Sexy Schmutz

Samantha Franklin was the last person you’d expect to find working on a trading desk. She was a tree-hugging libertarian, an English major, wildly math-averse, a devout feminist. She’d only taken the temp job at Bear Stearns because her rent was late and she had two kittens to feed.

Each investment banking on Wall Street had an internal radio station that broadcast proprietary trading news and stock rating changes. As long as anyone could remember, there had been a woman named Debbie -- in the 1970s? early 1980s? – that created the trading desk liaison job, someone to fetch the why and the who when stock prices went awry. Since it was too difficult for traders to remember women’s names, the job had always been called The Debbie.

The Debbie was expected to be part human Wikipedia, part psychic, part radio disc jockey. Traders preferred The Debbie to be young and pretty. Samantha was perfect for the job. Samantha’s temp job up in research was excellent training ground. The research director saw potential and sent her to night school to get her stockbroker’s license. When she was promoted to The Debbie, she’d been at Bear Stearns two years. But absolutely nothing could have prepared Samantha for that first day on the trading desk.

“Yo, new Debbie! Mister Softee’s getting peed on by Shearson. Call that fuckface. I mean what the fucking fuck, down 20%. Make it snappy Debbie, we are taking it up the ass. Fuckwit.”

Samantha blanched, horrified at how in over her head she was. Why had she believed the research director when he’d said she’d be perfect to be the next Debbie? Karen – one of three women on the floor of three hundred men – leaned over to translate.

“Welcome to the big time, Samantha. Mister Softee is the nickname for Microsoft, ticker MSFT. It’s getting hammered and we are hearing that Shearson Lehman is selling big blocks of the Microsoft stock, which doesn’t make sense because their research analyst currently has a buy rating on the stock. Lee Demski is the guy in the Debbie job over at Shearson. He can help out. Maybe. He’s moody. And handsy. He’ll be a great contact for you, just keep him at arm’s length.”

“Hey, yo, new Debbie! You seizing over there? Mister Softee. Demski, he’s peeing on it. Get that fuckface on the horn now.”

Karen slid Lee’s business card on to Samantha’s keyboard. “It’s his direct dial number. You owe me one kid.”

“Samantha, huh? I’d heard there was a hot new Debbie at the Bear. Welcome to the madness. Lemme guess, you’re calling about Mister Softee. Yep, we are getting ready to put out a hold rating on Mister Softee.”

“Thanks, Lee. I would like a copy the report, please.”

“I don’t help just anyone, Samoli Canoli. I need something from you first, tit for tat if you will. Describe the panties you are wearing today, and I’ll send you our Microsoft report and tomorrow’s Intel rating change.”

Samantha was relieved that Lee couldn’t see her shocked expression; she was truly knocked for a loop by Lee’s blatant sexism. Did this count as sexual harassment?

“Well, Lee, if you must know, today I am sporting my favorite granny panties. They were white when my grandma bought them for me at Sears, but now they are more a shade of gray. What’s left of the leg elastic is as droopy as Apple stock, but they get the job done.”

Lee was glad no one was around to see coffee splurting out of his nose, as he was caught off guard by Samantha’s answer. So they finally got a smart Debbie at Bear.

“Touché, new Debbie. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Hey, Friday, come meet me for drinks at the Oyster Bar,” said Lee.

“I’ll meet you for drinks provided you stop calling me new Debbie,” said Samantha.

“Okay, I hear ya. How about Sugartits?”

That was five years ago, and Lee and Samantha had been inseparable ever since. She was desperately in need of a mentor; he craved an acolyte.

Last year, Samantha admitted to her therapist that she felt like she was starting to fall for Lee.

“It’s great to find you have found someone who sticks with you, Samantha. Have you thought about sharing these feelings?” asked the therapist.

“With who? With Lee? That would be a disaster. Yeesh.”

“A disaster because …" asked the therapist.

“First, he’s in search of a nice Jewish girl. Second, such a chauvinist! Third, and probably most important is that it would destroy me if people thought I’d just slept my way to the top,” explained Samantha.

And yet, and yet, Samantha was enthralled by Lee. Yes, his attitude bordered on misogyny, but damn, to Samantha nothing was sexier than a smart, handsome, ambitious man who had brunch with his mother every Sunday.

Two weeks ago, they had had their first fight. They were at the Oyster Bar, their usual Friday night meeting spot. Lee had asked how her weekend in Jersey with her boyfriend Bryan had been. She hesitated to tell him anything about her weekend because Lee really hated Bryan and he also hated runners. “That New York Road Runner’s Club is just a dumb cult. Why run when there’s the world’s greatest subway system?

Samantha decided this would be a good trust exercise with Lee and told him she’d dropped into a dead faint in the middle of the half marathon in Asbury Park.

