Текст книги "Catch the Wolf of Wall Street"

Автор книги: Jordan Belfort

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I let out a great sigh. “I'm not sure, Nick. I mean, I probably would have assumed that he would just throw the note out, but I'm not really sure.” I paused and shook my head ironically. It was unbelievable! I had protected my friend, and as a way of saying thank you he ratted me out! Magnum had been right all along, and so had OCD. I was a fool, and now I was about to lose my life over it. I said, “Let me ask you a question, Nick: What's gonna happen here if I don't get a 5K letter? I mean, will I really end up doing thirty years?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Maybe even more. Joel will hit you with other charges on top of what you've already pled guilty to: You've got obstruction of justice, lying to a federal officer, and a few others too. But we cannotlet that happen. We need to do everything possible to stop this from going beyond this room.” He put his hand on my shoulder, the way a friend would. “I need to know right now—as your lawyer: Did you pass Dave Beall a note?”

I nodded sadly. “Yeah, Nick, I did. I passed him the note, and it said exactly what Coleman said it did.” I chuckled softly. “You know, it's hard to believe that I went out on a limb for a friend and this is what I get in return.”

The Yale-man nodded. “Can I ask you why you did it?”

I shrugged. “Why, does it matter?”

With surprise: “Of course it matters! If you were trying to protect Dave Beall because he was holding money for you or you were in the process of breaking the law with him, then this is not going to end well. But if it was simply a crisis of conscience, and you had nothing to gain other than holding on to some mistaken notion of self-respect, then there might be a way out of this. So which is it? Are you hiding something else or was it just because he's your friend?”

“The latter,” I said confidently, feeling like the boy who cried Wolf. “I swear to God about that, Nick”– shit! I had already done that today, and then lied!“I mean, this time I reallyswear to God! I had nothing to gain here other than to help a friend. That's it. I went to that meeting with every intention of getting Dave to talk, but then something happened when I sat at the table. I don't know—I just kinda looked at him and saw everything that Stratton could've been. I felt like it was my fault for corrupting him in the first place. I ignited his greed with those stupid meetings I used to give and all that sort of shit. And, unlike the other people I cooperated against, Dave was a friend, or at least I thought he was. Now I know that there are no friends—and that there is no loyalty—and that it's every man for himself!” I shook my head angrily. “Now I'm probably going to jail for the rest of my fucking life because of it!” I paused for a moment, trying to rein in my anger. “And what about my kids?” I shook my head in disbelief. “Chandler and Carter. Oh, God—what did I do?”

The Yale-man put his hand on my shoulder again and patted it a few times. “Okay,” he said. “Now we gotta pick up the pieces. We gotta clean this mess up.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Well, for starters, you gotta come clean with them immediately. We can't let this drag on past today.”

“Yeah? Well, Joel hates my guts, Nick. The second I admit to this, he's going to break my cooperation agreement. I know it.” I paused for a moment, thinking of the short-term ramifications. “I have to see my kids again. I need to one more time before this goes down. Just to kiss them good-bye and tell them that I love them.”

“I understand,” he said sympathetically. “And I'm sure that if I go outside and tell Joel that you have something to say to him, he'll agree not to take any immediate action; he'll at least think about it overnight.”

“And then what happens? What would you have done in this situation?”

He chuckled at that. “What would Ihave done?”

I looked at him dead serious. “Yeah—what would you have done? Would you break my cooperation agreement right on the spot, or would you give me a slap on the wrist?”

“There's no way I would break your agreement,” he answered quickly. “The consequences are too severe; and I would say that ninety percent of the AUSAs would agree with me.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, Joel doesn't fall into that ninety percent, but that doesn't mean he'll break your agreement. It's just that most of the AUSAs aren't as hard-nosed as Joel.

“But to answer your question, what I'd probably do is give you a stern warning—or, at worst, make you plead guilty to another charge, something like lying to a federal officer or maybe obstruction of justice. My goal would be to teach you a lesson and also to send a message to the jury that you've been punished for what you did.”

“What jury? I've already pleaded guilty.”

He shook his head. “I'm not talking about your jury; I'm talking about the jury you'll end up testifying against. Understand: This is all going to come out under cross-examination. That's why everyone is so pissed right now! I'm sure they know that your motives weren't evil. You were just trying to help a friend.

