What was there to say about these things? Owl had cautioned him more
than once: "_Listen to what people say, but pay more attention to what
they do._" What would he _do_ with the treasures of this trip?
Treasure, literally. One thing he could do was to put his father's
money to work. He decided to open a stock brokerage account. He needed
to get a programming project, so that he wouldn't start spending the
money. And he needed to see Francesca. She was more fun to think about
than job interviews; he drifted to sleep remembering her on Crescent
Beach.
In the morning, he answered two job advertisements that were in the
paper and then ate breakfast at Becky's. The day seemed to have started
without him--jet lag. The booth where he had first seen Francesca was
empty. He imagined her there and felt better, more centered.
He walked to Monument Square and entered one of the big name
brokerages. He left quickly, put off by slick advertisements on the
walls and expensively dressed men exuding earnestness. Farther along
the Square, he found a local firm staffed by a short man with a tired
expression. The top of his head shone. Brown graying hair started just
above his ears, swept back, and hung loosely over the back of his shirt
collar.
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