Options Trading #2
“And you’re coming, too,” Amina announces to Lili, grabbing her hands across the table. “France trip! Summer in Europe!”
Lili huffs a laugh. “Excuse me?”
“You deserve a break. Come on the trip with us.”
She gives another uneasy laugh. “Ami, I love you, but I can’t just jet off to Europe.”
“Yes, you can! It’s only three weeks, we leave early August. We’re doing Paris, then down to the South of France.”
Her gut tightens; the discomfort of shame and insecurity. “What about Jackie, why aren’t you asking her?” Deflect, divert.
“They already asked me before you arrived,” Jackie explains, pouring herself more tea out of the little silver pot, a swirl
of jasmine; she stops drinking coffee in the days leading up to a shoot. “I’ve got jobs booked through August.”
“I also have work,” Lili counters. “I’ve already told Jackie this, I have tons happening with the farm this summer, I can’t
just drop that.”
Amina waves a hand, dismissive. “You can ask for time off more easily than Jackie. You’re doing our trip upstate in a couple
of weeks!”
“That’s a work trip.”
“All the more reason you need a break.”
“What about your thesis?”
“What about it?”
“Don’t you have, like, major edits you need to work through? Kerr just hit me with a novel’s worth, hasn’t your adviser? Aren’t you going to be working on it this summer?”
“I’ll finish it fast.”
“But—”
Amina sighs. “Li, no one cares if I unravel the mysteries of Llosa’s authoritarian neoliberalism—I’m not going to solve Latin
American ideological polarization or put forth some new revolutionary concept of literary theory. I’ll hand it in before the
year is done, my adviser doesn’t mind. It’s just a master’s thesis.”
A twinge in her chest, painful and complicated; if no one cares, then why are you writing one? she thinks. It hurts sometimes; how Amina doesn’t have to worry about academic excellence, employability, forcing the ground
beneath her to be stable—she can pursue her art relentlessly until it becomes a career, walk a thousand-foot-high tightrope
without any fear of the fall. The security of wealth, the spontaneity it affords her; the all-encompassing glow of its safety
that Lili sometimes finds herself so deeply fucking jealous of.
“It’s just not a good time,” Lili explains. “I’ll be at every New York show you ever do, I promise, but I can’t make a trip
like this work right now.”
Amina shrugs, unswayed. “We’re going.”
“Yes, you two definitely are.”
“And you’re coming with us.”
Lili lets out a heavy sigh, trying to be patient, trying to breathe through her discomfort. Beside her, James has stayed quiet;
he knows this argument well. “Ami, I can’t exactly afford this, from multiple perspectives. I can’t take the time off work
with just a month’s notice, I can’t risk messing up my thesis, and I don’t—I don’t really have the money for this.”
“Li, Jesus, you’re not going to have to pay for anything—”
She rears back, as if burnt; she feels Jamie’s hand settle against her back, steadying her. “That’s not how it works. I’m
not taking your money like that.”
“But it’s not my money! I didn’t work for any of it, so let me spend it on you—”
“Amina, please.” Lili closes her eyes for a moment. “Back off, yeah? Things are stressful right now, I’m really not doing
this to be a killjoy, I promise. I just can’t.”
Amina raises her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine—but just think about it some more, okay? I’d really love you to come. There’s no one I’d rather talk about art with. I want to share this with you.”
“Speaking of art,” James interjects, leaning forward with a mischievous look at Lili. “How was your date at the Met?”
Amina nearly knocks over her coffee, reaching for milk. “What?” she yells.
“Who told you?” Lili demands.
“You didn’t say it was a secret!” Jackie protests.
“I didn’t say it was national news to be televised, either!”
“What do you think their dirty talk is like?” Jackie asks James, ignoring her.
“Oh, depraved. Like, ‘go down on me like the pound after Brexit—’”
“‘Seize my means of production—’”
“‘Break my back like Soros broke the Bank of England—’”
“Feel free to use any of these on your next date,” Jackie tells Lili.
“It wasn’t a date,” Lili hastily corrects. “I don’t date. It’s just sex. Convenient and casual sex, that’s all.” And that’s
what she’d convinced herself, in the days since the Met. That she can do this, keep fucking him and feel nothing. Stifle that
curiosity, sharp and light and annoyingly tenacious, that kept growing in his study the morning after her birthday, in the
empty galleries walking between art. Treat it—this overwhelming, mind-clearing sex—like exercise or eating kale, only concerning
her body. That vulnerability that slipped under her skin like a knife, in the shower—that’s not part of it.
“It’s just sex,” she repeats.