“Anyway, give me permission and I'll go out there right now and tell them that you're ready to come clean. Then Greg and I will roll up our sleeves and go to work for you, and we're going to pull out all the stops on this one. Once Greg finds out what happened, I'm sure he'll be back here tonight; then first thing tomorrow we'll be down at the U.S. Attorney's Office pleading your case. And we'll go right to the top if we have to. We have an excellent relationship with the chief of the criminal division, and, ultimately, that's who Joel has to go to to sign off on this. In the meantime, I would suggest you speak to Coleman and ask him to put in a good word for you. I know you guys have a good relationship; I've heard from more than one source that he genuinely likes you and that he respects you.”

“Yeah,” I said gravely, “maybe that used to be true, but it's not true anymore. I totally betrayed the guy.” I shook my head in embarrassment. “I mean, I don't even know how I'm going to face him again.” I bit my lower lip at the thought. “He must be really hating my guts right now.”

“Nehhh,” said the Yale-man, with a hint of a smile. “He doesn't hate you. In fact, I'm sure he understands exactlywhat happened here. You know, you're not the first cooperator to do this sort of thing; it happens more often than you think. But at least your heart was in the right place. I mean, Coleman would never admit it, but he probably respects you even more now.” He winked at me. “And so do I. So,that leaves us with Joel: We need to do everything we can to make sure he doesn't shut down your cooperation. Then we can move forward with our lives.”

I nodded, feeling very lucky that I had chosen De Feis O'Connell & Rose as my law firm. Not only were they first-rate lawyers but they were also friends, which was a commodity that I was quickly running out of. Of course, there was still a better than fifty-fifty chance that the Bastard would break my cooperation agreement or at least try to, but with Nick and Greg in my corner– and, if I was lucky, OCD—I still had a fighting chance.

Five minutes later, my captors were back inside the debriefing room, and I was spilling my very guts; thirty minutes later I was done. I had told them everything.

The Bastard took it well, or at least he seemed to. He showed little emotion—telling Nick afterward that he would be in touch with him in a few days. The Witch, to my surprise, stayed out of it, as did the Mormon.

And then there was OCD, who had been unusually quiet.

At first that troubled me—no, it devastated me, because I assumed that any goodwill I had built up with him had been permanently destroyed. After all, I had completely betrayed his trust. I had looked him in the eye and lied to him, and not just when I first handed him the tape but also right here in the debriefing room when he confronted me. So, yes, he had every right to lose my phone number and to chalk the whole thing up to experience.

But I had been wrong; he was just saving his thoughts for when the two of us were alone. That happened about ten minutes later, after he had escorted the Yale-man and me up the service elevator, through the lobby with its endless sea of dark-faced grim-faced semi-illegal aliens, and then out onto the street. It was then that the Yale-man turned left and headed for the subway, and OCD and I turned right and headed for the parking lot.

We were somewhere around Broadway, with 26 Federal Plaza rising up behind us and Broadway in front of us, when OCD stopped dead in his tracks and slapped me on the biceps and said, “What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Did you lose your mind or something?”

I stopped dead in my tracks too. “Yeah,” I replied sheepishly. “I did.”

OCD attacked: “Yeah—well, you're in some deep shit right now! Do you have any idea of the uphill battle you're facing with Joel? Christ!You don't get it! You're playing with your life here!” He compressed his lips and shook his head. “I can't believe it! And after what you've done, now I gotta go to bat for you and plead your fucking case to Joel, and to my boss, and to Joel's boss, and to everyone else around here!

“And do you have any idea how much fucking paperwork I gotta do because of this shit?” He shook his head angrily. “Unbelievable!” he muttered. “What did I tell you that night when you were all upset about wiring up against Beall? Come on, you're the one with the photographic memory! So, tell me, genius: What did I say to you?”

With my tail between my legs: “You said that if the shoe were on the other foot he would do the same thing to me. And you were right. I don't know what to say.” I paused, trying to find the right words. “Would you like to know why I did it?”

“No,” he answered flatly. “Don't waste your breath. I already know why you did it. That's why I'm out here talking to you and you're not sitting in jail already.” He shook his head some more. “Anyway, it's your mess, and now I gotta try to clean it up. I want to thank you for that.”

