Penny Whimsy

I slid four photos across the desk. Each held an obverse and reverse photo of one of the coins I was offering today. They were about five times normal size and extremely clear. James and Maurice spent several minutes going over each picture. Finally, James spoke. "What did you have in mind for these four?"

"A quick check on the most recent auction results let me to believe that about one million three would be in the ballpark."

"I was thinking one point one, but your figure is not out of the question." Maurice did indeed know his pennies.

" I only want eight hundred thousand for the lot, but it must be handled in a special way."

James leaned back in his chair and smiled. I think we can handle that. How special are you talking about?"

I had a form letter that I had picked up from the Land Trust explaining how to donate land. I gave it to Mister Towers along with the real estate listing for John Smerd's orchard. "I want you to buy this piece of land and donate it to the Madison Land Trust. The price is six hundred thousand dollars. You get a very nice tax deduction and become humanitarians. The rest of the money, I'll take in cash."

"Give us a minute please." James and Maurice walked to the other side of the room. After a few minutes, Maurice left. James came back to the table. "Do you have the coins with you?"

"Yes. I also have the fifth coin that I would like to leave with you."

Mister Cookson came back to the table with a purple Crown Royal bag. This time he was speaking. " We are willing to meet your terms on the first part of the deal and we are hoping you can meet ours on a second part." He then dumped the purple bag out onto the desktop. It consisted of almost a hundred miscellaneous coins, mostly gold, but some silver. "The retail price on this collection is close to three hundred thousand. For several reasons, that we will not discuss, it is difficult for us to sell them. You, however, will have no problem. I understand that you have sold coins on eBay before. Is that correct?" I simply nodded.

"These coins, that you also got from your grandfather, should sell easily, and we will both come out ahead. I assure you that you will have no difficulty." This was said with a slight wink.

I gave it a moment's reflection and then agreed to the arrangement. I handed over the four pennies to Mister Towers and we all shook hands.

"Now Mister Simmons, tell us about this fifth coin."

"I held a photo in my hand and looked at Mister Cookson. "What is the highest graded 1793 strawberry you ever saw?"

"I never actually saw one, but I believe the highest graded is a Fair 12."

"I graded this one as a Good 8, but I am not a professional." He wasn't looking at the picture; he was looking at my face as I said that.

Both of them were trying to see the photo at the same time. Cookson had a big smile on his face and I could see dollars signs in Tower's eyes.

"How much?"

"Best offer, if you can figure out how to pay me."

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Mister Simmons?"

"Sure, black would be fine."

They both left the room with the picture, and a few minutes later a young lady brought me a cup of coffee. "Mister Towers will be with you in a few minutes. He had to make some phone calls. Will you be all right?"

I nodded yes and started to enjoy my coffee.

It was thirty minutes later when Towers came back into the room with an absolutely beautiful lady. She had dark eyes, raven hair and looked to be Middle-Eastern. I guessed that she was no more than thirty. She was well dressed and carried herself with authority. I thought for a second that I recognized her, but could not remember from where.

"Hello, my name is Letisha Rothberg. Do you have a passport, Mister Simmons?" Her voice was deep but still feminine.

"Yes."

"Good. We are leaving for Kennedy shortly, so that we can get you a new offshore bank account. Do you have something to give to Mister Towers?"

I gave James the 1793 strawberry and he looked like a little boy at Christmas. "Thank you, thank you," he said as he left the room. We had not arrived at a price, but I still had seven coins that Towers wanted. Mister Towers agreed to hold the small bag of coins until I returned.

An hour later, Letisha and I were on a plane to the Cayman Islands. She didn't talk much. Several photographers were anxious to take her picture when we arrived at the airport. She seemed annoyed with them, but still smiled nicely. I had no idea what the interest was. It was my first time flying first class and it ended way too soon.

A bright yellow, mini SUV was waiting for us at the terminal. My hostess did not hesitate to jack her skirt up to her thighs as she slid into the driver's seat. To my embarrassment, she caught me sneaking a peek at her tanned legs. She seemed amused at my discomfort. Twenty minutes later, we were parked in the lower level of a medium-sized condominium type building. Letisha Rothberg owned the entire building, but kept the top floor as a private suite.