Amina lifts an eyebrow.
“Does he know that?”
An hour later, she’s knocking on Kerr’s open door. “I’m sure that’s over your luggage weight limit,” she observes.
He looks up from the two books he’s evaluating.
His usually immaculate office is a mess, books stacked haphazardly with a logic known only to him, a carry-on suitcase slapped open on his desk; it’s almost fully packed with books, half-worn Rhodia notepads, and cheap rollerball pens, like he always does before leaving for summer break with his family.
Since Lili last saw him, proctoring undergrad exams together a couple weeks ago, his black hair has been buzzed afresh; signs of summer, finished classes, what he does every year after letting his Afro grow out over the course of the semester. He smiles when he sees her.
“One cannot put a weight limit on knowledge,” Kerr says, pointing at her with one of the books he’s holding. “And this one
is actually for you.”
“Huh.” She takes the thick volume, considering its title. “Growing Out of the Plan: Chinese Economic Reform. Am I getting recreational summer reading assignments now?”
“I’ve decided on the fall course topic,” he announces. Undergrads overenroll Kerr’s courses before the title and description
even go public. “We’re doing Transition Economies—the shift from central planning to free markets, liberalization and privatization,
institutional economics, rule of law, property rights in transition, opening up to globalization and foreign investment. Timely
stuff, all around. We’ll stay focused on the usual cases—Russia, China, perhaps a few Eastern European examples—but I want
it to be a contemporary, forward-looking course. Laser focused on how these histories shape present-day international relations,
you understand? Here, take a look at the syllabus. I had a burst of sleep-deprived inspiration while I was begging my heathen
toddlers to go to bed—do the readings; tell me what you think.”
Stress spikes. “All the readings?”
“Yes, I’m undecided on whether we’re leaning too heavily into Aslund or institutional economics to start at the moment, but
the class needs that grounding.”
“Does this course have a prereq?” she frowns, flipping through the multiple pages of assigned reading. “This is . . . a lot
for undergrads.”
He shrugs. “Just a macro- or microecon course. They’ll have you to guide them through, I’m not worried. You’re an old hat
at TAing now, you could do this job in your sleep.” He snaps his fingers, remembering something. “That’s one of the topics
I wanted to touch base on, before I left—my friend at UNHCR got back to me, they want to talk to you.”
“Regarding my war crimes?”
“Regarding your job prospects.”
She freezes. “Oh—oh, right.”
Kerr looks at her, sharp. “You said you were going to start thinking about this.”
“I know—I will.”
“You know I’d like you to consider graduating early, in December.”
“Can’t wait to get rid of me,” she jokes, weakly.
He makes an irritated noise. “You are a good student.”
“Wow, ‘a good student.’ Let me just throw myself into the East River then.”
“Lili, enough with the humor,” he snaps, firm. “Take the advantages you have. You have immense potential with your career,
don’t waste it on something small. I want to see you set up well. I have friends in most industries, but you need to have
a vision here—private sector, public sector? I know you’ve ruled out academia, I don’t blame you—it’s a rich kid’s game, nowadays.
But I think it’s worthwhile considering the World Bank or IMF, especially to start your career. Or do you want to go private,
perhaps sustainable investing? Or veer more into development work? You need to think about this. What you decide now matters.”
She swallows hard. “I suppose I was planning to finish my thesis first.”
“Yes, your thesis—” Kerr tugs out a printed copy from underneath a stack of books. “Have you had a chance to glance over the
edits I sent you?”
“A little.” On the subway ride uptown, she’d frantically scanned the marked-up draft he’d emailed back, cold sweat gathering
at the nape of her neck as she digested edits that were much more comprehensive than expected.
“It’s good work. Like I said, strong thinking, room to grow. Let’s say two or so to turn around the next draft?”
“Two months?”
“No, two weeks. Let’s push this close to final before I head out on holiday, and my in-laws get their claws in me.”
Panic jolts in her throat. “Right—sure, yes.”
Kerr holds her gaze. “I understand it’s a tight timeline, but with focus and investment, this revision could be a real achievement,”
he says. “Let’s finalize by fall, get you lined up for a December graduation—get you ahead, take advantage of your ambition.
It’s a weapon if you wield it right, we’ve talked about this.
You’re already young for a grad student, don’t cede that advantage by regressing to only what’s expected of you.
And when I’m back in September, I want you to have five specific career avenues you’re looking at—as in, job titles, organizations, potential contacts.
You’re starting exploratory interviews. Understood? ”
She grits her teeth but flashes a bright smile. “Got it.”