8
“10...9...8...7...6..5...”
“Shut it, Sid!” Ben hollered from the kitchen to Sid who was decorating in the living room.
“Aw, leave him be,” Sherri cooed at Ben. “He’s just practicing.”
“He knows how to countdown a New Year. He’s done it for the better part of 26 years,” Ben retorted.
“I know, but let him have his fun,” Sherri told Ben with an almost provocative look. J hadn’t noticed the look but he noticed that the space between Sherri and Ben seemed awfully small at about the same time that he noticed that Sherri seemed particularly concerned about the way Ben was treating Sid. It wasn’t too much longer before he noticed that Sherri was wearing make-up. J racked his brain trying to remember if he had ever seen Sherri wear make-up. And he wasn’t sure if her hair was styled, or if she’d just had a tough time wrestling it from the clutches of her stocking cap, but something was definitely different. He tried not to stare at the two of them, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he and Sid were going to be watching their cohorts suck face when the ball dropped. Rather than focus on their upcoming soiree, if a four person gathering can hold such a title, or on the mounting sexual tension at the kitchen table, J decided that it was time to work out some details for “Operation: The Color of Money.”
The plan as J began to conceive it held that ideally, one of them would work at a bank for a period of some weeks or months and gain a trust with the other workers. When the time was right, they would gain access to the vault, coat all the money with a dye which would rub off on bank patron hands. The dye would have to be very difficult to wash off of skin, because at some point J hoped that enough of the money would be circulated that he would be able to expose funny business deals, as well as expose all the money grubbing consumers in the Northern Kentucky area. As J did his thinking, he leaned way back in his chair so that only one leg was touching the ground. He leaned up against the maps on the wall behind him and surveyed the plan from that vantage point. What the plan lacked in clarity, J thought it more than made up for in creativity and reach. He’d obviously need someone to help with the dye, since he couldn’t remember picking up that sort of chemistry anywhere along the way. He had a few contacts that might be able to help. Maybe one of the other four could offer some help as well. At that point his chair slipped out from under him a little bit and he clattered to down on all four chair legs, a bit of luck and balance saving him from being spilled onto the floor. Perhaps he should have taken the slip of a warning of things to come, but J was buoyed by the optimism of a New Year. A New Year that was just around the corner according to the chorus he heard counting he heard in the living room, “10...9...8...7...”
“Sherri!” Ben hollered, “Why are you encouraging him?”
“I thought we might need the practice,” she said to him adoringly. J tried to shake it off, but he was sure he heard adoration in her voice. “What the hell?” he wondered inaudibly.
With the shell of a plan in place, J thought he could relax and have a good time. They’d all get down to business the next day, at least those who didn’t get busy tonight would...
***
“Fine” J screamed, his voice rising above the other three voices in the kitchen. “I’ll work at the bank!”
“You’re parents will be so pleased,” Ben said smartly.
J’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his mouth tightly shut.
“That leaves the three of you in charge of the dye. I’ve got a guy in Hamilton you should visit. He’s a part time chemist if you know what I mean.”
Sid looked at Sherri. Ben looked at Sherri. Sherri looked at J.
“He might be able to help us. That’s all that matters,” J explained.
“Part-time chemist?” Ben mouthed, mulling things over in his brain.
“I’ll go apply for a job tomorrow. That should give you guys about six weeks to get things ready.”
“Have you ever held a job for six weeks before?” Ben asked.
J rolled his eyes, but he had to admit that Ben really seemed on his game today, which didn’t explain at all why he hadn’t had a chance to change out of his party clothes from last night.
