Hedge Fund Hunks

Every great once in a while, a piece gets cut from the paper (newspapers being, of course, finite) due to a complicated equation. This equation, while unerringly correct, sometimes results in a travesty, such as the cutting of this recent piece by Alexis Swerdloff. So, as you consider your first weekend of the Fall wherever you still pretend to Summer, a fantastic recent cautionary tale from the Land of Misfit Stories: Dorothy De Marco is in the market for a man “of a certain caliber.” A behavioral psychologist from Bellport, Long Island, she looks like a cross between Lisa Gastineau and Jennifer Coolidge. She has breasts out to here and legs like whoa. Her last serious boyfriend was an eye surgeon who made $20 million a year. “He asked me to marry him,” she said. “Two weeks later, I found him in bed with the surgical coordinator.” But dating is difficult in Bellport, she said. “Isabella Rossellini and I are the only two straight people.” So, when she noticed an ad in Dan’s Paper for the Hedge Fund Hunk Auction on Shelter Island, naturally, she was there. Ten attractive hedge fund fellows, the ad said, would be ferried in from New York City for the weekend to raise funds for A Leg to Stand On, which provides prosthetic limbs for disabled children in developing countries. At the benefit, thirty women and a handful of men milled around hostess Amy Krakow’s Country Club Drive lawn. Just feet away, a few golfers at the Gardner’s Bay Country Club finished up their evening rounds. One wondered how Roy Ophir, one of the hunks, felt about being auctioned off. Was he nervous, excited, both? “I have to do what I have to do for the charity,” he said. Points for personality! Mead Welles, a founder of the charity, explained things a bit better. “Hedge fund managers are very competitive, they have big egos. These are guys that have done very well, and they get up on stage and make fools of themselves.” The first hedge fund hunk, Phillipe, a long-haired, Balki Bartokomous type, took his position on stage. The bidding for Philipe began at $25, and slowly climbed. “Fifty dollars. Okay, that’s about a fifth of a limb. Do I hear sixty?” the auctioneer asked. She did not. Phillipe went to the nice lady in the black and white polka-dot dress. Next up was Mr. Welles. The baby-faced, baseball-capped, khaki-shorts-clad former college lacrosse, football, and hockey player stood confidently on stage as the auctioneer read off a laundry list of attributes that had the ladies nervously chuckling—because he was just that good. “Mead enjoys marathons, polo, and riding his motorcycle to work,” the auctioneer cried out. She paused. “And it’s yellow.” She went on. “In addition to being fluent in Spanish, he also has his pilot’s license, a huge heart and manages not one, but deux hedge funds.” Mead’s price jumped right from $50 to $600. Things took a turn for the competitive as Ms. De Marco and hostess Amy Krakow, who was proxying for an unnamed “mystery bidder,” bid ferociously. Ms. De Marco ultimately stopped at $1200, as it seemed the mystery bidder did not plan on stopping anytime soon. “So, $1250 to the mystery bidder!” exclaimed the auctioneer. “I’m pissed,” said Ms. De Marco afterwards. “I really liked that guy Mead. And he was certainly the handsomest man here.” She excused herself to take matters into her own hands. “I’m going to go schmooze with Mead,” she said. Next on the auction block were Rob Ferris and Sam Paris, two Yale seniors, both history majors. They both wore blue- and white-striped button downs tucked into khakis. Mr. Paris had interned at Brownstone Assets with Mr. Ophir over the summer. “My desk was right next to Roy’s, and a few weeks ago,” Sam said, “I heard him discussing an event on Long Island where there would be a bunch of Elite models.” Mr. Paris loves models, so he asked Mr. Ophir if he could attend. Mr. Ophir said sure. And even though it was their first weekend back at school, Mr. Paris and Mr. Ferris left the confines of Camp Yale for the wilds of Shelter Island. But, alas, there were no Elite models present at this event and so they found themselves on stage, being auctioned off as part of a package deal which included dinner at a New York steakhouse and Francesca Romana jewelry. “$150, do I hear 200 dollars? Limbs cost about $250— we almost have a limb!” the auctioneer pleaded. “Okay, then, that’s $200 for the Yalies to the pregnant lady in the green schmatta.” In the audience, Ms. De Marco took a gulp of her wine. “If they want to make some real money,” she said, “they should auction me off.” So, after a few more hunks were auctioned off, and after Ms. De Marco had a bit more wine, she went over for a little chit-chat with A Leg To Stand On executive director Lauren Rosato. In a matter of minutes, Ms. De Marco found herself standing on the auction block. “Dorothy enjoys golf and getting massages,” the auctioneer said. “But more than anything else, do you know what she likes?” She paused. “She likes giving massages.” After a fierce back and forth between Mr. Ophir and “Dr. Dan,” an older hedge fund hunk who had been auctioned earlier in the evening, Ms. De Marco went to Dr. Dan for $650. It was now time for The Subscribers, a band composed of hedge-funders, to take to the stage to close the evening. They delved into a an original song, which is called “The Wall Street Blues.” Whoa, poor me, they sang. My life, my life is so tough. I am rich, but I’m not rich enough. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I got the Wall Street Blues. —Alexis Swerdloff