Manhattan, September 1997
Dalia Roberts sat alone among rows of empty desks, computer monitors, and glaring fluorescent lights. She liked to read her Wall Street Journal while having her coffee and bagel with the large room void of its usual bustle. By the time she finished her breakfast, other people had drifted in. Tom, a fellow trader, stopped by to say good morning.
“Which way are they going today, Dalia?”
“I wish I knew.”
“The Futures look bullish.”
Dalia glanced at the television closest to her desk. Images from CNBC flashed on the screen.
“So, I see. But several analysts are predicting a major correction.” She pointed to a headline in the paper, then tossed it into the trash bin beneath her desk. “If only I had a crystal ball.”
Tom laughed and continued onto his desk.
The room quickly lost its early morning quietness as more traders arrived. By nine o’clock, the still room had grown alive with movement. Noise, the buzzing of people talking on telephones, hummed around Dalia. Some traders had phones cradle on their shoulders while their fingers tapped away on computer keyboards. Others stood or paced the length of the phone cord as they spoke.
The hundred-line phone turret on the desks around the room danced with blinking lights, each representing a ringing phone line. The lights flashing in her peripheral vision drew Dalia’s attention back to her desk. The calls had to get answered. Any orders appearing on her computer screen needed to be placed with a market maker with a degree of haste. She juggled the two gracefully.
Dalia spotted Amy Merriweather out of the corner of her eye, moving swiftly to the desk beside her. In a whirlwind, Amy dropped the bag containing her breakfast onto her desk, yanked back her chair, and flung her purse under her desk. Once settled into her seat, her fingers flew across her keyboard.
Dalia glanced at the clock with a look of exaggerated shock. Amy grinned halfheartedly. “Rough morning.” she mumbled, picking up her phone to begin putting out orders.
Dalia, convinced Amy would catch up soon, returned to her work. Several lights flashed on her turret, and she jumped to answer one.
“Trading.”
“Dalia, this is Don in the Philly office. Take an order to buy 20,000 GOTK with a 25 1/2 limit.”
Dalia reached for one of the three-ply paper tickets printed with black ink from the short stack on her desk and wrote the order’s details as she repeated it back. “Okay. Buy 20,000 GOTK 25 1/2 limit. Who’s the customer?”
“Stewardson.”
“Okay, Don. I’ll be back to you.”
Dalia’s eyes moved back and forth between the three computer screens in front of her to gather all the information available on this security. In the NASDAQ computer, she noted that the stock’s inside market was twenty-five to twenty-five and a quarter, but this price could fluctuate in a matter of seconds.
Dalia chose a market maker to give the order to. Then, as the clock ticked to 9:30 AM and the market opened, she rang the direct line to Meryl Lynch.
“GOTK, 25 1/2 top for 20,000 shares.”
“1/2 top for 20,000, hold on.” Even though he muted the phone, Dalia heard his muffled voice shout the information to his co-worker, who traded that specific security. Then his voice came back strongly into the phone. “We’ll do 5000 at 1/4 to get you started and go test the market.”
“Fine.”
Dalia released the line and glanced over at Amy, who was calmly checking prices. Dalia liked the way her short, blonde, curly hair had that forever tousled look. Her chesty figure stuffed in the bright blue pantsuit she wore screamed style, but it was Amy’s face that caught people’s attention. She was quite beautiful, with a creamy complexion and crystal blue eyes. However, today, Dalia mused, she looked almost green.
“Oh, Amy, what did you do to yourself last night?” asked Dalia, with a hint of amusement in her voice as she watched her friend finish the last of her egg and cheese sandwich.
“Dalia, I swear, if I can just get through this day, I’ll never drink again.” Amy sighed and sipped her Cola clutching her belly.
“That’s what you said last week,” laughed Dalia. “Aren’t you getting too old for this?”
“If she keeps this up, she’ll be an old hag before you know it,” said a deep baritone voice, joining the discussion. Dalia looked over at her boss, Alex Daemon, sitting perpendicular to her desk. His brown eyes twinkled with mischief. This enlightening conversation had become a full-blown Friday morning ritual for the three of them.
“Leave me alone, you guys.” Amy took another sip of her Cola and groaned. “Can’t you tell I’m suffering here?”
“Are you sure this is the way to catch a husband?” Alex asked.
“Catch a husband!” snorted Amy. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
Dalia listened with amusement as her co-workers playfully bickered. Like Dalia, Alex knew that Amy attracted men like bees to honey. No matter where the woman went, men swarmed around her. And why not? She had a fun-loving and flamboyant personality, and she was gorgeous.
Dalia’s attention returned to business when Meryl Lynch’s light rang. She reached to answer it.
“Dalia. Can I help?”
