Dumb Luck Read online

“That won’t happen, Brandon,” my dad said.

  “But suppose it did?” I asked Len.

  “Then the bank would accept some of your investments to cover it.”

  “Accept” seemed like the wrong word. But I got the point.

  “And we pay the bank interest on what’s borrowed?”

  “That’s correct,” Cranmore said. “But because you are one of our preferred clients, we can give you just two points over prime.”

  Two points over prime? He made it sound like “the bank” was doing us a huge favor.

  I felt a little like I did at school so often, when I’d be taking a test in something and I’d read the question and didn’t have the slightest clue as to what it was asking. It was like that. I sensed a wave of panic rising up in me and then I looked at my father.

  He looked at me, nervous and hopeful. This was his dream. His big break. He’d been talking about “getting lucky” all my life. I couldn’t back down now.

  “I’m good with all that,” I said.

  “Great,” Cranmore said. “Here’s the paperwork for you to sign. You can take it home first and read it if you want.”

  I turned to my dad, “You’ve already read all this?”

  He sheepishly nodded, yes.

  “Then I’m cool.” And I signed everything—four copies of each. One for me. One for my dad. Two for the bank. Cranmore seemed pretty happy about everything.

  “Now for the fun part,” he said.

  I was wondering if there would be cake and ice cream.

  Nope, just a folder with a bunch of papers—one set for me, one for my dad.

  “Right now, your money is sitting in a savings account getting very little interest. We want you to be making much more than that and I’ve got some ideas.”

  I flipped through the pages. There were lots of color images of people smiling. All older men and women. No kids smiling, anywhere. No teenagers.

  “How much can I make on what I have?” I asked.

  “Depends on your level of risk acceptance.”

  “My what?”

  “How much risk can you handle?”

  I looked at my father. “We’re gonna have to study this a bit,” he said.

  Cranmore continued. “Rightfully so. See, Brandon, the thing is, you can be safe and make maybe two or three percent interest. Get a little more aggressive and earn six to ten percent a year, or be a bit more daring and maybe make twenty percent or higher.”

  I guess I should have been paying better attention at math. Twenty percent of a few million dollars would be how much? All on top of what I already owned. Wow.

  “But the higher the potential earnings, almost always the more risk, right?” my dad asked.

  “Yes. And that’s the big one. I’m going to suggest you put some in low risk, some in medium, and some in high. Let’s do it in thirds. We’re talking money market, bonds, mutual funds, and some stocks—gold, utilities.” Clearly Cranmore was excited. This was the “fun” part after all. Playing with other people’s money.

  “We’re going to take this home and walk it through,” my dad said, which let me off the hook. I felt good about that.

  “Any questions?” Cranmore asked.

  “Not right now,” I said.

  He was all smiles. I started to stand up.

  “Oh, sorry,” Cranmore said. “I almost forgot. A couple more things for you to sign, Brandon.” He slid another page filled with words in tiny print in front of me.

  “What’s this one?”

  He took something small out of his desk and slapped it down in front of me. “A new credit card, with some extra advantages. It’s platinum.”

  I stared at the shiny piece of plastic with the gleaming hologram of a bird on it.

  I signed another document that I had not read and picked up the card.

  “Sign the back,” Cranmore said. “Use this pen. Keep it if you like.”

  And so I signed my name again. And then stared at the card. I didn’t know what platinum meant, but Cranmore had made it sound like it was something pretty important.

  “Your limit is seventy,” he added. The look on my face said it all. “Seventy thousand. We can raise that any time if you request or approach the limit. We call it an ‘Infinite card.’ Any time you near the limit, we automatically raise the limit. Infinite, of course, means there is no limit.” And he couldn’t help but smile and laugh a little.

  I held the credit card in my hand. And yeah, I remembered the term “infinite” from math. “No limit? That’s a joke, right?” I asked.

  “Nope. No joke. Like I said, you are one of our preferred customers.” Cranmore handed me another business card. “I’m assigned to you. Whatever your banking needs, you call me. I’ll take care of it.”

  I put the credit card into my cashless wallet.

  “Kelly out there will walk you through how to use it in the ATMs. She’ll set you up with a PIN and you can use it anywhere, anytime, anyplace.”

  If I’d walked into Cranmore’s office feeling nervous and then confused, I walked out feeling like gravity had ceased to exist. I could buy anything I wanted, take money out of machines. The possibilities were, well, infinite.

  chaptersixteen

  Fast forward to later that month: the new me.

  I now knew all about mutual funds, floating interest rates, stolen credit cards. (Yes, mine was stolen and used to buy some strange stuff, before the thief was cut off and my card was replaced.) My wallet went missing one day at school, so I phoned the bank. The bank replaced my stolen credit card almost instantly. They assumed the cost of the goods bought on the card as well. I guess I shouldn’t have kept a copy of my PIN in my wallet with the card. I think it was Grant who stole it but I couldn’t prove it. No one was ever charged, though. It turned out to be no big deal, and when Len Cranmore handed me my new card, he said they’d raised the spending limit even higher than what it had originally been. What’s with that?

