Friday, April 1, 2011
Wanderlust part 17 "It's Ms."
Morning, morning, TGIF! I am READY for tomorrow. I am ready for ten hours of sleep, trust me. Not sure about posting this weekend. I am truly going to try. And now that I've posted that there's a chance I *won't* it's probably a done deal that I *will*. I like to contradict myself, don't ya know.
I'm almost done my zombie sequel and of course I'm keeping good track of Johnny and Really. Plus a short or two. And a doc's appointment for a kid today and...there's something else but I need more coffee to remember what it is. If I see you tomorrow, then have a great Friday. If I don't see you 'til Monday, have a rocking good weekend!
By Sommer Marsden
“Ms. Blake!” the teller said and gave me her patented professional smile. That was the thing about a dad who had his hand in everyone’s pocket—at least the folks who mattered—everyone knew your name. My father was well known, well respected…well feared.
“It’s Mrs.” I said just to fuck with her. If she’d have said Mrs. I would have corrected her to Ms. I’m cruel like that.
“Sorry, Mrs…um, but it’s still Blake. Isn’t it?”
“I want to make a withdrawal,” I said, ignoring the chit chat. Johnny was out in the car and the snow was really starting to fall. My mind was racing and the young girl who lived in me, the one who always felt left out and abandoned, feared he would turn the car on and leave me here.
“Oh, no problem. Just write down how much you’d like.”
“First, I’d like a balance,” I said, watching myself on the monitor. I was too thin. I was black and white and washed out. I was in a man’s flannel shirt and a tee, faded jeans and flats. My feet were still cold, my hair was a style one could only describe as bed head. Twin spots—even on the grainy film—stood out on my cheeks where I was flushed from just having been fucked. And my ass throbbed.
In short, I looked gorgeous. Something I rarely, if ever, allow myself to think.
She slid a piece of paper across the high counter and I saw the number in my personal account. $28,925 and change.
All of it? Some of it? Half of it? I had my ATM card, I could withdraw funds anywhere I wanted. But I didn’t want my father and my husband tracking me. I didn’t want anyone tracking me at all. Not even my bank. But the idea of trying to cart that much money around was staggering.
“And how long will you be gone, anyhow?” I mumbled.
“I’m sorry?” She was pert and perky and watching me the way a bird of prey observes a mouse. Trying to seem nonchalant but taking everything in. Every goddamn detailed, because…I searched and found her shiny gold nametag. Anita. Because Anita smelled a rat. And she wanted to make sure she could be ever so helpful once the time came.
“Nothing. Planning an upcoming vacation in my head. Can I have a slip?”
She slid a blank blue withdrawal slip across the counter to me and I filled in the date and my account number, still pondering the amount. Finally, I settled on a number and pushed the paper back.
Her eyebrows went up. “A withdrawal of this size means I have to call over the manager.”
She pushed a button, a silent bell I assumed, and turned to her neat little rows of slips and papers and coin jackets.
He bustled up—short, fat and bald. He was the kind of man who (as my mother would have said) always looked like he smelled shit. I almost laughed.
“Mrs. Blake!” he said, clapping his pudgy hands with glee.
“It’s Miss,” I said and Anita shot me a look. I almost laughed again but chewed my lip instead.
“Right. Is everything okay?”
“Fine, is everything okay with you?”
“It’s just a large withdrawal,” he said. “That’s all.”
“It’s only ten thousand dollars. It’s not even half the account. If you prefer, Mr…” I leaned in. “Frederick, I can go ahead and close the account.”
Which is probably what you should do and you know it.
“No, no! No problem at all. We just like to check these things. Make sure they’re not…” He craned his neck and looked outside to Johnny in the Chevy. Exhaust curled from the tailpipe. Johnny was smoking a cigarette. “Under duress.”
Then I did laugh. I put my head down, my long hair shielding me from their prying eyes. I laughed until tears rolled down my face. “Um. No. Not under duress,” I said. “That’s just the guy I’m sleeping with. No worries.”
They both looked like they might swallow their tongues and that made me laugh even harder. “Now,” I said, clearing my throat. “My money?”
He typed in his super secret banker code and nodded to Anita who proceeded to open her money drawer. “Would you prefer—“
“Hundred, fifties and twenties mostly,” I said.
She nodded, counting the dirty green paper out so fast it was a blur. Mr. Frederick waddled back to his area and took a phone off the wall. He punched in a number and turned his back to the bank lobby.
Gee, I wonder who he’s calling?
No I didn’t. My father would know about this before Johnny and I left the parking lot. Big investment banker didn’t cover it. Philanthroper didn’t cover it. Powerful man who can crush you like a bug didn’t cover it. Everyone knew my father and those who didn’t wanted to.
Anita put my money in several envelopes, which forced me to then stand there, extract it, count it and then try to replace it. She smirked at me the whole time.
To calm myself I pictured me draped across that clawfoot tub, naked, shaving his head. Straddling him after, lowering myself onto him. Moving. Didn’t matter if there was water or not. He’d have a smooth head and we’d be on smooth porcelain and he’d be fucking me.
“Ten thousand,” I said and put my five envelopes in my purse.
“Thanks so much, Anita,” I said.
She nodded at me, deferential because she knew it was part of her job. “You’re very welcome.”
“Tell my father I said hi,” I said and walked out the door.
The snow was heavier and thicker and much wetter. My feet slid on the slush that had gathered on the pavement. “Boots, “I said to myself. “I’ll definitely need some boots.”
I opened the door and Johnny grinned at me. “Snowflake,” he said and lit two cigarettes with his lighter.
He handed me one and I figured what the hell. I’d smoke it.
“Ready?” he asked.
We pulled back out onto Belair and fell in line with traffic. The nose of the Chevy was pointed toward the church and his apartment. I watched its mottled gray hood lead the way.
“So I was thinking while you were in the bank.”
“Yeah. About what?”
“Where are we going. North? South?”
I didn’t even let him finish. I turned to him so fast my hair flew around my face. “West,” I said.
He grinned at me. “Now how did I know you were gonna say that?”
“You must be psychic.”
“Must be.” His firm hand settled on my thigh and I felt a flicker of want in my body.
I sat back in my seat and watched the world roll by.
*photo credit moi during one of our snowstorms this winter. don't know why I love that picture but I do!