I didn't quite know what to say, so I said, “Well, what are friends for?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, “you—my friend. Christ!Who needs enemies when I have cooperators like you?” More head-shaking now. “Anyway, listen to me very closely: I can't promise you how this is gonna turn out, but I'll do everything in my power to try to salvage your life. In return, I want you to step up your cooperation to new levels. You've done a good job so far, but onlygood. You could do better—much, much better. I know what you're capable of and so does Joel, and that's the biggest thing you got in your corner. Now—you know who the targets are, my friend. So I want you to go home tonight and rack your brain on how to reach out to them. This way, while I'm busy pleading with Joel to spare your life, I can tell him that you're prepared to take your cooperation to a whole new level. You understand?”

“Yeah. Clearly,” I said. “You were right all along: There's no loyalty in this world. And everyone rats.” And with that we shook hands and parted ways.

How odd it was that when I sat down with George that very evening, and I asked him to place a phone call to Elliot Lavigne to see if he would send me a bit of the money he owed me in my hour of need, George hung up the phone a minute later, astonished.

“According to your friend Elliot,” George said tonelessly, “you don't need money in jail. Then he told me to wish you well and to go fuck myself. Then he hung up on me.”

Fair enough, I thought. There were a few people in this world I'd committed crimes with who thought they had gotten away with it. Well, they were in for a rude awakening.

CHAPTER 19

SUPER RAT

t was one of those sweltering early-August days, a Tuesday, and the island of Manhattan was being smothered by a soupy air mass of such stillness and oppressiveness that by ten a.m. you could literally feelthe atmosphere on your skin. But inside the law offices of De Feis O'Connell & Rose, perfection!The building's air conditioner was working overtime as the three of us went about discussing the events of the last seven days.

Unlike my lawyers, I was dressed for the weather, in a white polo shirt, tan golf shorts, and leather boating moccasins. And, of course, I also wore socks, which concealed my ankle bracelet from the casual glance of a nosy voyeur. Right now Magnum had center stage and was in the middle of explaining the outcome of his negotiations with my good friend the Bastard.

“Obstruction of justice,” he declared proudly, as he leaned back in his high-back leather chair. “You plead guilty to one count and do an extra thirty months in jail. But”—and he held up his right index finger—”you still get your 5K letter, which means we avoid Armageddon.” He nodded a single time. “It's a terrific result, Jordan, especially when you consider the nature of who we're dealing with.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “and especially when you consider the magnitude of my idiocy.” I shook my head in amazement. “I'll tell you, this has to go down as the dumbest thing I've ever done in my entire life.” I shook my head some more. “And there's no close seconds.” I turned to the Yale-man and offered him a warm smile.

I said to him, “If it weren't for you, Nick, I don't think I would've made it through that day. You were amazing—from start to finish.”

The Yale-man raised his eyebrows. “That's very nice of you to say, but are you prepared to swear to God about that?” He started chuckling. “Or are you willing to take a lie-detector test?”

“Fuck off, Nick! That's what allguilty people say when you put their backs to the wall. It's a biological reflex, no different than a jelly fish stinging a passing swimmer.” I shrugged. “It can't be blamed.”

“Who?” Magnum asked. “The jellyfish?”

“Yes, the jellyfish, and me neither, in this case. I did what any intelligent man in my position would do: I lied through my teeth until I had no choice but to confess. Then I begged forgiveness.” I shrugged again. “There's no other way.”

“Maybe so,” said the Yale-man, “but Joel knows that too.”

“Knows what?”

“That allguilty people swear to God.”

“Ahhh… but do all guilty people offer to take a lie-detector test?” I gave the Yale-man a knowing wink. “You see? I'm different, Nick!”

Nothing but silence.

“Anyway, what can I say? You guys are the best! And you, Nick.… well, I'm so indebted to you that I'm willing to overlook that last insult and move forward with this relationship.” Now I looked at Magnum. “So, tell me, Greg: When must I plead guilty to this latest crime of mine?”

“Sometime in the fall,” he answered, “although we're gonna drag it out as long as possible. Remember, the obstruction charge won't be covered by your 5K letter, so Gleeson will have to throw the book at you.”

But I had acted like a man!“Well, two and a half years isn't that high a price to pay for my self-respect. In fact, one day maybe I can explain all this to Carter and he'll be proud of me”—strange looks from my lawyers—”or maybe not. Anyway, I'd rather get the whole thing over with than delay it. You know what I'm saying?”

Magnum stared at me with his lips pursed. I looked over at the Yale-man, and he was staring at me the same way. “Okay,” I said, “what am I missing here?”

