Living Proof By Jordan Belfort

On the day Brandi came into Jordan's warehouse/office, he'd been giving his Strattonites a lesson on how to close a sale. He'd been dealing with some idiot named Kevin on the phone who he convinced "AeroTyne" (some bullshit "airline" company run by two 30-year-olds living in their mother's basement) was the future of aviation and he'd be getting in on the ground floor of a revolutionary new business if he invested enough. Jordan knew how stupid the whole performance was, but Kevin wasn't any smarter, so he took the bait and bought 10,000 shares. They were penny stocks, but they were worth a lot considering how many he'd gotten. And Jordan had just earned a 6,000 dollar commission. He hadn't noticed Brandi standing there among his friends and co-workers until Donnie had brought her over and introduced her. He liked her right away. She dressed sharp and he could tell she thought the same way. At first he thought that Brandi would be like Hildy, Donnie's wife. And other cousin. (This was, of course, a running joke in their family.) But they didn't look alike. Hildy had fanned up bangs like Farrah Fawcett, only not blond. Brandi just had small black curls. And Brandi was a little fuller in the bust, among other places and she was an inch or so shorter. And she had brown eyes. Nothing like Hildy. But still. Brandi had that smart air about her, and she was classy. She had a gold watch and nice shoes. Jordan hoped that she was as trustworthy as she seemed to be. He was going to ask everyone to lunch, but then his pager beeped - it was Teresa.

Off work. Come home.

He sighed. Teresa was his wife and he loved her and whatnot, or so he kept telling himself, but God, was that woman needy. He'd be at work and she'd ask him to come home for something ridiculous like for a movie playing on cable. Or that she made baked chicken for lunch. He was getting more tired by the day. Jordan hoped that someday she'd calm down and learn to get along by herself or at least with her girlfriends. Her best friend was Hildy, since Donnie was always over at the apartment. The women would mostly sit and complain about their husbands. Jordan didn't quite like Hildy and neither did Donnie for that matter. Teresa was quiet. Hildy was bitchy. He didn't understand how they got along so well. But if talking to her kept Teresa busy and let Jordan work on his business in peace, sans interruptions, he welcomed her constant visits. Jordan went home, dealt with Teresa (today's emergency was that she needed help hanging a frame on the wall and couldn't reach the exact spot above the couch she was aiming for) and was about to head back to work before he realized it was twenty minutes past closing. Everyone at the office had gone home by then. So he spent the rest of the night at home, letting Teresa make dinner and staring out the window, wishing he wasn't forced to be domesticated. He wondered what Brandi was doing. She'd just moved here. Donnie and Hildy were probably at a party in Uptown Manhattan, getting shitfaced. Brandi might have gone with them.

He wished he could be there right then, anywhere but here. He went to sleep early that night, letting Teresa wash the dishes. She drank more than a few glasses of wine after Jordan went to bed.

What was funny about all this was that all of this happened just over 6 months ago. You know, back when Teresa was still clinging onto Jordan like her life depended on him, and their "office" looked like fucking garbage, and Jordan only owned two suits and was making just enough money to support his wife and pay the rent. He couldn't even afford a car. That summer in 1987 was the last one Jordan Belfort spent living a mediocre life, making shit money and spending almost every night wishing for more.

Because 6 months from then, Jordan wouldn't be the same man he had been in the beginning. He'd evolved into someone much more spectacular, someone even more ambitious, more driven.

And that's where this story would really begin.