THE BALLAD OF THE MEME STOCK TRADER - PART 3

Sitting at the back of his favourite Chinese restaurant “The Rickshaw Boy", Lucio was tucking into a sumptuous looking dim sum banquet for one, which was really meant for three. He’d joked with the manager about skipping the bat soup, which was all taken in good humour. Being a wise cracking Puerto Rican, Lucio felt no need to be treading on egg shells about cultural banter. That’s just the way he knew it was on the street. He kept it real and so did they.

But as he tore his perfectly steamed lotus bun in half, the sound of the overtly nostalgic 1960’s Shanghai pop music made him pause. Eating alone was no fun when you didn’t have someone to share your dishes with. He remembered his first date with Maria when they were both in their 20’s and he had earned his first bonus as a Wall Street floor trader. The food they shared tasted better back then and their dreams they planned were just as fresh and tantalising as the cuisine laid out in front of them.

Now, in the shadow of 9/11, the 2008 housing crisis and COVID, everything tasted bittersweet. The memories of what they’d had in more innocent times was tarnished with experience and regret.

Nevertheless, Lucio stubbornly held onto the belief that being an optimist was the single most rebellious thing you could do in a world where it was easier to be down hearted. He washed down his lotus bun with some jasmine tea and leant back against his seat. As long as he remained here in “The Rickshaw Boy", he was at peace and he could forget the pressures of the 'squeeze' and when it would come for him and his followers.

He knew it was a mistake to put all of your egg fried rice in one basket, but he’d never been more sure of an outcome than this one. If, as he wished, there was a great equaliser of good fortune to balance out all the bad luck he’d suffered for so long, then he hoped it was this play.

As he zoned out in his philosophical mood, he wondered if his excessive consumption of food had made him especially sophorific this afternoon.

Before he left the restaurant, he opened up the complimentary fortune cookie left next to the check presenter and read its message.

“Aim for the moon. If you miss, you may hit a star.”

He scrunched up the sugar paper wrapper and left it on the side of the table.

After relieving his bladder in the ornate washroom of “The Rickshaw Boy”, Lucio washed his hands under gold gilded taps in the shape of dragon heads.

Drying his hands on the soft cloth hand towels complete with Chinese calligraphy he stared at his pallid reflection for a moment in the mirror. The bags under his eyes seemed more pronounced due to the Shanghai noir lighting of the place.

“You’re not getting any younger kid.”

He suddenly felt a wave of anxiety rush through him like a giant wave. His breathing suddenly became shallow and he could feel his heart palpitating like a Gene Krupa drum solo.

Was this it? Was this how he was going to go out? One final Chinese blow out before lights out? He saw an irony that his demise might not be as a result of COVID but that third pork bun he almost left untouched before rapidly devouring in seconds.

He waited for death to arrive, but after five minutes, it appeared he had been spared by the grim reaper who he imagined at this present moment to more closely resemble Fu Manchu.

As his breathing stabilised and his panic attack subsided, he splashed some cold water on his face and headed out of the washroom, very much relieved that he was still alive.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that the restaurant manager had alerted him to the untied shoelace of his right sneaker, he might never have stumbled upon the divine moment of destiny that awaited him.

Kneeling down to tie his laces that resembled the ho fun noodles he had just digested, Lucio was starting to regret the amount of food he’d just consumed.

“Are those Balenciagas?”

Lucio looked up toward an inquisitive teenage boy staring right back at him.

Deadly earnest he answered him without batting an eyelid.

“Unofficially, yes.”

Nuno looked confused.

“They’re knock-offs. But they look legit right?”

“What are knock-offs?”

At which point Maria’s ears were alerted to the criminal inference of the man’s conversation with her young son.

She looked up from her own cup of jasmine tea and glanced at Lucio.

“Lucio?!”

Spilling her tea across a plate of glutinous rice, Maria looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Maria?”

Lucio stood up and almost bowed his head as if in the presence of royalty.

Both of them appeared incapable of speech, so Nuno snuck in-between their awkward silence.

“Do you two know each other?”

And as if by magic, Lucio found his voice, quipping.

“Is this your old man?”

Lucio then gestured his thumb at Nuno.

Maria smiled and suddenly the awkwardness between them had dispersed as quickly as the rice had absorbed the tea she’d previously spilt.

“Join us?”

Lucio was still in a state of disbelief that Maria, the woman he had been dreaming about for so long through those long cold nights of confinement, was sitting right here before him.

“What you both celebrating anyway?”

“Nuno here wanted to buy me lunch for the first time, since he made a small profit from some shares he sold.”

Lucio was naturally intrigued.