“Welllll….” declared the towering tenor, “let me start by explaining how things went down at the U.S. Attorney's Office yesterday. There were five of us in the meeting. Nick and me, and Joel, of course, and then Coleman, as well as someone named Ron White, who just became head of the criminal division.”

I perked up: “Yeah, I know Ron White! He debriefed me once in another case. He's a really nice guy. Too bad he'snot my AUSA, instead of Joel.”

Magnum nodded in agreement. “Yes, that would be nice, but, unfortunately, he's not. So it's Joel we have to deal with, and, likewise, it's Joel who has to deal with you. So as nice a guy as Ron White is, he'll still defer to Joel.”

“I thought Joel was leaving the office soon?”

“He is,” said Magnum, “and that's why we're not rushing your guilty plea. See, if we can delay it until afterhe leaves, then we can try renegotiating with the next AUSA, who, hopefully”—Magnum winked—”will be more sympathetic to our cause.”

“That's brilliant!” I exclaimed—and what a two-tiered justice system, I thought. In fact, it was absolutely mind-boggling. If I had been poor or even middle class, for that matter, I would be sitting in jail right now, freezing my ass off and facing the better part of thirty years.

The Yale-man said, “Our first goal will be to try to get the obstruction charge reduced to lying to a federal officer, which is far less serious.”

“It carries no mandatory jail time,” Magnum added, with a tiny wink.

“Correct,” said the Yale-man, with a starchy shrug. “Of course, it would be even nicer if we could convince them to drop the whole thing, although I don't think that's realistic. Joel already let the genie out of the bottle, so it would look indecisiveif the U.S. Attorney's Office did a complete one-eighty.”

Playing devil's advocate, I said, “What you're saying sounds logical, but what if the next AUSA is even worse than Joel? Can they go back on the current deal?”

“Two good questions,” answered Magnum. “Under no circumstances can your position get worse. Obstruction of justice is too harsh asit is, and I'm sure Ron White would agree with me on that. And, almost anyone would be better than Joel Cohen, save Michele Adelman. But she won't be the one taking over this case, because she's already got her hands tied up terrorizing Victor Wang. Most AUSAs would have let you off with a stern warning, but, for whatever reason, Joel has it out for you.”

The Yale-man said, “I think Joel is just too emotionally involved in your case.”

That, and he's a fucking asshole! I thought.

“In other words,” continued the Yale-man, “he's chased you for such a long time that he can't help but look at you as ‘the crook you used to be,’ for lack of a better term, rather than the ‘upstanding citizen that you are now,’ which is an accurate term.”

Now Magnum chimed in: “Nick is right on the money with this, and that's why it's so important to wait things out. The next AUSA will have no history with you; the only person they'll know is the Jordan Belfort who's part of Team USA.”

“And what about Coleman?” I asked. “He chased me longer than everyone else combined.”

Nick said, “It's different for an FBI agent, especially in a case like yours, where there's no violence involved. You had a reputation for being a brilliant guy, so Coleman respects you. You weren't just some schnook who broke the law.”

“And FYI,” added Magnum, “it's because of Coleman, mostly, that Joel didn't break your agreement. He stood up for you in a very big way yesterday. He made the case that, with the exception of the Dave Beall note, you'd been a first-class cooperator. And he also said that you guys are working on a very big case right now. You know what he's talking about?”

I nodded. “Yeah; Gaito and Brennan. We haven't had much luck so far, but that's about to change. I'm actually meeting with Coleman right after this, and I have a little gift for him.”

“What's that?” asked Magnum.

I nodded and clenched my teeth, angry at the recent string of betrayals by men who had had the audacity to once call themselves my friends. “A little recipe on how to cook the Chef,” I said coldly, because if the shoe were on the other foot he would do the same fucking thing to me.

It seemed only appropriate that we would be in Brooklyn Heights when I finally told OCD the story of how the Duchess and I first met and how she ultimately stole my heart away from Denise. After all, it was here, in this very gentrified neighborhood, with the U.S. Attorney's Office a few blocks this way and the federal courthouse a few blocks that way, where I had picked the Duchess up on our first date.

At the time she was renting a one-bedroom apartment in a town house on Joralemon Street, which was just down the block from where OCD and I were now having lunch at a Chinese restaurant. Obviously, the main topic of today's lunch was not the sordidness of my personal life, but I felt that, after all OCD had done for me, I owed it to him. After all, no red-blooded American—even a dedicated FBI agent—can resist a story like this, where the primary ingredients are sex, drugs, greed, lust, divorce, betrayal, and blondes. I was now in the middle of explaining how our paths had crossed for the first time.

