Into the Magic Shop Page 16

  Allison or Megan found her way downstairs and we stood around awkwardly and waited for the cab I had called to come pick her up. I had a meeting with my lawyers and then I was heading to New York for the week on business. I promised to call her when I returned. She wrote her number down on a piece of paper. After a dry kiss good-bye, she left, and I picked up the piece of paper and put it in a kitchen drawer. She had written her name above the number. It wasn’t Allison or Megan. Her name was Emily. It didn’t really matter. We both knew I had lied when I said I would call.

  • • •

  THE TWO ATTORNEYS graciously ushered me into their offices. An investor friend of mine had recommended this law firm to me because apparently they were rumored to handle the sultan of Brunei’s U.S. holdings. I didn’t know if this was true because their clientele was supposed to be kept confidential. My accountant had advised me to set up an irrevocable charitable trust, earmarking certain holdings for charity in order to reduce my tax liability. This law firm would be drawing up the paperwork.

  “We’ve reviewed your portfolio, Dr. Doty, and you have significant holdings,” said the attorney. “There are various types of charitable trusts. Have you discussed these with your accountant? This is no small consideration for a man of your worth.”

  I absorbed his words. A man of my worth. I took a deep breath and heard the voice in the back of my head wondering just who I was really trying to prove my worth to—myself or the world?

  “I have. He’s advised me to create an irrevocable trust.”

  “And do you understand the legal ramifications of such a trust?” asked the second attorney.

  “It’s irrevocable?” I quipped.

  Corporate attorneys rarely have a sense of humor. “In order to see any immediate tax savings, it must be irrevocable. This means that once you fund it, you can’t make any changes to the trust or take any of the property back. In this case, we’re talking about stock in Accuray.”

  I had decided to donate my stock in Accuray—it wasn’t my most valuable stock, but it was potentially worth millions. I was planning on allocating the bulk of it to Tulane and some to Stanford, where I had become a faculty member and where the CyberKnife had been developed. By this time my brother had died of AIDS, so my plan was to donate some of the stock to fund HIV/AIDS programs, as well as various charities and programs that helped underprivileged children and struggling families. Part was to go to support health clinics in various parts of the world.

  “I understand,” I said.

  “If you’re uncomfortable with the permanency, you can always make it revocable until your death. That’s an option some people choose, but the tax consequences are different.”

  “I’d like to make it irrevocable,” I said. Giving this money was important to me. I wasn’t going to change my mind.

  “Very well,” said the first attorney. “We’ll draw up the papers.” We spent the next two hours reviewing my stock and the charities I wanted to gift. By the end I felt important. Generous. And the lonely, hollow feeling I had woken up with was gone.

  The sultan of Brunei had nothing on me.

  I flew first class to New York City and checked into a suite at the Palace Hotel, which at the time was coincidentally owned by the sultan of Brunei. A good friend of mine managed the hotel, and his friendship resulted in their giving me a huge suite. The culmination of my week in New York was a meeting with a hedge fund manager who wanted me and another investor friend of mine to help him with a company he had funded in Silicon Valley. He was absolutely convinced that our involvement in his company would ensure its success. I had tried to dissuade him—saying I really didn’t think we could help, but he thought I was just being overly modest. When I said that, my investor friend had kicked me under the table.

  We were meeting about our potential partnership and also about the opportunity I had to put a collar on some of the stock I owned. The stock was worth tens of millions, but there were a few rumblings in the market that the boom couldn’t last. By putting a collar on the stock, I would still be paid at a predetermined number that would safeguard against a market crash, and if it went up, it could still be bought at the predetermined price so the buyer would gain the upside. Several people had advised me to hedge my investments in this way.

  We met at Le Cirque, an upscale restaurant then located at the Palace Hotel. We drank bellinis and bohemian sidecars. The meeting was a formality, as we had already agreed that he would give us 50 percent of the company, and we would help raise further equity investment and give strategic advice. We discussed it briefly and then moved on to my desire to put a collar on my most valuable stock—Neoforma. After discussing and agreeing on the terms, he gave me some paperwork to look over and complete.

  My friend, who had been sitting there silently but drinking heavily, suddenly blurted out, “We want sixty percent of the company.”

  Apparently the bellinis had given him some newfound knowledge of our ability or importance, and he decided that we needed to own the majority of the company.

  “What are you talking about?” asked the hedge fund manager. “We agreed on fifty percent twenty minutes ago.”

  “If you want our expertise, it’s sixty percent, or forget it.” The alcohol had made my friend greedy and illogical. He was trying to take advantage of the situation, and I had no idea why he was doing this. I would have been happy with the deal at 30 percent, and I had told him so earlier in the day.

  “We have a deal at fifty percent.”

  “If you keep talking, I’m going to make it seventy-five percent. Or maybe we will cut you out altogether.” He was yelling now, and I could see the other patrons start to look over at us nervously.

  “You’re an asshole,” the hedge fund manager said.

  At that moment, everything exploded. The two of them jumped out of their seats, and I lunged between them before they could come to blows. People didn’t usually get into screaming fights at Le Cirque, and I was mortified.