Before J could even think about having a steady job he was going to have to find a suit. He racked his brain trying to remember where exactly he’d last had a suit. It was probably this town, some fours earlier. If he remembered right, and it was taking a lot of effort to remember back to that life, his suit had been navy blue. He tried to remember where it had gone. It obviously had gone to Washington D.C. with him. It hadn’t gone to Missouri, because he hadn’t been there since before graduation. It had to be somewhere between Syracuse and Cincinnati. J wondered how much of his life could be contained in that same phrase. “Had he donated it? tossed it? used it to build a ferry and leave the island?” He was leaning toward the first, that seemed like his style. If he left a suit to something like the Salvation Army, then it seemed likely that he could find a suit at the Salvation Army. He may not have liked cliches, but if what goes around comes around, he figured he might as well catch his suit on the way around.
The Salvation Army had a wide array of suits to meet J’s needs. They had big blue suits that looked to be more parachute than dress clothes. They had little black suits for tiny gnome pallbearers. They had sportcoats that defied the general rules of style and comfort. J was amazed at the selection. He rifled through twenty-five suits, some more maroon than others, until he found a respectable number hidden at the end of the rack. It was navy blue. He knew he looked good in navy blue, but he suddenly wished he’d brought someone along for a second opinion. After all he hadn’t purchased dress clothes since he was a teenager, and even then his mom had really done the purchasing. J admitted that his lack of practice might leave room for some error, but he was encouraged by his ability to pass on polyester. The blue suit didn’t fit. The coat was humongous. It could have fit two J’s inside, one J shoved down each arm. J visualized himself doubled and shoved down the arms of a navy blue sportcoat. It was fun to think about, but made him wonder, “Who would wear the pants?”
Coming back from that little fantasy, J noticed a black tuxedo on an adjacent rack. It might be a little dressy, but with the right shirt, tie and used shoes he thought it could probably work. It fit like used tuxedo, which in this case worked out just fine. As J was considering whether to haggle over the thirteen dollar price tag, it occurred to him that if the bank gave him the job, he’d still have to find something to wear five days a week. The bank probably wouldn’t be too keen on his homemade T-shirts and too-large pants. J was proud of himself for thinking of something so practical. He was on his way to acting like a banker already.
With his tuxedo, a week’s worth of work clothes, and one vintage pair of jean shorts piled in his arms, J checked out for just under twenty-five dollars. Thank goodness Sid had some petty cash at home. That’s what Sid had called it, “petty cash.” “How can cash be petty?” Ben had asked. Sid had just shrugged, “It’s what my grandma called it.” J didn’t care what anybody called it, so long he could get set this plan in motion.
“A tuxedo, J?” Sherri had asked.
“It was classy and cheap. My kind of suit.” J replied with a smile.
It was hard to argue with J, especially in a sharp looking, but well-worn tuxedo. The sheen down his legs had almost worn away, but J sported the tux with such confidence that Sherri had an urge to serve him martinis, Sid had the urge to allow him to answer his large wooden doors, or he would have, if he’d had large wooden doors.
“Enough of this primping,” J announced. “I’ve got a financial institution to charm.”
His interview went swimmingly, but then J was the kind of guy who could not only talk his way out of paper bag, but out of the bag and onto your leg. Then like a conversational tapeworm, he could work his way from your leg into your insides. Before you knew it he would be feeding off of the very food you thought you were eating. It was an interview, so that was a good thing. It went so well the First Branch of the Bank of Cincinnati hired him on the spot. J was a charmer, there was no doubt about that. If he hadn’t despised politics, and the law, and sales, he probably could’ve managed a lucrative lifestyle in any one of the three.
It was only a matter of time before “Operation: The Color of Money” would be in full swing. The matter of time was exactly what J was worried about. Already in this hour with Mr. Bank President and Mrs. Bank HR, he had felt the sickening squeeze from his tie turned noose. He had felt his bile gargle at the bureaucracy all around him. Six weeks was going to be rough. He thought back to Dante and wondered what circle of hell he’d just signed on for. At least the circle would let him eat, he thought. And as J stood to shake hands with his interviewers he admired his reflection in the window. “This may be a disgusting place, but at least I look good in my tuxedo,” he smiled and winked at his reflection.
“By the way, J,” his new employer said as he rose to leave, “leave the tuxedo to Bond.”