“Yeah, Dalia. On your GOTK order, we didn’t get any more at 25 1/4. Can we do 5000 at 1/4 and the balance at 1/2?”
Dalia quickly scanned her monitors.
“Okay, done that way.”
While Dalia dialed the number to give the broker the report, the room exploded with activity. Traders answered calls and shouted messages across the room. The trading desk grew loud and agitated as the Dow Jones average dropped. The socializing stopped, and tension hung heavy in the air. Everyone in the room frantically called other firms, trying to sell off shares into an already over-saturated marketplace. Tempers shortened as the volatile market continued to fall.
Some of the principal traders, making markets in stocks using the firm’s money, shouted curses into the air as they watched prices continue to plunge. Meanwhile, they purchased customers’ unwanted shares. Throughout the mayhem, Alex remained unruffled, though Dalia knew he had to be in the same situation as everyone else. Instead, he shouted words of encouragement, attempting to calm his associates.
Dalia focused on moving as fast as she could so not to dwell on the orders piled high on her desk. She knew from experience that if she lost focus, she would tense up and slow down.
On one side of her orders, she dealt with traders unhappy about buying the shares and, on the other, salespeople unhappy about their low prices. Dalia felt relieved when the market settled after it had dropped one hundred and fifty points and orders became easier to execute. Finally, she eliminated the backlog of work.
When Dalia stopped to catch her breath, she realized something smelled awfully good, just as the department’s administrative assistant announced over the loudspeaker, “pizzas are here.”
Too busy to eat, Dalia stole a moment to reorganize her desk from the latest tirade when Amy showed up and dropped a plate with a slice of pizza and a can of soda in front of her.
“Eat,” she ordered, grabbing a seat while juggling two pieces of her own.
Dalia pushed the pizza to the side, not feeling hungry. But then again, she rarely was. From the corner of her eye, she caught Amy glaring at her.
“Now you eat that slice because if you don’t, I will, and three pieces would just be embarrassing,” warned Amy, somewhat playfully.
Knowing Amy wouldn’t relax enough to enjoy her lunch if Dalia didn’t start eating, she reached for the slice.
“By all means, Dalia, eat it. We can’t let Merriweather gorge herself after that huge breakfast she ate.” Alex piped in.
“Beast!” retaliated Amy, lifting another slice to her mouth.
Dalia laughed and took her first bite. A string of cheese dangled down her chin. She lapped it up with her tongue and blotted the grease from her face with a paper napkin. The pizza tasted delicious, and as usual, once she started eating, she enjoyed every bite.
“There you go!” said Amy. “Mangia!”
Dalia recognized her friends’ teasing for what it was—a veiled attempt to keep her weight up. She dropped her hand and squeezed her hip in search of extra skin. Using her personal barometer, she determined she still had ample padding.
Ever since her teenage days, Dalia would forget to eat whenever stressed or unhappy. When her father died, she dropped fifteen pounds. Before her overwrought mother understood what had happened, Dalia became dangerously thin. Everyone had naturally assumed she had developed anorexia at thirteen, but that diagnosis didn’t fit since she would eat with gusto whenever reminded. Emotions, it seemed, just pushed hunger out of her head.
The last time Dalia had allowed herself to get too thin was over five years ago, just before she had joined the firm of Tabor Fitzsimmons. Her two friends had encouraged her to regain a few pounds and remained determined that she should maintain a healthy weight. However, their good-hearted badgering wasn’t necessary, since her weight hadn’t been a problem for years.
Today’s pizza hit the spot. Dalia had to chuckle at her co-workers’ surprised expressions when she helped herself to a second slice.
“Dalia?” Alex’s attention returned to teasing the younger woman. “Were you out with Amy last night?”
“Uh, hmm, for a while. Smith Barney had a cocktail party. And, believe me, Amy was busy chasing the guys away, not chasing after them.”
“Come on now, don’t start any nasty rumors,” Amy scolded jokingly.
“But Dalia, how could you let her drink so much?” Alex's lips twisted, suppressing a grin.
“Well, Alex, first of all, I’m not her mother. And secondly, I only stayed for an hour or so. She was fine when I left.”
“Come on, Alex,” said Amy, playing miffed. “You know she has to get home to those beautiful girls of hers.”
Dalia glanced at the snapshots taped to the edge of one of her monitors. She smiled at the images of her two girls, blonde and blue-eyed, like their father.
“That’s just what you need, Amy––a husband and a couple of kids,” advised Dalia.
“No, I would never get a family to match yours. And, besides, I’m having too much fun being single.”
Dalia agreed—on both counts. Her thoughts lingered on her daughters. Emily, her ballerina, was eight years old, and Kelly, her tomboy, six. They would be in school now. Dalia checked the time, expecting a call at 3:30 PM when they walked through the door.
