Personal Banking - 5. Chapter 5

"AND IN A RETURN GRUDGE MATCH, PHILLIPS MEETS MOLINA IN OUR MAIN FREESTYLE WRESTLING EVENT, WITH OUR REFEREE TONIGHT, RICHARD ANDREWS."

The announcement signaled that I was free to start the match. Mr. Phillips was looking fantastic in his blue singlet and Jose looked pretty damn fine in his red one. The two opponents locked eyes. I had barely blown the whistle when they rushed at each other and grappled. For some reason their singlets disappeared as they met, leaving them nude.

With a grunt, Phillips forced Molina to the floor. Molina flipped him onto his back but Phillips escaped. As their sweaty bodies ground and writhed together, I got very, very close to make sure there were no technical violations.

Then somehow I became a naked wrestler, too, and Phillips and Molina were a tag-team against me. Molina body-slammed me. He tagged Phillips, who quickly had my head gripped between his thighs. Ha! Now I had his head gripped between my thighs! It was a battle of stamina!

Molina hadn't been tagged, but he entered the ring and began a forbidden move known as "lingual skinning," trying to move my whole body by inserting his tongue in my anus. I retaliated by swallowing Phillips' cock and yelling a defiant "GLMWMMNGLFWMNLGMN!"

But Phillips turned the tables by slipping out from under me and forcing his erect cock deep into the hole still wet from Molina's tongue, while Molina, holding me on my hands and knees, executed his dreaded "Spanish Force-Feeding" maneuver. The crowds' roars were deafening.

The roars turned into the sound of engines. The scene morphed. I was on an alien space craft. Two aliens, who oddly resembled Phillips and Molina, had me nude and strapped to an operating table under flashing blue and red lights.

"It is my turn to do the anal probe," hissed alien-Molina.

"No!" whispered alien-Phillips. "I am saving this subject for Experiment X!"

Alien-Molina brought his soft paws to his mouth. "Not...Experiment X!"

"Yes! You know perfectly well that Experiment X is what I wanted him for. So keep your bloody paws off him!"

"Bitch!" alien-Molina whimpered bitterly. "You always bogart the best ones."

"Richard!" Mr. Phillips said, entering his outer office. "You're a little early."

I opened my eyes. "Mr. Phillips! Yes, sir, I got here sooner than I expected and I was just, um, thinking about something--"

"Could you come with me, please? There's something downstairs that will be relevant to our session."

"Downstairs? Sure, all right." I hoped he didn't mean Jose's office.

He didn't. He pressed the elevator button for the basement. We descended in silence.

The basement was dimly lit, with rows and rows of shelves filled with banker's boxes. "This way. Just a little farther."

It was a lot farther.

"Wow, Mr. Phillips, that is a very, um, sturdy-looking metal frame you have there, and the ropes attached to it look pretty sturdy, too."

Mr. Phillips swiftly tied my hands and feet to the four corners of the frame. "Do you have anything you want to say to me, Richard?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Anything about your department store credit cards? The ones you were supposed to cancel?" He blindfolded me.

"Oh, right. I didn't get around to that yet. And they had this great shoe sale at Kord and Baylor's, I really couldn't afford to pass it up. I was going to tell you about that today and mmfmwrfmfm--"

He had gagged me. "It's well soundproofed down here, Richard -- one of the things I like about it. In spite of that, I prefer to use a gag. I find it enhances the experience. Now do you know by the smell what this is?" He held something up to my nose.

"Wlgwrlr?"

"That's right. It's leather -- a nice broad leather paddle. Feel it glide across your chest. I'm afraid I'm going to have to punish you, Richard."

He cut off my pants and ripped off my shirt. "This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me, Richard." Crack! It bit into my ass. I yelled as best I could.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, but it's for your own good. I'm doing this because I care about you, Richard. We both want your financial program to be successful, don't we?" Crack!

