets.
One by one other counterparties to the extensive web of derivatives agreements began to follow suit, emboldened by the statements emanating from Beijing. For years these trades had been accomplished in “dark pools” where pricing, transparency and reporting requirements were virtually nonexistent. As long as the right hand did not know what the left hand was doing, the Goldman magic act could continue unabated. But now someone had called them on the sham they had made of securities trading, and the game was over.
Goldman was in trouble. Puts became calls, and razor thin margins melted away. They needed cash to offset their leverage and staunch the gaping wounds in their trading schemes. The firm was teetering at the edge of the abyss and desperately seeking a financial support. And since they basically ran the U.S. government as it was, Uncle Sam was being called in once more as the patsy buyer of last resort.
A run on other independent broker dealers like Morgan Stanley or even majors like Citigroup was now a distinct possibility as the shadow banking system, the other dark energy supply driving the nation, was also effectively ‘shut in’ just like the oil, with a paralysis gripping the derivatives trading desks. The dark pools had gone cold and stagnant. The financial system had relied on these unregulated trades to keep the wheels turning. Many investment houses were leveraged at impossible ratios, some as high as 80 or 100 to 1, but Goldman’s position was far worse. As these positions became more and more untenable, the unwinding was ravaging the meager real capital base that supported the shadow trades.
So as Houston sat in the dark, the Gulf of Mexico bled oil, and the Russians moved on the Kashagan superfields, the Fed once again convened emergency meetings with the heads of all major Wall Street firms trying to find a way to prevent the avalanche of default that threatened to tear the system apart. The counterparties had to be persuaded to keep their stakes in the game at all cost, but that cost would soon be seen to be beyond the means of all of Wall Street’s most venerable names, beyond even the power of the government itself to forestall the inevitable collapse. The whole system shuddered, like financial pipelines shutting down, one after another.
The dark matter of derivatives comprising the shadow banking system amounted to over $680 trillion dollars, a sum exceeding the gross domestic product of the entire nation for the next 60 years. The energy flows had come to a near complete halt, with nervous investors unwilling to risk capital. Banks stopped lending to other banks. Loans became almost impossible to arrange. It was a freezing deflationary scenario, potentially much worse than the Great Depression, but no one really knew what the consequences wou
ld be, and with war looming as a real event now, no one cared either.
The massive derivatives market opened in a rare weekend session to allow investors to try and limit their exposure to damage should Goldman fall into bankruptcy the following Monday. Good money was scrambling after bad money, in a desperate effort to stop the losses.
The average person on the street knew little of the real danger. They were lined up behind the cash registers at Wal-Mart with shopping carts full of the last shipments of junk that would arrive from China for the foreseeable future. Robert read the news intently that morning, wondering if he should act immediately to protect his own meager investment portfolio. He had a substantial slice of Goldman, and sent in a sell order to an old pit buddy, hoping to get out the back door in cash just before the building collapsed.
Somehow, images of those few survivors coming down the stairwells in the World Trade Center just before the first tower fell played on a haunting canvass in the back of his mind. He wanted to be one of them. What a metaphor, carved in reality now, he thought. But Jimmy, his contact in the trading pits this morning, wouldn’t let him down.