"Can I get you anything, Mister Simmons?"

"A beer would be nice." The view of her leaving the room was as good as the flash of leg at the terminal. It was not my nature to ogle young women, but Letisha Rothberg was special.

We walked out to a small balcony overlooking the ocean. It was pretty, but the wind was a little too much for my taste. I guess she was trying to impress me with the grandeur of the location. It was beautiful, but I was more interested in the new bank account I was getting.

"You don't speak much Mister Simmons. Surely, there must be a few questions for which you would like to have answers?"

I found it odd that a woman of her class and position would be drinking beer out of a bottle. I could picture her sipping champagne or a martini, but not beer. She was not going to have that figure long, if she continued

"I usually find it better to wait things out, but I guess you could tell me why we needed to come here to open a bank account."

"It is a simple, safe, and secure place for you to receive money. I think it will work out well for you."

"It's only one coin."

"Yes, but you have seven more."

"I am sorry, but it still seems like a little overkill."

To my pleasure, we went back inside, out of the wind. "Could you accept this? I brought you down here to make you my sex slave for a few days."

I have to admit, the unexpected comment did bring a smile to my face. I automatically recognized it as bullshit, but still found it humorous. She had a sense of humor, she was good looking, and she was rich. What more could a man ask for? If only I was ten years younger. "It's not nice to tease an old man."

We both enjoyed a mild snicker at the situation. "Come on, Mister Simmons. Lets go get a few fresh lobster's for supper." We finished our longnecks and started out the door.

The restaurant and the meal were outstanding. I didn't really enjoy the wine my hostess selected, but tried to be gracious. It didn't work.

"What's wrong with the wine, Mister Simmons?"

"I was that obvious? I'm sorry. It was an unintentional, sort of reflex action. When I was eighteen, I got drunker than a dog on cheap white wine. I was never more miserable before, or since. Every time I smell or taste white wine, I get nauseous. I can't explain it."

"That's good wine, but don't worry about it." Five minutes later we had two cold longnecks.

Oddly enough, there wasn't much conversation during the meal. We each finished up with a fruit sherbet and a coffee.

"Tell me about yourself. Are you married? Do you have any children? What do you do for a living? We have all night and I am dying to know what brought us together."

"That's a lot of questions. I have two daughters. Both of them are at Columbia getting degrees in International Banking, or something like that. I don't really know. I just pay the tuition."

"That's interesting. I have a Masters from Columbia and I am one of their guest lecturers. I must meet both of them. Did you see them this morning?"

"We had lunch together. They hate it when I cause them to miss classes."

"You must have been married young to have two girls in college."

"That sounds like the kind of line a guy would use."

I felt comfortable with this Mediterranean beauty. I could have talked all night with her.

"I am presently estranged from my wife. That's an odd word. I never thought I would be in a position to use it. She left me for a wealthy, wheeler-dealer. I think he builds shopping malls or business complexes. In any event, he has a fancy car and a big apartment. She told me that she had decided to trade up. The divorce will be final in about four weeks."

"That's a stupid reason to leave a good marriage. I am assuming that everything was fine up until the time she met this guy."

"I guess. She was never really happy with my choice of work. I had several opportunities to advance, but she refused to move. I was not happy about it, but decided it was necessary to keep the marriage going. Now, I feel like a sap."

"And what is it that you do?"

There was an awkward pause on my part. How do you tell a beautiful, rich, successful woman that you are a produce manager at a supermarket? She noticed my discomfort and reacted accordingly.

"It's not important. We can talk about it later."

"No. That's Okay I am not ashamed of what I do. It is just that being a supermarket produce manager is not the type of job that impresses the ladies. It doesn't bother my daughters, but my wife used to purposely forget to mention it to people. I could tell that it bothered her."

"Do you like what you do?"

"Yes, and I am good at it."

The server brought some more coffee and cleared the table.

"Mister Simmons, I realize that you have only known me for a short period of time, but I think first impressions are important. Very briefly, what is your first impression of me?"