“… throw these wild parties at my beach house, and there was a total open-door policy. All you had to do was show up, smile, and you were in. It was the greatest recruiting method ever.” With that I paused and took a bite of a mu shu pork pancake that I had just rolled as if it were a joint, while OCD sampled a heaping forkful of his favorite chicken chow mein.

After a few seconds I said, “You were right; the food is really good here.”

OCD nodded. “The prices are dirt cheap too. To tell you the truth, I don't know how this place stays in business. It's not like the rents are cheap around here.”

I shrugged and stated the obvious: “They're probably paying the waiters six cents an hour and threatening to kill their relatives in China if they complain.”

“Probably,” said the FBI agent. “But if that's what it takes to get chicken chow mein at $5.95 a plate, then what can you do, right?” He scooped his fork back into the food and held it in the air suspensefully. “So you were saying?”

I nodded and put down my pancake. I said, “In the beginning, the parties were relatively small, maybe a few hundred people at most, but over time they grew into the thousands. And like everything else with Stratton, each party had to be more decadent than the last.”

OCD put down his fork. “Why is that?”

I shrugged. “Desensitization, mostly; you know, what seemed wild in 1989 didn't seem so wild in 1991. It was that, and also the fact that Stratton was a self-contained society. We were like ancient Rome, in that way—held together by a bloodlust to witness acts of depravity. In Rome they used to feed their slaves to the lions; at Stratton we used to toss midgets at a Velcro target.” I paused and picked up my pancake and took another bite.

“Anyway, the first parties were relatively harmless: There were DJs spinning records, there were people dancing, we had an open bar, some hors d'oeuvres, maybe a little bit of drugs, but that was about it.

“But flash-forward a few years later, and it's complete and utter insanity: Thousands of people are at my house, and they're literally pouringout onto the street and onto the beach, and on my rear deck are so many people that it's on the verge of collapse. Dune Road is completely impassable, because it's filled with drunk and drugged-out Strattonites, and it's all being supervised by the Westhampton cops—so the party goes on, despite complaints from my neighbors.

“Meanwhile, there's a live band playing and jugglers are juggling and dancers are dancing and hookers are hooking and strippers are stripping and acrobats are doing somersaults and a midget is walking around dressed in overalls, simply for the sake of amusement. On the beach itself there are giant hog snappers and even more giant lobsters, spinning on a rotisserie, next to a suckling pig with an apple stuffed in its mouth. And to make sure no one gets thirsty, two dozen half-naked waitresses are walking around, carrying sterling-silver trays with glasses of Dom Perignon on them.”

“Jesus,” muttered OCD, and he took another forkful of chow mein.

“Anyway, when I first met Nadine it was July Fourth weekend, 1990, which was still relatively early in the game, so she wasn't totally freaked out when she walked in the door. I was in my living room at the time, playing pool with Elliot Lavigne”– a wonderful thought!-“who, by the way, happens to be making a fortune again.”

“Really?” said OCD, putting down his fork. “I thought he was broke.”

I shook my head. “Not anymore! I heard he's flying high again.” Just how and where I heard, I chose to keep to myself. “He's got something going on in the garment center; I don't know all the details, but rumor has it he's making millions.”

“It's amazing,” said OCD, “considering the guy is a complete degenerate.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “and if I know Elliot, he's probably still smuggling cash over from Hong Kong.” I shrugged my shoulders. “You know, I'm surprised you and Joel never went after him. I mean, he kicked me back more cash than everyone else combined.”

OCD shrugged. “It's a difficult case. We subpoenaed his bank records a while ago, and there was just too much cash going in and out to find a pattern. In that sense, he was a good choice for a rathole.”

“Yeah?” I countered. “Well, I remember a time when his secretary loaded up a gym bag with seven hundred thousand dollars in cash and then gave it to my old driver, George, to deliver to me. And I know for a fact that all the money was withdrawn from the Bank of New York on the same day, and it went straight from the bank to his secretary, then to George, and then to me.”

OCD twisted his lips. “And how do you know that?”