Go to 9
“Shut it, Sid!” Ben hollered from the kitchen to Sid who was decorating in the living room.
“Aw, leave him be,” Sherri cooed at Ben. “He’s just practicing.”
“He knows how to countdown a New Year. He’s done it for the better part of 26 years,” Ben retorted.
“I know, but let him have his fun,” Sherri told Ben with an almost provocative look. J hadn’t noticed the look but he noticed that the space between Sherri and Ben seemed awfully small at about the same time that he noticed that Sherri seemed particularly concerned about the way Ben was treating Sid. It wasn’t too much longer before he noticed that Sherri was wearing make-up. J racked his brain trying to remember if he had ever seen Sherri wear make-up. And he wasn’t sure if her hair was styled, or if she’d just had a tough time wrestling it from the clutches of her stocking cap, but something was definitely different. He tried not to stare at the two of them, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he and Sid were going to be watching their cohorts suck face when the ball dropped. Rather than focus on their upcoming soiree, if a four person gathering can hold such a title, or on the mounting sexual tension at the kitchen table, J decided that it was time to work out some details for “Operation: The Color of Money.”
The plan as J began to conceive it held that ideally, one of them would work at a bank for a period of some weeks or months and gain a trust with the other workers. When the time was right, they would gain access to the vault, coat all the money with a dye which would rub off on bank patron hands. The dye would have to be very difficult to wash off of skin, because at some point J hoped that enough of the money would be circulated that he would be able to expose funny business deals, as well as expose all the money grubbing consumers in the Northern Kentucky area. As J did his thinking, he leaned way back in his chair so that only one leg was touching the ground. He leaned up against the maps on the wall behind him and surveyed the plan from that vantage point. What the plan lacked in clarity, J thought it more than made up for in creativity and reach. He’d obviously need someone to help with the dye, since he couldn’t remember picking up that sort of chemistry anywhere along the way. He had a few contacts that might be able to help. Maybe one of the other four could offer some help as well. At that point his chair slipped out from under him a little bit and he clattered to down on all four chair legs, a bit of luck and balance saving him from being spilled onto the floor. Perhaps he should have taken the slip of a warning of things to come, but J was buoyed by the optimism of a New Year. A New Year that was just around the corner according to the chorus he heard counting he heard in the living room, “10...9...8...7...”
“Sherri!” Ben hollered, “Why are you encouraging him?”
“I thought we might need the practice,” she said to him adoringly. J tried to shake it off, but he was sure he heard adoration in her voice. “What the hell?” he wondered inaudibly.
With the shell of a plan in place, J thought he could relax and have a good time. They’d all get down to business the next day, at least those who didn’t get busy tonight would...
***
“Fine” J screamed, his voice rising above the other three voices in the kitchen. “I’ll work at the bank!”
“You’re parents will be so pleased,” Ben said smartly.
J’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his mouth tightly shut.
“That leaves the three of you in charge of the dye. I’ve got a guy in Hamilton you should visit. He’s a part time chemist if you know what I mean.”
Sid looked at Sherri. Ben looked at Sherri. Sherri looked at J.
“He might be able to help us. That’s all that matters,” J explained.
“Part-time chemist?” Ben mouthed, mulling things over in his brain.
“I’ll go apply for a job tomorrow. That should give you guys about six weeks to get things ready.”
“Have you ever held a job for six weeks before?” Ben asked.
J rolled his eyes, but he had to admit that Ben really seemed on his game today, which didn’t explain at all why he hadn’t had a chance to change out of his party clothes from last night.
Before J could even think about having a steady job he was going to have to find a suit. He racked his brain trying to remember where exactly he’d last had a suit. It was probably this town, some fours earlier. If he remembered right, and it was taking a lot of effort to remember back to that life, his suit had been navy blue. He tried to remember where it had gone. It obviously had gone to Washington D.C. with him. It hadn’t gone to Missouri, because he hadn’t been there since before graduation. It had to be somewhere between Syracuse and Cincinnati. J wondered how much of his life could be contained in that same phrase. “Had he donated it? tossed it? used it to build a ferry and leave the island?” He was leaning toward the first, that seemed like his style. If he left a suit to something like the Salvation Army, then it seemed likely that he could find a suit at the Salvation Army. He may not have liked cliches, but if what goes around comes around, he figured he might as well catch his suit on the way around.