  With my new credit card in hand, Taylor had given me a makeover. I’d resisted at first but finally gave in. First, there was the haircut and then the clothes. These were not clothes you could climb trees in. These were clothes like you see on people on TV. It was so not me—at first. My mom commented about the changes. She wasn’t sure she liked the new look, the new me. And she made it clear that she didn’t like Taylor and her influence on me.

  But, by that time, I was feeling better about the new me. I started to get used to the attention, the clothes, and the feel of having money and even a kind of respect.

  In fact, I was starting to get used to a lot of things that were really different.

  I could walk into a store and buy the latest technology for music, videos, Internet—whatever I wanted. Just find something I liked and insert a plastic card. Often Taylor was my guide. She never asked me for anything for herself but I bought her stuff sometimes.

  And I better stop here and explain. Taylor was not my girlfriend.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” she said, the third week into our so-called friendship. “I’m not your girlfriend.” It was right after that that she squeezed up hard against me in her car and kissed me long and hard on the mouth.

  “So, you’re not my girlfriend,” I said, kissing her back.

  “We’ll work on finding some dates for you.” By we she meant her, and I didn’t quite get it. “I’ve been giving this some serious thought.” She pulled out a list.

  “Alexis is probably too smart for you,” she said, crossing her off the list.

  “Ouch,” I said. “That hurts.”

  “Brandon, I didn’t mean it as an insult. You’ve never been the sharpest knife in the drawer. You are who you are.” She paused. “But you are not who you were. You are the new, improved Brandon. Thanks to me. You are fine. Intelligence is not that important. Have you
taken a good look at people who are famous or successful? Brains are usually not the reason. Looks count. Image counts. Cool counts. And money.”

  “So Alexis is no good?”

  “No. And Danielle. Not for you. Way too shallow.”

  “I thought it was all about looks and image and cool. Danielle definitely has all three.” Most guys thought Danielle was almost as hot as Taylor.

  “Trust me. I’ve known Danielle for a long time. She chews guys up and spits them out. It’s what she does. It’s what she’s good at.”

  “But let me get this straight. You are trying to set me up with a girlfriend?”

  “Not a single girlfriend. You aren’t ready for that. You need girls to date, to go out with. To be seen with.”

  Suffice it to say I was more than a little confused. I really liked Taylor. “Why don’t you be my girlfriend?” I asked.

  She took my face in her hand the way she did sometimes, gently pinching my cheeks. “You’re cute when you’re stupid like this, ya know?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Let me explain. When I heard about you winning, I thought I would get to know you, see how you react, watch how the money changes you, how it changes everything. Yes, I’d become your friend.”

  “Because of the money?”

  “And the notoriety. You are the closest we have to famous in our school.”

  “Would you have been my ‘friend’ otherwise?”

  “Probably not. You weren’t even on my radar.”

  “Doesn’t that make you shallow?”

  She seemed a little hurt. “Brandon, I’m trying to help you. Remember how I explained that you and I are in one way alike? We both get a lot of attention. People talk about us, watch the things we do.”

  In truth, we were nothing alike. But I decided not to answer. I liked spending time with Taylor. I thought she was a little nuts. But I didn’t mind whatever she was doing—trying to help me or whatever.

  “Brianna is too immature for you. And Emma ... well, Emma is just Emma.”

  “Who’s left?”

  “Chelsea is a possibility. And Leandra. Try a movie or dinner. But if it’s a restaurant date, I’m gonna have to coach you about what to order. Leandra’s father owns an engineering company. She didn’t grow up eating hot dogs.”

  “Coach?”

  “What?”

  “You used the word ‘coach.’ Is that who you are? My coach?”

  Taylor smiled then and started to laugh, but cut herself off and grabbed my cheeks and planted that famous kiss on my lips. “You’re so cute, you know.”

  “Anything you say, Coach.”

  And I did go out on a date with Chelsea. I picked her up in a rented limo with a driver. Taylor had advised against it. She said it would make Chelsea think I was too serious, but I wanted to see what it was like.

  I liked it. It was kind of expensive. But I’d been wanting to try it and Chelsea was just the ticket. I wanted to be seen with Chelsea—her tall, sleek body and long dark hair. I had on my new clothes, my new look.

  The date was okay but lacking something. Chelsea’s mother was a model and Chelsea had often traveled with her to New York, London, L.A., and Paris. Chelsea was used to fancy stuff. She said, “I really like riding in limos. I feel so at home in them. Especially white ones.”

  My limo was black.

  The movie was not that good. I put my arm around her halfway through. But that was about it. I guess you could say there was no chemistry between us.

  At home that night in my room, I had to report to Taylor about the evening. Taylor said I shouldn’t write off Chelsea. “I already got a text from Leandra and she heard from one of her friends who was at the movies. You were seen arriving with Chelsea in your limo and that is a good thing.”

  “Why is it a good thing?”

  “It generates buzz.”

  “But Chelsea let me know it was the wrong color limo.”

  “So next time, you get one the color she likes.”

  This all sounded so silly. What if one of my dates wanted a pink limo or one with polka dots?