The question put me in an awkward position. If I answered honestly, I could alienate her and if I tried to butter her up, I felt sure she would see through it and tab me as a phony. What to do? What to do?

"Briefly, I see you as beautiful, intelligent, well-educated, and confident."

Her head was tilted slightly down and her eyes were looking up at me. I noticed a small grin. "I was hoping for some honesty."

"I am sorry, but we were having such a pleasant evening that I hated to ruin it."

"Is your true opinion of me that bad?"

"I don't want you to get upset with me."

"Maybe that is why your wife left you for another man. If you hadn't always tried to please her you might have had a stronger marriage."

It was a mean thing to say, but I have to admit there was a sliver of truth to it.

"Miss Rothberg, I believe you are cunning and manipulative. You use your beauty and charm to get what you want. You are used to getting your way, and I sense that you are a little bit of a spoiled brat. You play with men, but have a fear of commitment. Apparently, you know how to make money as well as spend it and invest it, wisely. If you weren't so obsessed with proving that you were as good as any man, you would probably make a good mother."

I felt bad after I said that, but she pissed me off with her comment about my marriage. We just sat and stared at each other for a few moments.

"Do you really think I would be a good mother?"

The mood suddenly lightened up tremendously. Everything was pleasant again on the short ride back to the condo. I knew that she heard everything I said, but she seemed to accept it with no argument. She wanted the truth, so I gave it to her. The fact that she didn't get upset made me feel better about being honest with her.

My night as Letisha Rothberg's sex slave turned out to be a little boring. It is hard to have sex in separate bedrooms. It was Okay, since I wasn't expecting anything, anyway. I was the first one up the next morning, and found a breakfast of fruit, Danish, and hot coffee, waiting along with a copy of the Wall Street Journal. The wind had died down, so I enjoyed myself on the balcony overlooking the Caribbean. I could get used to this.

Letisha joined me after about twenty minutes, and grabbed part of the paper, in a jokingly way. We sat in silence, reading and sipping coffee, as if we had been doing it for years. I knew this woman less than a day and everything about her felt natural and comfortable.

"I am afraid my phone will not work here, and I really feel that I should call my daughters."

Letisha handed me her cell phone. "Be my guest."

"Cindy, It's Dad."

"Where are you? Is everything Okay? The cell phone says London."

" I am in the Caymans and everything is fine. I just thought I should let you know, since I didn't go straight home, that I am staying with a friend. I had to use her phone."

"Your picture was on TV last night. They showed you getting on an airplane with Letisha Rothberg. What the hell are you doing with Letisha Rothberg?"

"She's the friend that I am staying with. What is the big deal?"

"Why are you with her?"

"It's Okay. There isn't anything sneaky going on. I don't understand your concern."

"Dad. That woman is a barracuda. She eats men for breakfast."

Letisha was bringing in the breakfast tray from the balcony. As she passed by, I couldn't help myself. "It's my daughter Cindy, in New York. She said I should be careful because you are a barracuda."

Of course, Cindy heard me say this to Letisha and made a loud moan over the phone. I could make out Cindy and Sandy having a quick discussion on the other end.

"Why are you there? How do you know her? When are you coming home?"

Before I could answer any of her questions, Letisha was standing there with her hand out, waiting for me to hand her the phone.

"Hi Cindy, this is Letisha. Your father has told me about you and your sister. I will be in New York tomorrow and would like to have lunch with the two of you. Where can I pick you up?"

Of course, I had no way of knowing the other side of this conversation.

"Who is the professor?" (pause) "No problem I'll pick you up from the classroom at eleven. Okay, I'll say 'goodbye' for you. Bye now."

Letisha handed the cell phone back to me. "Your daughter said 'goodbye'. I'll be having lunch with them tomorrow. I promise to be nice, even though they think I am a fish." She gave me a little giggle and with a swish of her butt, she went to her room.

An hour later, we were in the Cayman Federal Reserve Bank. Under the experienced tutelage of my hostess, I got my first off-shore bank account, and twenty minutes later, I saw one point four million US dollars wired to my new account, from Towers and Burnes. I thought it was a fair price for a two hundred and fifteen year old penny.