He moved in front of me, removed the gag and kissed me, devouring my lips as he reached around and continued to beat my ass. I was in a wild confusion of pain and pleasure when--

"Richard!" Mr. Phillips said, entering his outer office. "You're a little early."

I have got to get my imagination under control.

"Hello, Mr. Phillips."

"Give me a few minutes. I'll be right with you." He entered his office and shut the door. It was only because I was watching for it that I noticed he was a little bit flushed, a little bit rumpled, a little bit out of breath. I had imagined a lot of things recently, but the altercation I overheard between him and Jose was real.

I could see Ms. Porter's computer screen from where I sat. "What's that you're looking at, Ms. Porter?"

She quickly minimized a window. "It's Mrs. Porter."

"Mrs. Sorry. Was that candy?"

"Oh." She was flustered. "Yes. I'm looking for something. Having a devil of a time finding it. When I was a girl my family moved to London for a year and there were some English candies I fell in love with. Now they're impossible to find. Even the ones they still make, they usually won't ship to the U.S."

Aha. My ticket in with Mrs. Porter. Rob, one of the cooks, is from Northampton. He has quite a sweet tooth, and his mother regularly sends him treats from the UK. Maybe he could be persuaded to part with some of them.

"Sort of a nostalgia thing?"

"Yes. You wouldn't believe how many people are furious about the Callard & Bowser candies they can't get any more."

I nodded. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Oh, Mr. Phillips doesn't mind, really. Especially since I hardly ever take a real break."

"Have you worked for him for very long?"

"Ten years."

"Do you like him?"

She looked at me sharply. "He's a good man. Yes, I like him."

Mr. Phillips opened his door. "Come on in, Richard."

************

"Here's this week's payment, Mr. Phillips." He may have calmed down, but the exertions I overheard still had their effect. The primal scent of his body was overpowering the orange and mint and it was very distracting.

"Thank you, Richard." He put it into an envelope.

There was a board game set up on a side table. "What game is that?"

"That? It's called go. It's a game of controlling space on the board. One player has white stones, the other has black. There are some good lessons I learn from go."

"Like what?"

"Patience. Not being over-ambitious. It reminds me that I don't have to win every battle to win the war. So I shouldn't be greedy and try to win in every area, or I might lose everything. Also, if I'm losing in one area, it's better not to concentrate my efforts there, not to play where I'm losing. Better to play from where I'm winning toward where I'm losing. I can show you how to play. It's an interesting game."

"Sure, I'd like that."

"But not right now. How has it been going this past week? In terms of money, I mean."

"There was something I should have called you about. But after that one phone call I didn't want to bother you. I thought maybe I should just wait and ask you now."

There was only a flicker of an eye-twitch, a ghost of a flinch. "You can call me any time, Richard."

"I used one of my credit cards without checking with you first. I went to Kord and Baylor's to browse, and they were having a shoe sale I really couldn't pass up. I need them for work anyway. So I charged a pair. I broke our agreement. So what do I do now?"

His face softened a bit -- relief? "So. You had what is called a slip in some circles. This is one reason we built some flexibility into your budget. We can get you back on track. If you go on a diet, you don't just give it up because you ate something forbidden. And when you're meditating, if your mind wanders, you don't just quit, and you don't beat yourself up about it -- you bring your mind back to the object of meditation. Same here. Let's look at your budget and work this out."

We did. We even made a little ceremony of cutting my department store cards in half. He told me, sternly, to be sure to call and close the accounts officially.

"Now, RIchard, why were you in Kord and Baylor's in the first place?"

"I only went to look. I didn't mean to buy. I guess I was bored."

"OK. So it was entertainment. But if you don't want to spend, don't go where there are people and signs screaming at you to spend. Now here's your punishment for this little slip."

Oh, don't get my hopes up.

"For next week, you will make a list of ten free things to do for entertainment."

I'd rather have the paddle. "Do you ever slip, Mr. Phillips?"

"Yes."

"In what way?"

"I can have a short fuse."

"What do you do when that happens?"