“What shares?”

“Battery company. I thought it was a dead stock. But then they got bought out and I sold on the news.”

“Nice one! Sounds like you got a nose for that kind of trouble.”

Maria rolled her eyes.

“Lucio is a financial trader,” she explained to Nuno providing him with some background.

“I’ve been called worst things I guess.”

And then finally, the penny dropped for Nuno.

“Hey wait? Are you Gekko’s Gekko?”

Maria looked perplexed while Lucio stroked the salt and pepper stubble on his face.

“You seen me on YouTube huh?”

Lucio still found it amazing that he had garnered such a considerable online following by just talking at his phone.

“Yeah man. I’ve watched a lot of your videos.”

“Man?” Maria raised a quizzical eyebrow at Nuno.

“Sorry about the blue language when I’m talking. I should have gone to finishing school. I would have been like the Puerto Rican Eliza Doolittle.”

Lucio caught Maria’s eye and gave her a familiar wink. Being the gentleman he was, he noticed her tea cup was now empty, so he picked up the teapot and poured her some fresh jasmine tea.

“Why thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Maria couldn’t help but notice that Lucio’s hand was shaking.

She put her hand on his to steady it.

“It’s all the caffeine! I’m 60% coffee these days.”

They locked eyes for a brief moment and before they knew it, Maria’s cup was spilling over.

“I’m clearly jinxed today," she said mopping up the jasmine tea that had now flooded the white table cloth.

Lucio felt wounded that she’d mentioned the word jinx. He was a superstitious kind of a guy and didn’t want anything to throw off their happy re-union.

“So, how many shares do you have in AMC?” Nuno asked Lucio directly.

“Enough to re-open the ice rink one day.”

Nuno looked confused.

“You’re in this play to save the ice rink?”

“I’m in this play to save myself. And then after that, everyone else who’s close to me.”

He looked at Maria who understood the subtext of his generalised answer.

“So, what brought you here to Rickshaw Boy? I never see anyone I know in here. ”

It was Maria’s turn to be put on the spot.

“Nuno wanted Chinese food, and I remembered this place from way back.”

Lucio sensed it was less because of a whim and more because of sentimentality.

“Nostalgia’s a helluva drug.”

Nuno, not really connecting with the adults somewhat cryptic conversation, made his excuses to leave the table and go look around Chinatown for some fireworks, even though Maria had tirelessly explained to him on the way to the restaurant that the sale of fireworks had been prohibited.

Now left alone together, Maria and Lucio could talk more freely.

As the late autumn light started to foreshadow the arrival of winter, the neon lights of Chinatown offered great comfort to the diners ensconced at their tables looking out through the restaurant windows.

“I thought about you often,” Maria said with a genuine look of affection.

“I think about you everyday.”

Maria blushed at Lucio’s manner of fact candid confession, but continued to lead with an enquiry.

“Where have you been? I mean I know there’s eight million people in the city but I thought I might chance upon you at least once in the past thirteen years.”

The number thirteen set off an alarm bell in Lucio’s head. He tried to ignore it.

“Well after that argument we had that night I thought’d give you some space. I didn’t realise at the time it would be thirteen years til we spoke again. When I dropped by a few days later after our bust up, your house mate told me you’d left the state.”

Pained by the memory of that time, Maria took a sip of tea, more to buy herself some time to reflect than as a refreshment.

They spent a few minutes catching up on inconsequential gossip, afraid to go beneath the surface of their lives. Lucio felt he was running out of time with each banal deflection that Maria batted back to him.

“Crazy the way life turns out in the end. Don’t you think?”

“It’s not over yet,” Lucio said in a determined way.

Pushing forward one of the many dishes toward Lucio, Maria diverted the seriousness of the conversation suddenly.

“You want some turnip cake?”

Lucio shook his head.

“Maria. I want you.”

“I’m afraid I’m taken already.”

“DeFazio? Old pencil face? Are you sure?”

“What about dad?”

Maria was happy to see Nuno as he returned with a plethora of items purchased from Chinatown.

“What have you got there?”

Lucio peered at the strange looking fruit Nuno was holding like a basketball by his side.

“It’s called a Durian!”

“It looks dangerous!”

Nuno passed the ball-shaped spiked fruit to Lucio for him to inspect further.

“They call it the king of fruits”

Lucio didn't feel this exotic fruit which smelt overwhelmingly pungent was congruent with the romantic atmosphere he needed to win back Maria's heart.

“And they call me king of the fruit loops!”

Nuno laughed loudly. Lucio always had a way to make young people laugh. He had even once considered being a party clown. But then his stretch in jail put that ambition out to sea. Although he had heard of some hardcore felons that had joined the circus, he assumed it was a fiction.