Dalia sighed. A pang of regret ran through her at the thought of not being there to greet them when they got home. Her only consolation was knowing that the girls would be in her mother’s capable hands.
Lines lit up, and a fresh burst of phone calls brought Dalia back to the present. Alex’s voice barked over the loudspeaker.
“Looks like they want to turn them here, guys. If you get the chance to buy something cheap, now’s the time.”
As usual, his instincts had proven correct. The market started moving up as quickly as it had gone down. Dalia threw away the trash from lunch. She took a deep breath and started to field the phones again, taking an order to buy 15,000 shares of NGXP. She then pressed the button to ring the firm of Douglas Green.
“Trading.” A familiar voice picked up the line.
“Good afternoon, Jesse.”
“Hey lady, what’s cooking?”
“I’ve got an order for you. NGXP 16 top to buy 15,000 shares.”
“Sure. Stay here a second.”
She heard him call out to his trader, repeating her order. Voices in the background buzzed. After a few seconds, Jesse repeated to her his trader’s response.
“Dalia, how about we make you good on 3000 here at 15 3/4 and go to work?”
“Okay, let me know.” She hung up and moved on to the next call. Orders continued to stream in.
Suddenly, a fire alarm sounded in the distance.
“A fire drill now?” Dalia complained, annoyed at the disturbance.
“They didn’t notify us of a drill.” Amy’s brow creased.
Then the alarm above their heads wailed, and a voice squawked over the building’s loudspeaker. “Evacuate the building. This is not a drill.”
Dalia jumped to her feet, then hesitated, her fingers pressed against her temples. What should I do? I can’t leave the floor now––I have all these orders. The market’s still open! My God, the place is on fire. What should I do? Her mind spun in circles.
“Come on, move!” shouted Alex. “That means you, Dalia!”
“Oh, right–” she muttered, snapping out of it when her co-workers rushed past her. One snatched Amy by the arm and pulled her to her feet. Both women sprinted to the fire exit, where they found a mass of people trying to squeeze through the narrow door leading to the stairway.
Almost at a standstill, Dalia’s heart pounded. She fought the urge to push past those blocking the door. To calm the panic building inside her, she silently chanted. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.
Within seconds, she saw Amy get out the door, then vanish from sight. Finally, Dalia pushed through from the bright fluorescent lighting into the half-lit gloom of the smoke-filled stairway. Gripping the handrail, she ran down the stairs. With each quick, shallow breath, the stench of smoke grew stronger, stinging her eyes and causing them to tear. Eyes burning, Dalia gripped the railing harder.
Within seconds, a symphony of panting breaths from the surrounding throng of people reverberated in her ears. Some yelled, shouting at anyone in their way or at no one in particular. Others pleaded to God. Quite a few of the women, scared out of their wits, openly sobbed as they descended the stairs. Dalia, doing her best to block the frightful noises from her mind, focused on the step ahead of her. Then the next, and the next.
After racing down four flights, a new, more terrifying sound reached her ears––children and babies crying. At first, Dalia dismissed the sounds to hysteria, but realized soon enough the screams were coming from actual children––the daycare center in the building! Their frightened voices and cries grew louder and more panic-stricken as she rounded the next corner.
Approaching the 5th-floor landing, Dalia could vaguely make out the figure of a woman using her body to hold open a door as she handed a toddler to a passing man through the haze of smoke.
“There are more children inside,” she cried. “Please help us. We can’t carry them all.”
A large man reached out and clutched the next child, hardly missing a beat as he continued his descent down the steps. The woman just as quickly turned toward the daycare and returned, carrying the next infant in her arms. Dalia’s gut wrenched when two men directly ahead of her, in their panic, ran past without even a side-glance at the child.
When Dalia reached the landing, she took the baby from the woman with a calmness she didn’t feel. Glancing down, she judged the child to be no more than five months old. His tiny mouth was now wide open, but his eyes remained closed as if to put all his worth into a scream. When Dalia drew him closer to her body, the baby clutched two fistfuls of her blouse. She could have sworn her heart skipped a beat when she felt how hard the baby clung to her.
Dalia raced down the steps as fast as she could, but the baby’s added weight threatened to slow her down. But people from the rear pressed down on her like a force, ready to trample over if she didn’t keep up.
When she got to the third-floor landing, she hesitated, but only long enough to shift the baby to the opposite hip. Sweat dripped off her face and rolled down her spine. Her hair, soaked through with sweat, stayed matted to her face, while frenzied strands of her chestnut hair came loose from its braid.