  I opened my desk drawer and discovered the bottle of whiskey I had bought a while back. My somewhat disappointing date with Chelsea had left me feeling a little sad and hollow. I cracked the seal on the bottle and took a sip. It burned on the way down. It felt good. I’d tasted this stuff before but it seemed different this time. Sitting in my room alone with the bottle and talking to Taylor on the phone.

  “Brandon, are you still there?” Taylor asked.

  “Why don’t we go out on a date?” I said.

  “What would be the point?” she asked.

  “The point would be because I like you. I like being with you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Of course you like me.”

  “We’ll do the restaurant thing. This time I’ll pay the whole tab. And you can coach me about which fork to use and what to order. And we can be seen together.”

  “And that might make Chelsea jealous.”

  “She only went out with me once. And it wasn’t so great. Why would she be jealous?”

  “’Cause that’s the way it works.”

  I took another quick shot of the whiskey. “And that’s good?”

  “In a way, yes. More buzz.”

  The third shot was the one that gave me a buzz. I don’t know why I was doing this—drinking alone in my room, on the phone to the girl that I wanted to be my girlfriend but who kept reminding me she was not. “So does that mean, yes, you’ll do the date?” I asked.

  “Oh, hell, why not? Sure.”

  I put the bottle back into the desk drawer. “Taylor, what if I said it really was you I wanted? Maybe I’m falling in love with you. I don’t want those other girls.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I explained all this to you before.” She didn’t take me seriously at all. I’m not even sure I was taking myself seriously. Maybe it was the whiskey talking. “So when is this big dinner date, Brando?”

  This was the first time she called me by my nickname. “Next Friday,” I said. “You pick the restaurant and the color of the limo.”

  “It’s gonna cost ya. Won’t be cheap.”

  “I’m okay with that. Should I warn the bank ahead of time?”

  “Maybe. And we’ll have to make a reservation. I’ll make the reservation. And I’ll drive. No limo. I like driving you places. See ya.”

  “Bye.”

  I retrieved the bottle and took another slug. I liked what it was doing to my head.

  chapterseventeen

  My father’s car lot had been open for a full week now. He hadn’t been home much in the past few weeks. There had been a lot of dinners that were just my mom and me, and leftover meatloaf or spaghetti.

  On Saturday, my dad drove my mom and me to his business. We met the two guys he had hired to work there. Kevin and Carew were their names. I wasn’t sure I liked either of them. They had that really see-through “I wanna be your best friend” way about them that I’d seen before in car salesmen. Heck, I’d seen my dad put it on a million times. Apparently, it’s what you had to do if you wanted to sell cars.

  The asphalt was new and very black and the cars were not old clunkers, but recent models all looking waxed and polished.

  My dad was leading us around the lot. He waved at some customers looking at SUVs. When we came to a blue Honda Accord, he produced a set of keys and handed them to my mother. “This one’s for you,” he said.

  My mom looked stunned.

  “It’s got air, satellite radio, GPS. And low mileage. I handpicked it for you.”

  My mom accepted the keys. I saw the tears well up in her eyes. Then she hugged my dad and I realized I hadn’t seen enough of that recently. He seemed really proud of himself, and I was thinking now that this
whole business thing was going to be good for him and good for our family.

  “Go ahead, take it for a spin,” my dad said.

  She looked thrilled. “You two come along.”

  “Not now,” my dad said. “I want to talk to Brandon and give you a chance to get to know your new car.”

  My mom hugged him again and then she hugged me. We were one happy family.

  We watched her get in the car, adjust the mirrors, start it up, heard the music from the radio. And then she gingerly drove her new car out into the streets with Kevin and Carew waving to her.

  When she was out of sight, my dad asked, “What about you, Brandon? Don’t you want a car of your own?”

  “I don’t have a license yet. You know that.”

  “But I don’t get it. Why don’t you sign up for the driver-ed course and get on with it?”

  I didn’t quite know how to answer that one. I’d thought about it plenty. Sure, I could have my own car, get my license, and drive it anywhere I wanted. On the surface it sounded like the obvious thing for a guy like me to do. It had freedom written all over it. But I hadn’t felt motivated to take the first steps. For some reason I’d been holding back. Lack of confidence maybe. I’m not sure.

  And I think I knew why.

  So many things had changed in my life. Recently, I had made myself grow up so fast. Once I had my license and my car, I knew that I would have made that big step into adulthood. There would be no turning back.

  But I had admitted this to no one but myself. I just didn’t want to go there yet.

  “I guess I’m not quite ready,” I told my dad. “Sounds crazy, I know. But there it is.”

  My dad looked puzzled. Really puzzled.

  Just then, the couple looking at the SUV waved to him and he went over to attend to them. Kevin and Carew just seemed to hang back by the mobile building that had been parked there for an office. The two of them seemed to be in a heated discussion about something and not paying attention.

  I looked around at all the shiny cars on my dad’s lot. I was standing there alone and there was something about the fresh smell of the recently paved asphalt that reminded me of a vacation we had taken as a family when I was a really little kid. Something about that smell made me feel really sad.