The Salvation Army had a wide array of suits to meet J’s needs. They had big blue suits that looked to be more parachute than dress clothes. They had little black suits for tiny gnome pallbearers. They had sportcoats that defied the general rules of style and comfort. J was amazed at the selection. He rifled through twenty-five suits, some more maroon than others, until he found a respectable number hidden at the end of the rack. It was navy blue. He knew he looked good in navy blue, but he suddenly wished he’d brought someone along for a second opinion. After all he hadn’t purchased dress clothes since he was a teenager, and even then his mom had really done the purchasing. J admitted that his lack of practice might leave room for some error, but he was encouraged by his ability to pass on polyester. The blue suit didn’t fit. The coat was humongous. It could have fit two J’s inside, one J shoved down each arm. J visualized himself doubled and shoved down the arms of a navy blue sportcoat. It was fun to think about, but made him wonder, “Who would wear the pants?”
Coming back from that little fantasy, J noticed a black tuxedo on an adjacent rack. It might be a little dressy, but with the right shirt, tie and used shoes he thought it could probably work. It fit like used tuxedo, which in this case worked out just fine. As J was considering whether to haggle over the thirteen dollar price tag, it occurred to him that if the bank gave him the job, he’d still have to find something to wear five days a week. The bank probably wouldn’t be too keen on his homemade T-shirts and too-large pants. J was proud of himself for thinking of something so practical. He was on his way to acting like a banker already.
With his tuxedo, a week’s worth of work clothes, and one vintage pair of jean shorts piled in his arms, J checked out for just under twenty-five dollars. Thank goodness Sid had some petty cash at home. That’s what Sid had called it, “petty cash.” “How can cash be petty?” Ben had asked. Sid had just shrugged, “It’s what my grandma called it.” J didn’t care what anybody called it, so long he could get set this plan in motion.
“A tuxedo, J?” Sherri had asked.
“It was classy and cheap. My kind of suit.” J replied with a smile.
It was hard to argue with J, especially in a sharp looking, but well-worn tuxedo. The sheen down his legs had almost worn away, but J sported the tux with such confidence that Sherri had an urge to serve him martinis, Sid had the urge to allow him to answer his large wooden doors, or he would have, if he’d had large wooden doors.
“Enough of this primping,” J announced. “I’ve got a financial institution to charm.”
His interview went swimmingly, but then J was the kind of guy who could not only talk his way out of paper bag, but out of the bag and onto your leg. Then like a conversational tapeworm, he could work his way from your leg into your insides. Before you knew it he would be feeding off of the very food you thought you were eating. It was an interview, so that was a good thing. It went so well the First Branch of the Bank of Cincinnati hired him on the spot. J was a charmer, there was no doubt about that. If he hadn’t despised politics, and the law, and sales, he probably could’ve managed a lucrative lifestyle in any one of the three.
It was only a matter of time before “Operation: The Color of Money” would be in full swing. The matter of time was exactly what J was worried about. Already in this hour with Mr. Bank President and Mrs. Bank HR, he had felt the sickening squeeze from his tie turned noose. He had felt his bile gargle at the bureaucracy all around him. Six weeks was going to be rough. He thought back to Dante and wondered what circle of hell he’d just signed on for. At least the circle would let him eat, he thought. And as J stood to shake hands with his interviewers he admired his reflection in the window. “This may be a disgusting place, but at least I look good in my tuxedo,” he smiled and winked at his reflection.
“By the way, J,” his new employer said as he rose to leave, “leave the tuxedo to Bond.”
Go to 9
posted by David at 3:47 PM
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