Robert Rogers, C.A.S.H.
Posted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 1:14 pm
Yesterday's afternoon call to Nathan had not gone well. Robert was used to playing the fool with Nathan, but he was getting a little tired of the embarrassingly bad submarine officer impersonations. He glanced out the window of his fifth floor office in Mayfair, it had been a beautiful morning in London, and looked as though the afternoon would be even better. If the guys in the car park finished cleaning the Bentley by 3.00 pm Robert could be on the golf course for his usual 4.40 tee.
Time to get back to work, and the toughest decision of the day. Lunch was always a major debate in the office and The Ivy or Gordon Ramsay’s had tended to dominate the last few weeks. Gordon had become a close friend over the last couple of years, and was always understanding of some his clients more outlandish tastes. In return he was more than happy to send a tasty platter over to the boys at the office a couple of days a week. More often than not he was available for the 4.40 tee time and the two enjoyed their speed race to the course before the 5pm rush hour.
Something told Robert today would be busy though as Nathan’s trading seemed to be getting more and more uncontrollable. If today was going to be like the last few then there would be work to be done, so he decided to keep lunch simple, a delivery from Nobu was definitely the right call. The lunchtime figures were out, and even though he didn’t know what the relevance of them was he thought a couple of well placed and dumb sounding calls might conjure up some interests.
Robert glanced at his Bloomberg, the market didn’t appear to have moved too much from the US open, although his delayed feed wouldn’t respond for another fifteen minutes. The rumours of Nathan’s outsized position were all over the market and Robert knew he had to strike before the rest of the sharks moved in for the feeding frenzy. He called out to Ingrid for a coffee, increasing her pay after the modelling agency had tried to poach her put a few thou on his overheads - still, a small trade should sort that. He placed his right hand on the handset, took a deep breath, and with his left hand he pressed the button labelled "Warren Muppet"... In New York "Moron" flashed, a voice answered "Weapons Bay"...
Time to get back to work, and the toughest decision of the day. Lunch was always a major debate in the office and The Ivy or Gordon Ramsay’s had tended to dominate the last few weeks. Gordon had become a close friend over the last couple of years, and was always understanding of some his clients more outlandish tastes. In return he was more than happy to send a tasty platter over to the boys at the office a couple of days a week. More often than not he was available for the 4.40 tee time and the two enjoyed their speed race to the course before the 5pm rush hour.
Something told Robert today would be busy though as Nathan’s trading seemed to be getting more and more uncontrollable. If today was going to be like the last few then there would be work to be done, so he decided to keep lunch simple, a delivery from Nobu was definitely the right call. The lunchtime figures were out, and even though he didn’t know what the relevance of them was he thought a couple of well placed and dumb sounding calls might conjure up some interests.
Robert glanced at his Bloomberg, the market didn’t appear to have moved too much from the US open, although his delayed feed wouldn’t respond for another fifteen minutes. The rumours of Nathan’s outsized position were all over the market and Robert knew he had to strike before the rest of the sharks moved in for the feeding frenzy. He called out to Ingrid for a coffee, increasing her pay after the modelling agency had tried to poach her put a few thou on his overheads - still, a small trade should sort that. He placed his right hand on the handset, took a deep breath, and with his left hand he pressed the button labelled "Warren Muppet"... In New York "Moron" flashed, a voice answered "Weapons Bay"...