QUE SERA

Once I was a multi-millionaire–but no longer. Now I am just air. I’m a floater without my 20 room home on Lake Ticcona. My former best friend, Jack, crosses the street when he sees me coming. Sally, my paramour, quickly found a new keeper. It is unreal to me that these people were fake friends. Now I have learned that not only does money talk, so do actions.

I’m smart. I’m a hard worker. I’m coming back with new money eventually and will be leery of those who hook on to my coat tails. What I’m not is destitute. Adjusting is tough. It hurts to go home to my small apartment and listen to the silence of the phone. Morton’s frozen crab soup made me gag the first time and last time I tried it. My scrambled eggs are light, full of butter, just the way I like them. The fridge is full. Fresh fruit is always handy instead of fancy restaurant meals where I stuff my self with pate’ de fois gras. Sure, my taste buds quiver when I think of that plate of pate’ with a big slice of Bermuda onion on top, crispy flat bread in a silver basket waiting for my pleasure. I am making strides to keep my mind off of all I have lost in Max’s Ponsey scam. It is fait accompli! Done! Over!

Joe Kellerman, one of my former agents at Schwab, located me and called last Thursday. He offered me an office opportunity. The money stinks, will never repair the damage I foolishly allowed Max to do to me. 75K a year will be a start, maybe let me get an order of pate’ once in a while. This small step up is better than the big slide down.

The group in my division at Schwab’s has been together for years. I’m a new-comer, accepted with handshakes and good wishes. My nine co-workers are all aware of what happened to me. They are friendly, warm, competitive, helpful and thankfully, discrete. I’m not in a hurry to be considered a ‘buddy’ yet am pleased to be asked to stop at McGilicutty’s after the market closes next Friday. I won’t have to out-do anyone on how many beers I can drink, how many times I pick up the tab. At first I missed the dart board completely. Now I can get on and score in the outer two circles. The guys poke fun at me and I shrug, pay off my dollar and then recover it at the pool table. Nobody gets hurt. With them the pressure is off my back. I actually feel young again. I have left my new tan Pontiac parked at the curb with no $10 valet tip to give. Somebody is driving what was my Benz and I don’t care.

For a month I’ve been laying out $5 a week on lottery tickets. Saturday mornings I bring my newspaper in from the hall where the maintenance man leaves it. After the headlines I turn to the winning lottery numbers, always believing I will see my number there, check it a hundred times. I look this morning and guess what I see! 10 winners and my numbers are not there....again.

Que Sera!