M Sher Breakfast is Served

BREAKFAST IS SERVED By Mercedes Sher January 21, 2016 It is small room set as a home office. A big executive desk and a ...

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BREAKFAST IS SERVED By Mercedes Sher January 21, 2016 It is small room set as a home office. A big executive desk and a matching chair almost completely occupy the whole space. Behind the chair is a wall cabinet with rows of books. The titles all appear to be on investments. One title stands out: “Trading In Commodity Futures”. On the bottom shelf are piles of trading charts collected from subscriptions. On the opposite wall are two clocks. One indicates 7:30 AM and a poster under it shows the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. The other clock has hands pointing two hours later, the local time in Los Angeles. It’s April and sunlight from the opposite window is already peeping in. At the left corner of the desk is a computer screen showing market price data in real time. A cup of dozen pencils and several rulers are to his right. There are three charts open in front of him, that of lean hog, coffee, and orange juice. There are other charts on the desk, but unopened. On each open chart is a ruler marking some zigzag lines against uneven vertical lines By the computer screen is the telephone. David is about forty years old, good build, and handsome looks. He is an engineer by vocation but a very successful commodity market trader by desire. Every morning, before going to his 9-5 engineering job, he pursues his ambition of cornering the market and becoming a significant trader. At the moment, he is busy with each hand simultaneously active with phone and a pencil. He is talking to his broker, “Ken, buy coffee, 1000, 133.5. Buy orange juice 1000 at 130.15.” He marks a line on each pertinent graph as he puts down the phone. Just then, a woman dressed in office clothes swings in. It is his wife, Mary. She is attractive, also of slight build, and well-groomed in simple make-up and hairdo. “Darling, your breakfast is getting cold. And we will both be late for work if you do not quit now,” she declares in a non-emotional voice. “Just a minute.” He waves her away. “Darling, you know what happens if you don’t stop. You promised.” This time, her voice changes to supplication.

“But you did not mind getting those trinkets from Tiffany last time,” he challenges. She leaves in surrender. As soon as she leaves, he looks at the computer screen. Some numbers have plunged down. He bought lean hog at 65.15 and the numbers plunged to 50.25. He gasps. Immediately, he picks up the phone. . Amazingly, there is an immediate response. ‘Yes, David.” “Ken, what happened? Hog virus running? Sell all my hog.” He wipes his forehead with the hand holding the telephone. “Oh, no. Sell just half 2,500. Numbers might change, yet.” As he puts the phone down. He combs is hair with his fingers. Then, he cups his face and rests it on the desk. The kitchen has a breakfast counter laden with coffee pot, two mugs, two glasses of orange juice, and a platter of English muffins by a butter dish. There are two plates, each with two eggs done sunny side up and two slices of bacon. Mary perches on a stool and starts eating. She makes the sign of the cross and mutters a whisper of a prayer. She eats in pensive contemplation. She knows so well the daily morning scenario. As soon as David gets up, he rushes to his desk. He sits down and collects his trading paraphernalia in energetic resolve to make an enormous amount of money. Once in a while, he would make a profit that is measly compared to his investment losses. Still, he is elated and raises his arms in a gesture of hurrah. When the loss comes, he is subdued. And when a real big amount is lost, he is a pathetic sight. He does his homework the night before. He marks the points on the graph at which he was going to buy some commodity and optimistically sell back at enormous profit. He bases his method on a theory he read from a musty book at the main county library. The theory states that the market price depends on the number of peaks on the graph. Methodically, he uses ruler and pencil for hunches. To balance the method, he reads all the forecasts on weather affecting crops. He also watches the demand for bacon. Suddenly, Mary’s introspection is disturbed. David appears in the doorway. His face is pale, sweaty and solemn. His thinning hair is sticking on his scalp with sweat. He does not speak.

Mary looks at him and says softly, “I know, darling. You lost the nest egg, again.”

Pdf Entry Information Exhibitor Name: MERCEDES SHER WEN: 3006EB Division: FA - 362 - Short Story Class: 02 Senior General Fiction - exhibi Title: Breakfast Is Served Description: A short story on obsession

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