“Gotta admit, Lee, it really freaked me out. Still does. I’ve never fainted before. Have you? It’s horrible. Anyway, I wished Bryan had stopped to help me. He said he didn’t have any medical training and could see that two other runners had stopped. But still …”

“God, are you okay? And he didn’t stop! Are you fucking kidding me? He’s a schmuck, is what he is. Maybe even a sociopath. Truly. You deserve better, Sugartits.”

Lee reached over and ran his index and middle fingers down the back of her hand. Slowly. Pausing to make a small swirl. Then sliding down to her wrist. Samanth felt the spark, the heat. Such a small touch and yet it felt like her world had cracked open. Samantha yanked her hand away quickly, afraid of change. If he had that much sultriness in one finger, she couldn’t fathom what lay beyond.

Lee stood up, threw a fifty-dollar bill in the bread basket, and said curtly “Sorry. Sam-oli, I gotta hop.”

Grabbing a taxi home, Lee was furious that he had been such a jerk. He just did not know how to put the attraction genie back in the fucking bottle. For this past year, Lee had come to realize that it wasn’t just a passing flirt, he could not imagine life without her. He had never felt this way, ever. He had started to worry, as he slid into his 40s, that maybe he just was cursed.

Contrary to his machismo swagger, Lee did not want an awkward one-night stand with Samantha, and he refused to be her rebound guy after she ditched Bryan. Also, he did not want to be the reason she left Bryan. Ultimately, Lee was annoyed at this surprising, persistent attraction. He knew better than to fall for a shiksa. No good could come from that.

Lee had kept her at arm’s length after he’d caressed her at the Oyster Bar. What the fuck had he been thinking? When Samantha needed a Shearson IPO prospectus, she’d tasked her assistant with calling him to ask for it. That felt like a blow right to the sternum.

After two weeks of chilly, terse calls, Lee called Samantha Friday morning and told her to meet him at the corner of Park and 48th, so they could share a taxi to the upper west side pharmaceutical conference happy hour.

When she got into the taxi, he was thrilled to lean a little closer, just enough to see if she still had that fruity smell.

“New bra Sugartits? You are looking particularly resplendent tonight.”

“Actually Lee, I’m going commando today as my laundry basket overfloweth.”

Samantha was relieved that they were returning to their comfortable just-friends patter. Traffic was bad enough they decided to walk the last six blocks. When the bar was in sight, Lee stopped and turned, staring at Samantha.

Her heart galloped wildly.

I’ve been daydreaming of our first kiss for eons, is he truly going to kiss me right in front of the pharma analysts? Timing, dude, timing!

“Hang on, Sam-oli.. There’s some schmutz in your hair.” Lee put his left hand on her shoulder and with his right hand he pulled dandelion fluff from behind her left ear.

“Make as wish,” he instructed, as he blew the fluff away.

Lee leaned in, as though looking for more schmutz. His right thumb slowly, tenderly traced an invisible line down Samantha’s jaw.

Who knew the calloused thumb of a chauvinist could be so very sensual?

Samantha and Lee both gazed into each other’s eyes, and for just one second, they both allowed their hopes and longing and dreams to trickle out.

“Yo! Demski! Hands off WhammySammy dude!” shouted Ronnie, the guy who had planned the pharma happy hour. Though she feigned annoyance, she secretly adored her nickname. One of her first appearances on CNBC caused the market to open up 8%. Lee got on the Shearson radio station, unable to contain himself and announced to the traders “We are going up boys. WhamBam, thank you Sam!”

“Ronnie, pal-o-mine, you making good on that promise for a black and tan?”

They parted ways, Lee headed with Ronnie to the bar on the right while Samantha went to the left to scope out the appetizer buffet.

Samantha stared at chicken wings, potstickers, cubed cheese, horrified to feel that god-awful vision tunnelling and nausea like when she’d fainted at the half marathon. Lee returned to her side with her whiskey sour, and she remembered this was exactly how she felt right before she fainted. Her eyes widened as she felt a shocking electrical pang run through her left shoulder.

God, is this a heart attack?

Her vision narrowed to a pinpoint, her knees buckled and she grabbed Lee’s forearm with both hands. Right before she blacked out, she heard Madonna queue up and smirked at the irony.

Oh God I think I'm fallin' Out of the sky I close my eyes Heaven help me

When she blinked her way back into consciousness, she’s flat on her back on the art deco tiled floor, something soft under her head. Lee is on his knees next to her with his left hand holding an ice pack to her head, his large right hand on her sternum, as though keeping her from rolling away.

“Sam-oli Canoli, hang in there, the ambulance is on its way,” he said, his worry splashing everywhere.

Samantha lost consciousness again.

I hear your voice, it's like an angel sighin'

Samantha is finally fully awake on a gurney in the ER, and sees Lee’s worn silver-tipped cowboy boots under the privacy curtain. She’s surprised at how comforting his smoky, nasally voice is to her.