That afternoon, she had a friend take us out to feed the manta rays. At supper, I asked her why she was working for an outfit like Towers and Burnes and found out that she owned sixty percent of the company.

"What else can you tell me about yourself. Apparently you are a major player on the world financial scene and I am embarrassed to say I know nothing about you."

"I was born and raised in London. My father is Israeli and my mother is Turkish. I have an MBA from Columbia. I am not married, but I have been engaged twice. I have not had a serious relationship in over three years. I have learned not to trust men who show any interest in me. I guess you could say I am cynical, but I feel that most of them want something from me, and have nothing to offer in exchange."

"That's sad. I was hoping to get a ride back to the condo. Does that mean you don't trust me?"

"You are supposed to take this seriously, you big jerk."

"I'm sorry if I appear insensitive. I didn't mean to be. I guess I am having a hard time relating to your problem. I'll try and do better."

"Okay, lets lighten up. We have a party to go to."

We ended the evening at a cocktail party in one of the larger hotels. Everyone knew her and treated her like a celebrity.

I spent the evening trying to stay more inconspicuous than I already was. I still had on the street clothes I wore to New York. I had not anticipated a side trip to the tropics. Letisha seemed obligated to escort me at first, but I convinced her to enjoy herself and let me blend into the woodwork, where I felt comfortable. She tried, but kept checking up on me most of the night.

Somehow or other, I found myself chatting with a couple of Latin gentlemen, cattle ranchers from Argentina. The conversation started off about soccer and then graduated to fishing. At least it was in English, I assume, for my benefit. One of them remarked on how attractive Letisha looked, not knowing that I was her escort for the evening. I felt a little flattered. My contribution to the chit-chat consisted mostly of smiles and nods. I was not knowledgeable enough on any of the subjects to add anything significant, until Ramon Duarte brought up the subject of investments.

He was interested in winter wheat. I listened to him explaining in great detail about why he was going to move a lot of his money into something that he obviously didn't know anything about. I got the impression he was quite wealthy and I became a little confused as to how he got that way. I usually pride myself on having a poker face, but it appeared that this time, I didn't have it.

"Mister Simmons, I can tell from the expression on your face that you don't agree with me on the winter wheat investment."

I got caught. I was supposed to remain unseen and unheard. My cloak of invisibility had failed me.

"I am sorry Ramon. I am afraid I am not an investor and I don't understand the complexities of the whole thing." I called him by his first name, because it felt awkward to address him formally.

"Maybe so, but I get the feeling that you do have an opinion on the subject. I am going to pick away at you until you share it with us."

I was trapped. I tried to display a small smile. "I need a fresh drink."

For the next hour, the two gentlemen carefully listened to the green-grocer from Alabama, explain how the excellent winter wheat crop in Alberta and Saskatchewan would more than make up for the poor crop in the States. The Canadian Grain Board had rented all the available grain silos in North and South Dakota to hold the excess, and was even reserving railroad grain cars for short-term storage. Within the week, the futures of winter wheat would start to drop and would continue to do so until the market stabilized. Both Canada and the States would be forced to unload wheat overseas.

I was running out of clever things to say when Letisha walked up. Ramon and his friend were flattered that she joined our little group and truly surprised when she grabbed my arm and led me away.

"What the hell was that all about, Gary?"

"We were just talking about food; you know groceries."

She gave me a little smile, as we left to return to the condo.

The next morning we flew back to New York, where a group of photographers were more than eager to get pictures of her arrival. A courier from Towers and Burnes handed me a small package, containing the coins I had left behind. Letisha and I said our goodbyes, and I walked to the commuter terminal for the flight back to Huntsville.

The divorce was still proceeding as planned, as was the sale of the house. Phil Williams, from the head office, left me several messages to call him. There were asking me again, to consider relocating to the corporate headquarters in New York. This time, I accepted. John Smerd left a message also. He wanted to get together for lunch. I cleaned out my locker at work and wished my replacements good luck. The newspaper had a picture of Clayton and Marcie attending a Bar-B-Q for one of the local politicians. They looked like the perfect couple.