The smoke billowed and thickened, filling Dalia’s lungs and stinging her eyes. She coughed and grew dizzy. Her exhausted legs felt heavy to move as she struggled to keep going. Somehow, she garnered a renewed strength when she glimpsed the promise of sunlight beckoning to her through the open door at the bottom of the next flight.
Then a scuffle broke out behind her.
People cried out in outrage, and within seconds, a hand gripped her arm and shoved her to the side. A man came from the rear and hurled himself past the people before her, pushing his way into the sunlight.
Dalia screamed as she lost her balance. Panicked, she wrapped her arms around the baby, holding him tight, but that left her without any way to catch her fall. She mis-stepped, slamming her head into the wall as her weight propelled her forward.
Dalia braced herself and the baby against the inevitable fall, just as a hand gripped her from behind, steadying her. She turned to find Tom. He stepped down next to her, lending support under her elbow as they cleared the last flight of stairs towards safety.
Dalia escaped from the building, gasping for air. The sudden change in lighting blinded her for a moment. She stood, eyes blinking and frozen in place as people spun and swirled around her, until her vision adjusted to the sunshine.
A chill, perhaps from shock or maybe the change in temperature after leaving the heat of the dark, smoky stairway, spread through her damp, shaking body. Trembling, she drank in the fresh air with deep gulps that quickly soothed her throat and eased her breathing.
After she could see clearly again, she searched for Tom to thank him for his help, but he had already disappeared into the crowd. Then she glanced down at the infant still cradled in her arms. Dalia loosened her grasp so she could get a better view of her charge. Her mouth twisted into a bittersweet grin when she noticed his adorably chubby face. She placed a kiss on top of his head, his trace of silky blonde hair brushing against her lips.
She handed the baby to an EMS worker, while another guided Dalia across the street, away from the building. She glanced over her shoulder at the baby and smiled as she walked. Despite the distance, she could still make out his unrelenting cry, now mixed with the other children’s disgruntled voices.
She smiled, grateful her small charge sounded strong, healthy, mad––but very much alive.
With nothing left to do but wait, Dalia found an empty spot to stand amid the fire trucks and the curious New Yorkers, all standing around the perimeter, gawking at the sight.
“Dalia!” Amy shouted, running to her, disheveled and covered in soot, looking so unlike her stylish self that Dalia had to laugh and hug her tight.
They both turned to stare at the building.
“I don’t see any flames,” said Amy, shivering.
Dalia hugged her and pointed. “There’s smoke billowing from the top floors.” The top meant thirty floors high.
“Those poor people.” Amy looked away.
Alex rushed up to where the women stood. “Thank God, you're both safe,” he panted, letting out a sigh of relief at finding them.
Dalia knew Alex felt responsible for all his employees, and there was no hiding the afternoon’s stress that had left deepened lines etched around his eyes, aging him a good ten years. But then, out of nowhere, Amy giggled, and his face instantly brightened.
“What in the world could you be laughing at?” Alex asked, shaking his head at her as though she were a wayward child.
“You, sir, are a mess,” Amy said, although she wore the same soot.
Dalia grinned and shrugged.
Alex glanced down at his white shirt, smudged with gray and dirt. “I don’t know what you mean. This is a new fashion statement, Merriweather.”
Dalia rolled her eyes.
“Have you heard what happened?” Amy jutted her chin toward the smoking building.
“Yeah. I hear it started in the cafeteria,” said Alex. “They have it contained now. Luck was with us, getting everyone out of the building safely. The only one from our crew I haven’t seen is Tom.”
“He got out okay,” Dalia offered. “I saw him. Speaking of luck, it was a good thing he was behind me on the stairwell. He saved me from a nasty fall.”
“That’s good to hear, but I’ll feel better if I see him for myself.” Alex hugged each woman and rushed off in search of Tom.
While Amy continued to watch the activity at the building’s front, Dalia focused on the drama unfolding around the children from the daycare center. A crew of EMS workers had already gathered the children to a central location. Others tried in vain to calm hysterical parents, many covered in soot, screaming their children’s names as they frantically searched for their babies.
Dalia watched one particular woman searching feverishly through the crowd. Her face an array of conflicting emotions: longing, fear, but most of all, dread. Dalia, all too familiar with the anxiety that went along with knowing you may soon learn that your child is hurt or even dead, felt the young mother’s relief and joy when she found her child.
The adrenaline Dalia had used to escape the building had now left her depleted and exhausted. Her mind, overcome, slowly assessed her current situation. She attempted to swallow, but her dry throat ached almost as much as the lump forming on the back of her head. Still, she decided, she had made it out mostly unharmed––at least physically.
Today’s events would inevitably have a long and lasting effect. But as much as Dalia hated to admit it, fire or not, she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with her outstanding orders while she remained stuck out on the pavement, drenched in grime.