  We left and I flew home the next day extremely pissed off at my investor friend and worried that I couldn’t reach the hedge fund manager on the phone to apologize. I kept trying to reach him, only to be told that he wasn’t in and I should leave another message with his secretary. There was no doubt he was trying to avoid me.

  I paced around my home in Newport Beach. I had a bad feeling about the whole deal, and it took six weeks before the guy finally returned my call.

  By then it was too late.

  The stock market was crashing, and people were frantic. Stocks were dropping in value, people were losing millions, and although we wouldn’t realize it or have a name for it until later—the dot-com bubble had burst.

  My net worth had plummeted, and I read financial statement after financial statement confirming what I already knew to be true. The $75 million was gone.

  Not only was it gone, but because of the lines of credit based on stock valuation, I was also several million dollars in debt, and effectively bankrupt.

  The only tangible asset I had left, and the only stock that was still worth the paper it was printed on, was the company I had saved from bankruptcy and rebuilt from the ground up—Accuray.

  But that was in an irrevocable trust.

  I was worth absolutely nothing.

  Less than nothing.

  • • •

  IT SEEMED that all of my friends disappeared almost as quickly as the zeros in my bank account. There were no more free drinks, free meals, VIP seating in the best restaurants. It took almost two years of struggle—and after selling the penthouse, the cars, the villa, and canceling the purchase of the island, I still owed money. Month after month I watched everything I had worked so hard for go away. All the money, power, and success I had dreamed of and visualized in my head since I was a teenager was gone—vanished in one big pop of a bubble. I had made it appear and then it had disappeared.


  “Don’t worry,” one of the few friends I had left said. “You can work that Doty magic again.”

  Was it really magic? All the start-up investing I had done, and the success that came with it, seemed like a fluke. I had gotten drunk on amassing a fortune and the power that came with it. But ultimately I was a neurosurgeon, not a technology guy. I had some skill at investing, and I was really good at making things happen and making people believe. I knew how to work hard and focus and how to think big and get others on board, which had made me wildly successful. At the heart of it all, however, my greatest strength was as a healer, not an entrepreneur.

  I grieved the loss of my fortune and my lifestyle, and on the day I packed up my house in Newport Beach, I felt empty, lost, and more alone than ever. I had lost my marriage. I wasn’t involved in my daughter’s life. I couldn’t think of a single person I could call and share how I was feeling. In the pursuit of things, I had neglected relationships. And when I needed someone the most there was no one there.

  While packing up the house, I found my old box of special things in the back of a storage closet. I hadn’t opened it since college. I took out my old notebook, and I opened up the page and read over my list of things I wanted out of life when I was twelve. There were other pages of writing—places where I had written down what Ruth taught me, and funny phrases she had said that at the time I hadn’t really understood. Everything on my list had materialized, but now it was all gone.

  I was a horrible magician.

  • • •

  I HAD DIVIDED my six weeks with her into four parts. Relaxing the Body. Taming the Mind. Opening the Heart. Clarifying Intent. In the margin above the third section I had written moral compass with a question mark after it, and what you think you want isn’t always what is best for you. This had three question marks after it.

  I sat on the floor in front of the closet in my almost empty house, and for the first time in a very long time, I took three deep breaths and began relaxing every part of my body. I focused on my breathing, in and out, inhale and exhale. I felt my mind quiet. Then I focused on opening my heart. I sent love to the boy I once was and to the man I had become. I opened my heart to the truth that I wasn’t the only one who had experienced loss, and I opened my heart to all those who were struggling just to eat, to have shelter, to take care of their children. And then I visualized the window in my mind, and it was opaque. I couldn’t see what was on the other side of the window—what was in my future—no matter how hard I tried. For the first time since I had met Ruth, I didn’t have a vision for what I wanted next or who I wanted to be. I had no idea of what I wanted to be on the other side of the window.

  In that moment, I knew what I needed to do. I had to go back to the magic shop—back to Lancaster. Maybe Neil was still there. Maybe Ruth was still alive. I tucked my notebook under my arm and grabbed the keys to my one remaining car. I had kept the Porsche. It was the first car I had dreamed of and I owned it outright.

  Lancaster was only a few hours away.

  I could be there before dark.

  PART THREE

  The Secrets of the Heart

  TEN

  Giving Up

  If my life had been a movie, I would have arrived in Lancaster to find Ruth waiting for me in the magic shop. Ruth would have been approaching ninety but would appear more wise than frail. She would have sensed I was coming and had some meaningful words that would help me make sense of my failures.

  Life isn’t a movie, however, and when I arrived in Lancaster and drove to where the magic shop had been, it was gone. The entire strip mall was gone. I called information and asked for a list of magic shops in Lancaster. There were no listings for magic shops. There was a listing for a magician in nearby Palmdale who did children’s birthday parties, so I dialed the number.

  “Hi, I’m looking for a magic shop that used to be in Lancaster,” I said. “It was owned by a guy named Neil. I don’t know the last name.”

  There was a pause on the other end.

  “Are you looking for a magician?” the man asked.