“Because his secretary called and told me she'd just taken the money out of the bank and to have George come pick it up before Elliot gambled it away. And when George dropped the money off, he was sweating bullets and giving me this sort of strange look. He never said anything to me directly, but he did say something to Janet, and then she said something to me. Apparently George got curious and opened the gym bag and almost keeled over.” I shrugged. “Anyway, all you have to do is subpoena Elliot's secretary, George, Janet, and the bank records, and the rest is history.”

OCD stared at me for a second. Then he took another forkful of chow mein and started chewing. The unspoken message: “I'll check it out. Get back to your story.”

I took a deep breath and said, “So, anyway, Elliot and I were in the middle of playing pool when the Blockhead came running over all out of breath, and he said, ‘You gotta see the girl getting out of this Ferrari. She's off the charts,’ and, of course, since it was the Blockhead I took it with a grain of salt. But then he literally dragged me to the front door.

“And that's when I saw Nadine for the first time.” I smiled at the memory.

“I felt like Michael Corleone in The Godfather,when he sees Apollonia for the first time; she was walking through the olive fields in Sicily, and when Michael sees her he gets hit by the thunderbolt. Well, that's how I felt: I was totally blown away by her.” I paused and looked down at my pancake, considering whether or not to take a bite. I looked back up, realizing that I'd lost my appetite. “It was her legs I remember most. I always loved the Duchess's legs, and her ass too. It's rounder than a Puerto Rican's, in case you've noticed.” I winked.

OCD started laughing.

“Anyway, we said only a few words to each other, because she showed up with a date, and then the Strattonites immediately started torturing her.”

“How so?” asked OCD.

I shrugged. “Mostly they just ignored the fact that she showed up with someone else, and they started coming on to her, as if the guy didn't even exist. It finally came to a head when the two of us were being introduced. We were standing by the pool table and she said something like, ‘This is a really nice house,’ and I said, ‘Thanks,’ and then suddenly I saw her face drop, so I turned around and saw Mark Hanna, who was one of my brokers at the time. He was standing a few feet behind me, staring at her and jerking off.

OCD recoiled in his seat. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “He had literally dropped his pants to his knees and he was pulling on his own pud. And then his wife, Fran, came running over, and she was screaming, ‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Mark! Pull your pants up!’ So Mark pulled his pants up, and Fran started smacking him. Then, when I turned back to Nadine, I expected to see a look of astonishment on her face or maybe even fear, but, instead, I saw stone-cold anger. She had her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched in rage, and she was leaning forward as if she was getting ready to take a swing at him.

“Of course, I didn't know she was a Brooklyngirl back then; she looked like she was from Australia or Scandinavia or somewhere like that. Anyway, suddenly Denise was on the scene and sensing danger in a way that only a woman can, and then I heard Nadine's boyfriend say, ‘Okay, it's time to go now.’ Nadine and I were both saying, ‘No, no, not yet,’ and Denise started bum-rushing them out the front door. As all this was happening, the party was raging around us, with the music blasting and the champagne flowing. And just as Nadine was about to leave, she turned around and flashed me this mischievous little smile, and then a second later her boyfriend yanked her out the door like a rag doll. I saw a long trail of flowing blond hair behind her, then she was gone. It was just like you see in the movies.”

I paused and took a moment to study OCD. He seemed to be enjoying my story immensely. He was still shoveling in his food, but he had this wildly expectant look on his face. Yes, I thought, despite the badge and the gun he was a man like any other man. He said, “Sooooo…” and he waved his fork in tiny circles.

I nodded. “So, to make a long story short, the second she left I began asking everyone under the sun who she was and then spent the rest of the summer trying to run into her, which I occasionally did but always when I was with Denise. Denise would always say something like, “Oh, look! There's that pretty blond girl from the party, remember her?’ And I would be like, ‘Oh, yeah, I think that's her…’ but my tone was like, ‘Who gives a shit.’ But, to my own credit”—I rolled my eyes—”I made it all the way to Thanksgiving before I finally broke down and paid someone to arrange a date.”

OCD's eyes popped open. “You did?”

I shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah, I know it sounds kind of lame, but that's the way it is. We didn't really have any friends in common, except for this one girl named Ginger, who was a complete mercenary. So she was pulling this shit on me, saying, ‘Come on, you're married,Jordan; I can't get involved in this,’ so I said, ‘Fine, Ginger, how about if I give you ten grand in cash? Will that ease your conscience?’ Of course, the next day I had Nadine's phone number and Ginger had already put in a good word for me.”