America 1982-Chapter 306 - 18: I’m Just Cutting My Losses_2

Tommy shrugged, "Such matters are actually very simple, maybe the other party doesn’t really need you to manage their money? You should ask Mr. Wealthy, he’s the one with the say. From what I understand, he doesn’t care if the person managing his assets has experience or not, as long as they meet three criteria, female, under thirty-five, and pretty enough. Based on this, your target clients should be women over forty, widowed or divorced, and as for how to increase their income, you don’t need to consider it at all. Use your muscles to impress her, help her spend the money."

"A wrestling agency wants to sign me on as a wrestler," Frank said, ignoring Tommy’s teasing as he stood up. "I want to give it a try."

"Listen to your mom, Frank. You’re not cut out to be a wrestler; you’ll die a gruesome death in the octagon," Kevin was the first to give his opinion. "Because even as a state champion, I didn’t become a wrestler, so how can a loser like you even entertain such a thought?"

As Chris dealt the poker cards, he said, "Based on my experience, first you have to satisfy your parents’ wishes, then you can set your own terms. For example, after I got into the Ivy League school of my father’s dreams, I became the pride of his eye, and then he stopped objecting to me using the math skills I learned to play poker."

"So, I should first become the president of one of those big Wall Street investment banks, prove my capability to my mom, and then retire from that position, and finally become a wrestler?" Frank said dejectedly. "That would indeed be like what Kevin said, I’d be sure to meet a horrible end in the octagon. Chris, your logic makes no sense at all."

"Make a fortune, buy a mansion, cars, hire servants, so your mom no longer worries about you not eating well, not dressing warmly, or lacking care, then maybe she’ll agree to let you become a wrestler," Tommy suggested from the side.

Frank gazed meaningfully at Tommy, "If you’re about to suggest that Mr. Wealthy introduces me to some widowed old women, Tommy, I’ll use this cue stick to show you the intimidating power of a Saint Vincent Special Forces commander."

"My bad, Commander sir, save a little face for this Prime Minister," Tommy said with a smile.

"Brothers, allow me to bring forth recommendations that suit your tastes," Stephen burst into the recreation room, enthusiastically shouting to the group, "Kevin, your companion for tonight is Lisa Burnett! She’s already waiting in your room."

"Shit! Lisa Burnett? Denise from The Cosby Show? Are you sure... I mean, this is just too much, man. I’ve been watching her on TV, and now... I get a chance to... to do something with her?" Before Stephen could make the introductions, Kevin exclaimed in shock to Pam and Chris beside him:

"I always thought Tommy and Stephen were just blowing smoke, bringing in some unknown extras for fun."

Noticing Kevin’s shock, Stephen said proudly, "It seems you’re surprised and happy. I know you’re a fan of that show. I can reveal that Lisa has been in a bit of a slump lately; she recently eloped with a rock singer who then swindled her money and dumped her, so, you can use your sense of humor to help her out of her gloom."

"I can’t wait to meet her!" Kevin tossed the poker aside and stood up excitedly, walking over to Stephen and took the room key from him, heading towards his own room.

"Laura Dunn, became Miss Golden Globe at fifteen, I remember Frank is a big fan of David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, so you must have a deep impression of her. Frank, lately Laura has been having some financial issues, and as a future Wall Street pariah, you might offer her some advice," Stephen said, as Kevin walked past, took out the second room key, and smiled at Frank who was playing pool.

Frank, who was about to decline with the excuse that his mom wouldn’t allow it, suddenly couldn’t keep a composed expression on his face, "Laura Dunn? Laura Dunn?"

"Yes," Stephen confirmed, nodding.

Frank tossed the pool cue to the side, towards Tommy, then marched toward Stephen, snatched the room key, "If you’re lying, I guarantee, even though I’m in a suit and not in wrestling attire, I can still break you like a houseplant."

Once Frank left, like magic, Stephen produced a third room key, simultaneously turning to Dennis who was high on weed:

"Gillian Anderson, a real little devil, a musical theater star from Los Angeles’ Pedro Theater, with her most significant work being Dickens’ Bleak House, she’s trying hard to carve out a spot in Hollywood. This chick is a bit wild, getting high, punk, arson, break-ins, in short, she’s been a regular at the police station since her teens, do you know what we call her? The Los Angeles Harley Quinn. I’m introducing her to my craziest friend, so, Dennis Herbs! My brother, you two can go talk about punk art!"

"You’ve got an eye, Stephen, only I can handle a wild chick like that," Dennis threw away the stub of his cigarette, walked over to take the room key, and then gave Stephen a high five: