Gemscentric

Written by Julian Robov


Sixty Two


The business was brisk at the newly opened Gem Dealers Restaurant off Silom Road. Jim Gemberg, a New Yorker; and Jing—his Thai wife, had reasons to celebrate. It was their first anniversary. Everyone in the trade believed the restaurant option was the wrong decision, instead they had wanted him to open a meditation and confession center for all the stressed out gem dealers, upholding Christian and Buddhist beliefs. No one had known the reason why the people in the trade were begging to be photographed as liars, misrepresentation experts, fearful of educating themselves, slow to change, and finally lacking ethics and business logic. Being in the trade for the past fifteen years and now retired, he had been reminding himself of the importance of the unwritten rule. TOTAL INTERNAL REFLECTION. And the best means of communication was through food, gentle persuasion, and then education. With patience, he knew the crooks and bimbos would finally reform knowing the shifting landscape of the trade itself. The end consumers were screaming for transparency and disclosure—yet the miners, rough dealers, cutters, brokers, Bangkok merchants, wholesalers, manufacturers, and retailers had difficulty recognizing the wake up call. Their translucent to opaque eyes had problems seeing the clear picture. HIGHLY INCLUDED—1998. Affluent people were bombarded with multiple choices, and buying gemstones, and waking up in the middle of the night was the last thing in the world for them, because someone was not telling the truth—regarding permanent and impermanent treatments, synthetics and imitations. They were absorbing and transmitting a business based on fraud or a passionate desire—to cheat people out of their money. But Jim was an optimist. He knew all the negative publicity orbiting around would eventually come to an end. And the best way?
“WELCOME TO THE GEM DEALERS RESTAURANT!”
“What’s up Jim? The place looks great. At least I can talk to my enemy right here. I can’t believe it’s happening in this lifetime,” said Chai Nuad, a gem broker, swelling radiantly.
“Good to hear that you are still alive drinking Singha beer in my restaurant. Don’t you feel grateful?” Jim asked, moving to the next table.
Chai laughed loudly.
“Money is so tight, my customers have no money to buy the stones. Can someone show me the real money?” Tony Whiner asked, looking somber.
“I think he is right,” John Dop seconded. “It’s fucking over. There is something wrong with the structure of our industry. We have all turned to a cheap messiah of long-term credit.”
Jim paused. “Be patient my friend. Whatever is happening is for the good. The market will correct itself on its own terms. It’s cyclic, and all you need is to be watchful and recognize the trend, before it’s too late. Please enjoy your food.”
There was a roar of laughter when a group of foreign dealers entered carrying their leather briefcases. Jim greeted them, and then led them to a separate corner so that they could discuss their grievances. No one looked happy, yet they desperately needed a place to interact exchanging new ideas for the sake of survival.
“Isn’t that your fucking wife?” Jeb Hamburger asked, glancing at Kim Downer.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” Kim said, looking puzzled.
“I can’t believe this,” Jeb said, wine glass in hand. “She is with your competitor. Martin Fuchs—fucking great. We had to come here to watch this. What do you think, Kim?”
He dove under the table avoiding her glance. Caroline was his second wife, an artist and gem collector from San Francisco. Another expensive divorce was in the offing.
“Our market is declining,” Mark Robins said, changing the topic. “Look what’s happening in Southeast Asia. Currency crisis and reduced consumer confidence in the United States and Europe is soaking our balls. What’s going on boys?”
Jeb interrupted. “We should take the blame. We have replaced a cash culture to long-term fucking credit deals. It’s pseudo-gambling. Payment delays have become a common practice. We have metamorphosed into credit dinosaurs. It’s just a matter of time we will be all extinct.”
“Partially true,” Kim opined. “Blame it on foreigners and new suppliers. Aggressive wholesalers have found a way to compete, packaging sales into special baskets in a variety of ranges—to meet the customers needs. Some got infected with the bug, while others got mutated. That’s the fucking problem. I think.”
Another round of drinks arrived heightening the conversation.
“We should from now onwards specialize in big stones, you know—the ones sold at the Sotheby’s and Christie’s—big sapphires, big rubies, big emeralds, and big diamonds. With the millennium approaching, there should be a lot of collectors interested in buying stones belonging to this century, you know—all that rarity, beauty, history stuff. That way we stand out of the crowd,” Jeb explained.
Mark looked up excited. Suddenly Jim clapped his hand for everyone’s attention.
“Friends, welcome Rudy Smith and James Hughes to our family.”
Everyone cheered tapping the table relentlessly till they dropped. Jim had a reason to invite them to his restaurant. He wanted others to recognize Rudy and James, as they were restructuring their business, while at the same time donating a lot discreetly to several gem related foundations and charity events. Everyone knew the old Rudy and James—compassionate, friendly, sharp, firm and fair. Those were the hey days. And most important of all—they were his friends. Meanwhile, at another corner there was a different discussion in the make. They were friends of Seri Fonhlaeng and Jeffrey Generall.
“What do you think? Rudy is back. He is treated like a king without a crown. Look at the reception. I can’t believe my eyes.” Jerry Chia asked, sipping the whisky.
“I’m thinking like you,” Stanley Foo answered. “What the fuck is going on with Seri? He owes me a bundle and no one knows where he is.”
Chai Fapha paused. “You will have to check all the temples in Southeast Asia. He must be hiding in one of those thatch houses in Indonesia chanting and meditating—like other priests—sleeping and having two meals a day.”
“Why would he do that? It’s impossible. He can do the same in my house,” Henry Lee added.
“Why? Because no one will dare to disrobe once you become a temple priest. That’s the tradition for now. Military men do that after a coup—sometimes. Bankers, politicians, and businessmen slink away to this ritual once they are in the red. The ones with running skills even know how to flee across the border at lightening speed—becoming special advisers to foreign governments. Creditors will end up chanting along with their debtors in a temple for the rest of their lives,” Chai explained.
Stanley remembered it now. The year was 1992. Bangkok was booming with new capital and jaded ideas. Gem dealers were becoming real estate tycoons, charity evangelists, and stock market speculators. New foundations in the name of this or that were created for dubious reasons. The stock market was like a NASA launch pad. Someone always was going up with others money, only to remain in an undetectable orbit, spying on other business ideas, never to return. But it was okay. They believed in business; there were always ups and downs so burning a little cash here and there looked like a great motivation, because in the end there were always fools coming from somewhere to gamble on an emerging market. Ironically, new gem mines were discovered extracting big stones, at times treating them without disclosure, and selling to foreigners at inflated prices. Again, it was okay; till one day, he was tricked by a gem broker, to bid on a parcel of blue sapphires from Pailin. His share of investment was five million dollars, only to disappear in a week. His friend, and their friends, were all involved in the so-called lucrative deal. Later they were seen in Cambodia, living as missionaries during the day time, and at night doing other businesses in a remote jungle under official protection.
“Do you think Seri became a missionary?” he asked.
“No one knows for sure,” Henry said. “Perhaps, Rudy might know. If Seri had become a missionary, then I will be the first one giving him donation. Check it out.” No sense arguing, Stanley thought. They were in a volatile territory full of opportunities and challenges. But no one had the guts to face Rudy, because they had known his affiliation with Seri. They decided to keep quiet watching the crowd.
A belly-dancer emerged from an adjacent room entertaining the people as the music took off. Several men and women who had gathered began clapping hands and tapping the floor getting aroused, cheering, and enthralled by the amazing talent of the Egyptian woman. Now she was seen dancing around Rudy and James. They tried to simulate, only to be carted off to a nearby room under the supervision of a masseur. They had never seen anything like that before. Jeb dashed to a nearby toilet. He was so drunk he wasn’t sure of the gender. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Caroline was now fucking Martin in the women’s toilet. No point blaming Caroline, he thought. Kim had been doing the same with Mai, his friend's wife in Chantaburi, from Friday till Sunday, in a gem pit covered with leaves. He even believed having sex in a gem pit improved the possibility of well formed crystal emerging with good color, clarity, and yield—due to energy transfer.
“I need to see a doc,” Jeb said, taking a deep breath.
“Wait a minute,” Kim followed. “You owe me not only stones but money as well.”
“Yeah! “
Both laughed. Later a Nigerian dealer calling himself the righteous Ahmed joined the conversation.
“What’s this?” Jeb asked, staring at Ahmed’s luminous jacket.
“It’s for spiritual protection, you know,” Ahmed said, caring less. “I have some blue sapphires for sale, if you are interested.”
“I am getting the feeling we have lived in a past life somewhere,” Jeb said, changing the topic.
“Hope it’s not in Nigeria,” Ahmed added. “Are you interested in my stones?”
“You know what? I want to buy your oxidized brain and infectious laugh. What’s the price? Cash and carry. I am a collector,” Jeb said.
There was a loud laughter around the table. Immediately, Ahmed was seen rushing to the front door cursing in Swahili along with his Kenyan friends.
“You know something,” Jeb continued. “He is probably one of the finest swindle masters I have ever met. He had the very same infectious laugh and charm when he took a rich Internet millionaire on a camel ride. The Silicon goof—one Mark—believed when Ahmed proposed himself as the chief of some fucking gem exploration company—well, somewhere in Nigeria. In reality there was no gem exploration company, but he was affiliated with some military men’s wives, who had several businesses and jewelry stores in Nairobi and Lagos, and illicit connections with some private bankers in Bangkok. These ladies after persuading a leading Thai politician’s wife, personally instructed a Thai bank’s branch manager, to extend loans to a front company with questionable collateral. Repayment conditions were too opaque. The manager should have got some cut from the deal. One of the collateral stipulated in the agreement was blue sapphires or otherwise. The blue sapphire look-alike stones were accompanied by some gem testing laboratory reports. Listen to this. The certificates were real, not the stones. The stones were cut to the gem reports measurements so that they looked real. The goof lost seven million dollars. Finally, they were caught, paid their dues in a dubious way, and were now back in business as usual.”
“I need a drink,” Henry said, walking to the bar counter.
Rudy was back. He was seen shaking hands with all the people he knew, introducing himself politely to those who were meeting him for the first time. And finally he decided to sit with Jim and Jing, tongue-testing the special food—spiced tuna with bell pepper and curried carrot sauce, and seared reef cod filet on vine-ripened tomato and ocean herb broth.
“It’s great. I am enjoying the evening like never before.”
“When are you getting married?” Jing interrupted. “You can’t go on living alone like for that long. You have everything now—business, friends, money, and a friendly country. What are you waiting for?”
“Yeah! I’m working on it,” Rudy replied.
Jim laughed. Later, James joined the table feeling uncomfortable, despite the masseur’s honest effort.
“How you doing? You okay?” Jim asked with a caring look.
James paused. “Not so okay.”
“When are you getting married?” Jing asked.
Instead, he looked up at Rudy for help. “I’m not quite sure, but something very interesting should be on the way.”
“Really? What’s that?” she asked.
“I’ll leave you guessing.”