  “Yes, by the name of Neil. He owned Cactus Rabbit Magic.”

  “There’s no one by the name of Neil here. I think you have the wrong number.”

  I tried to curb my frustration. “Did you ever go to a magic shop in Lancaster, by any chance?”

  “There’s no magic shop in Lancaster,” he said with a slight annoyance to his voice. “You have to go to Los Angeles to find a good magic store.”

  “There used to be one. In the late sixties. I was just wondering if you knew anything about it or what happened to the owner.”

  “Well, I was born in 1973.”

  I sighed. This was not working. “Thanks anyway. Sorry to bother you.”

  “You know, I do remember hearing something about a magic store in Lancaster that closed down in the eighties. I think the guy made cards or something. Got pretty famous, but I can’t remember his name. You might want to try the Magic Castle in Los Angeles. A lot of old guys hang out there.”

  I thanked him again and hung up the phone.

  I set out on foot and realized I was tracing the same route I used to ride on my bike to and from the magic shop every day. Everything was different. Lancaster was more like a real city now, not the isolated desert town of my childhood. I walked past the still-empty field where I had run into the bullies and now saw kids playing and laughing. The church next door was also still there just as it had been. Some things hadn’t changed. I walked all the way back to the apartment building we had lived in during that summer. It looked pretty much the same, just older and even more decrepit than I remembered. Our apartment had been on the ground floor and a bicycle was lying on its side on the porch just the way mine once had over thirty years earlier. I walked around the corner to the room my brother and I had shared. Torn curtains partially covered the windows, but I could see some figures on the window ledge, and I walked a bit closer over the yard that was more dirt than lawn. And there were Captain America and the Avengers. I remembered how I had used the same ledge for my own action figures, only mine were G.I. Joe, Captain Action, and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. I turned back to see the tree I used to climb sometimes to get away from my parents’ fighting, sometimes to just be alone, sometimes to cry because I felt so alone. I walked a little farther into a field of tumbleweeds and junk and looked around. For a few seconds I just stood looking over the field. I felt like that kid again, and felt the excitement of jumping on my bike, heading to see Ruth. I followed the path through the field that I used to take. I was suddenly brought back to reality by a horn honking.

  I realized I wasn’t sure what I was looking for or even why I was in Lancaster. Ruth didn’t live here. She was from Ohio, if she was still alive at all. I didn’t even know her last name. I walked back to my car feeling like I was missing something important. What had I come here for? What was I really looking for?

  My notebook sat on the passenger seat. I picked it up and started reading through my Ruth notes. Compass of the heart. It was underlined. I didn’t remember it being underlined earlier in the day, but I must not have noticed. There were also stars I had drawn in red ink on either side of the words. I flipped through the rest of my Ruth notes. Nothing else was underlined nor were there any other stars. Why this phrase? I closed my eyes and tried to remember when Ruth had said this. It was the day of the fight. The only day I had ever been late. The day she had told me about opening my heart. I remembered sitting in the chair in the back room, the smell of the place, and then came the bits and pieces, like song lyrics or poetry.

  Each of us in our lives experiences situations that cause pain.

  I call them wounds of the heart.

  If you ignore them, they won’t heal.

  But sometimes when our hearts are wounded that’s when they are open.

  Frequently it is the wounds of the hea
rt that give us the greatest opportunity to grow.

  Difficult situations.

  Magic gift.

  I opened my eyes. I remembered when I was leaving that day—Ruth had followed me out to the parking lot.

  “Do you know what a compass is?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “It tells you what direction to go in.”

  “Your heart is a compass, and it is your greatest gift, Jim. If you’re ever lost, you just open it up, and it will always steer you in the right direction.”

  I read the other sentence in the top margin. What you think you want isn’t always what’s best for you. Ruth had warned me. She had told me to open my heart before visualizing what I wanted and to use the power wisely. I hadn’t done that. Could I have gotten it all wrong? I thought I wanted money. But the truth was, I had gotten money, but there was never enough money to make me feel like I had enough. It was as if the magic show I had begun so many years ago had now stopped. I had just kept pulling out one trick after another, so the applause never stopped, and the show kept going, and the millions piled up. And I was still just as alone, and scared, and lost as I was the first day I met Ruth. If I were being completely honest, there was a part of me that felt completely free now that the money had disappeared.

  No magic trick lasts forever.

  • • •

  I WOKE UP the next morning to the sound of the phone ringing. It was after 10 A.M. There was no woman in my bed, and I didn’t have to get up early to check the stock market. I had fallen asleep visualizing my heart opening, and I had asked the compass of my heart to steer me in the right direction. Then I had slept soundly, better than I had in years.

  One of my attorneys was on the phone, and he said he had some big news for me.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I was reviewing your trust documents and realized that it had never been formalized or filed and therefore never completed. For some reason, this was never done and I can’t see any specific reason in the file why this was the case. It was just an error that was missed. The notes all document your intention and list how much stock for each charity. I checked with one of our senior partners, and he said that, based on these facts, you have no requirement to fund the trust or complete the documents.”