“Well, I guess we better be going,” said Maria still feeling confused seeing Lucio after all this time.

“Well, don’t leave it so long next time. In fact, I’m gonna give you my number should you want to give me some stock tips.”

Maria thought Lucio was talking to her at first, but then realised he had cleverly posited the statement to Nuno. She could see perfectly what he was up to. By giving Nuno his number, it took the pressure of her to call. She had no grounds to protest and so she focused on buttoning up her coat instead.

As Nuno proudly paid for their lunch, Maria and Lucio embraced as friends would.

Lucio whispered gently in her ear.

“I love you Maria.”

She turned her head to one side and smiled wistfully at Lucio.

“I know you do.”

Nuno, chewing on a hospitality mint, wondered why his mum looked so sad all of a sudden.

“What’s the matter mom?”

“Lucio here just told me a joke.”

“What was the joke?”

Maria was regretting having said anything but Lucio quickly covered her tracks.

“I’m absolutely heartbroken. My ex-girlfriend has broken up with me over my chronic gambling addiction.”

Nuno scrunched his nose quizzically.

“And?”

“I’m desperate to win her back.”

Lucio grabbed two nearby chop stocks and struck the edge of the table.

“BA DUM TISH!”

Lucio may have summoned the energy to jest, but inside his heart was breaking. The possibility of not seeing Maria again anytime soon filled him with despair.

“Here you go Kid! Have my hat as a memento of our meeting. Us "Apes" got to stay together, am I right?”

Nuno nodded his head emphatically until Lucio adjusted his AMC snapback cap around the boy’s much smaller head.

And with that, Maria, Nuno and Lucio exited the restaurant, almost as if they were family in some alternative version of their personal history.

Within seconds, the now masked Maria and Nuno had hailed a cab and left Lucio with a brief wave from the back seat of the yellow cab.

It seemed incredible to him how things could return to normal so cruelly and suddenly after such a seismic and unlikely re-union.

To add insult to injury the wet cold rain of November began to fall down hard on Nuno’s bald head.

He would have had good reason to regret giving his cap away.

“It’s the price you pay, I guess,” he muttered to himself, under his breath.

And with that he disappeared amidst the crowd of shoppers in the rain soaked streets of Chinatown.

Returning to the Bronx later that evening after drowning his sorrows with a couple of  “Brooklyns", the rain had just about stopped when Lucio sensed he was being followed by a presence right behind him.

His desperate hope was that it was Maria, who could no longer avoid the pressing issue of her love for him.

Stopping in his tracks and turning on a dime, he saw instead the familiar looking grey and lavender cat which he immediately recognised as the one belonging to Mrs Lieberman.

“Seb? Is that you, you old bastard?”

The cat miaowed as if perfectly understanding Lucio’s enquiry.

Picking up the grand old feline, Lucio set about returning Seb to his owner.

That night, lying in bed, no longer having to listen to Mrs Lieberman searching for her cat, Lucio should have had his best night’s sleep in a long time.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about Maria back at “The Rickshaw Boy”.

And neither could he stop thinking about the number thirteen since she’d mentioned it.

Why did that wrangle with him so?

He could hear his Uncle Mort whispering in his ear. “Bad luck is just an excuse for not having done your due diligence.”

Lucio kept running back through the timeline of his separation from Maria.

He thought about the young boy again.

He had seemed an awful lot like him in so many ways.

And how old was he?

13?

Christmas had finally arrived in New York and the MOASS was still nowhere to be seen, the merest mention of it now induced winces rather than smiles.

Although Lucio continued to persuade his seventy thousand followers to keep the faith, privately he now had more faith that the hair would return to his head.

As he sat at the back of his favourite restaurant once again, as he had done every week since he saw Maria with Nuno that one time, he could barely enjoy the Wonton soup he'd ordered, let alone the token Char siu bun. His appetite had almost completely vanished since that fateful day; he was now nourished more by the hope she would see sense in returning to him and leaving the corrupt and souless DeFazio behind.

He thought of the two most likely outcomes: the MOASS or Maria returning to him, which would he prefer? Back in the summer, he thought one would help enable the other. But now, defeated by the sheer cynicism of the marketplace, it was the latter that seemed more probable.

After his plates had been cleared, he was left with just the obligatory fortune cookie once again.

Resentful at this custom ritual, he eventually succumbed to it.

Opening the sugar paper wrapper of the cookie, his message fell out onto the white cloth table before him.

It read:

“Luck always seems to be against the man who depends on it.”