“So she’ll be okay, though, right? After you do the surgery?”

“I am sure she will recover. She’s young and in good shape. I forgot to ask when you brought her in Mr. Demski. Are you her husband?”

Samantha propped herself up on her elbows, listening intently.

“Not yet. I’m working on it. If she’ll have me.”

Did he just propose? Should I admit to eavesdropping so I can say, yes, yes, yes! A million times, never-thought-you’d-ask yes?

Lee ambled in and sat on the folding chair next to her gurney, straddling it backwards like a cowboy. Samantha noticed that his face is more wrinkly than she remembered, as though this trip to the ER snapped whatever string was holding his face taut.

Lee inhaled deeply, opened his mouth to speak, then exhaled heavily. He scratched at his stubble and shifted his eyes up to the heart rate monitor, as though looking for a clue.

“Lee, is this related to the pregnancy?”

He exhaled loudly, a wry grin sliding across his lips.

“Oh thank god, Sam. We weren’t sure if you knew. There are some complications, the doctor will be in soon. Ma and I are making sure you are getting the very best doctors in the city. But, Sam-oli, I gotta ask. Why is it you have a bun in the oven and I’m the last to know?”

She was in too much pain to explain that she was as shocked as he was. Bryan was very opposed to have children, claiming it wasn’t ecologically sustainable for the earth or some such rhetoric. She hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy mostly because she was still in shock that she’d managed to fall pregnant while on birth control pills.

“Um, Lee, hate to ask, but where’s Bryan?”

“So, ah, Sugarlips. About that. What can I say? I called him and told him to meet us here at Lennox Hill. He said he was working late on a deposition and …”

Lee called Bryan from the bar and was gobsmacked when Bryan didn’t even stop to ask what was wrong with Samantha. Thick with condescension, Bryan informed Lee that he was on partner track at Paul Weiss and he was unable to take time off for ‘some minor medical drama.’

What does she see in this putz?

“ … and that he’d want an update. If you want, Sammi, I can call him and tell him you are okay. Not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but you deserve someone who will crawl on their knees through broken class just to whiff the strawberry aroma that wafts from behind your earlobes.”

Samantha huffed a sigh of relief when the surgeon came in, clipboard in hand.

“I’m not sure if your fiancée here filled you in on next steps, but let’s walk through it together. You are pregnant, which is normally cause for congratulations. Unfortunately in your case...”

Fat, hot, insistent tears slid down the crease of Samantha’s nose and she is overwhelmed with fear, sadness, joy, anger.

Lee clasped Samantha’s left hand and their fingers intertwined easily. She noticed that his hand feels like a big bear paw, rough and warm. Lee brought their clasped hands up to his lips and kissed the tops of Samantha’s four knuckles. The heart rate monitor bipped erratically, quickly, betraying her deepest secret.

“From the ultrasound, it appears that you are about ten weeks along. However, the embryo is growing inside your fallopian tube, what is called an ectopic pregnancy. We’ll need to operate soon. With the fainting and shoulder pain, it’s possible the fallopian tube has started to rupture. We’ve got some consent forms for you to fill out and I’m hoping we can get you up to the OR soon. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Will I be able to get pregnant again, normally? Or does this mean…”

A new tank of tears opened, splashing everywhere.

Lee squeezed her hand.

“Sugarlips, we will cross that bridge later. All that matters right now is your health. Seriously. You scared the beejesus out of me.”

Lee refused to leave her side and as she ate breakfast the next morning, he absentmindedly stroked her forearm. The surgeon stopped by, reviewed her vitals, and said he was pleased with the surgery.

“You lost a lot of blood during the surgery, so you should take at least two weeks off work. No running for four weeks. The ob-gyn team will be in shortly as well.”

“Samantha, I can leave if you want some privacy."

“No, no, Lee. I think, as my fiancée,” — she paused long enough to arch her left eyebrow and give Lee a slight nod — “ you should be here for this.”

Color crept into Lee’s cheeks. He had wondered if she overheard him yesterday, when he implied they were engaged. Lee felt an internal knot unfurl, a joyous, confetti-splashed sense of elation, relief that she said yes, exhilaration that they would, indeed, merge their lives. Unbridled delight that he would not have to continue imagining a life without her.

Samantha finally convinced Lee that she was out of the woods and that she should survive a day or too without him.

When Lee arrived home, his first order of business was to check in with his mother. Second task: he changed into his sweats and running shoes. Even though he had insisted that running was just fucking dumb, six months ago he had started running to see what all the fuss was about. He hadn’t told Samantha because he did not want her to witness him doing something poorly. He’d tell her about his new hobby once he cracked a 10-minute mile.

Lee headed east to Central Park and turned on his Sports Walkman, tuned to WNEW. On hearing that first strum-strum of one of his favorite songs, he picked up his pace, glad to get a sign that it would all work out okay.

I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more

just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door.