"As a matter of fact, today I let someone get under my skin, push my buttons, and I lost my temper. I apologized but it was touch and go for a minute."

"Maybe you were provoked."

"That's no excuse. Whatever the provocation, I choose how to react. But if I react badly, there's nothing I can do but apologize, make amends if it's warranted, and get back on track."

Then he turned the conversation back to me and my money habits, like how when I was a kid I would spend my entire allowance on the day I got it. That can change, he assured me. He was nice, he was helpful, he was encouraging -- and he was distant.

As I was leaving, he said, "Any plans this weekend?"

"I work tomorrow night, and Sunday I have another date with Jose."

He nodded with a tight smile. "Have fun."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." I held out my right hand.

He looked at it for a split second before shaking it. I held his hand a little longer than a handshake should last.

************

Saturday night I filled Stewart in on the latest with Jose and Mr. Phillips. Giving him some good gossip seemed the least I could do.

"So you told Jose you were using him, and he was fine with it?"

"Yep."

"That's weird. Or maybe it isn't. Maybe he was using you to get at Mr. Phillips all along."

"Right. I'm ugly, so there's no other reason he would want a date with me."

"I didn't say that."

"Still, you may have a point." I told him about the argument I overheard.

"Wow. I think you've stepped into a war zone."

"And I have a date with Jose tomorrow."

"Richard Andrews, double agent. Be careful, OK? I don't want to read about your body being fished out of the reservoir."

"The reservoir is not the East River."

"No. People don't drink water from the East River."

************

Sunday I looked at my apartment and decided against calling in the EPA. It was up to me alone to clean the place in case Jose wanted to come here. What a mess.

There was a knock at my door. Must be a neighbor if they're knocking, not ringing the doorbell. I opened the door, and there stood a petite Japanese woman in a stylish business suit.

"Hello. I am Marie Kondo. Call me KonMari, please. I am here for your tidying consultation," she said in lightly accented but impeccable English, and walked in.

"I don't remember scheduling a consultation--"

"Oh, yes, the apartment is very cluttered. So your mind is very cluttered, and you forgot. We can begin anyway. We organize by category, not by location. Let's begin with your dildos. Bring all the dildos, wherever they are in the apartment, and lay them out on the coffee table so we can see all of them."

Well, she's the expert. I brought all of them.

"Very extensive collection, I see. Now for each one, pick it up and feel in your heart, does it bring you joy? When you hold it, does it make your heart go up? If not, thank it for its service and put it in the box to be donated."

"I don't think anybody takes donations of used dildos."

"Oh, yes. There are entire charity organizations devoted to used dildos. This is the Internet we're talking about."

"Oh, right."

"Now, bring all the men in the apartment and put them on the coffee table where we can see them."

I dragged Jose out from under the bed and led Mr. Phillips out from the closet.

"I see. Yes, your apartment is really too small to have two men in addition to yourself. So hold each man and think, does he give you joy? If not, put him in the donation box."

My phone rang and KonMari vanished.

"Hey, Richie, all set for me to swing by at six?"

"Yes, Jose. Looking forward to it."

"I thought I'd take you someplace a little more fun this time. So don't worry about wearing a tie."

Fun. Hm. "OK, great."

"See you then."

************

Hangaround was full of the young and the hip. It was loud and people seemed to be concentrating more on drinking than on eating. Jose managed to get us seated at a table where we could hear each other. He treated me to more stories of his family, this time going back to the fifteenth century.

I asked him about working at the bank.

"It's all right, as a starting point. Not a lot of opportunity for advancement. I'll probably stay another few years and then look at bigger firms."

"I was wondering about something. Mr. Phillips said it would be an ethical violation for him to get involved with a client. Why is it all right for you to have a date with me?

Jose finished chewing a bite of his masala dosa and swallowed. "I'm not administering your account. I'm not in a position to make decisions about it, so I don't have a conflict of interest. I might get a slap on the wrist if anyone knew I was dating you, but I'm willing to risk it."

"Mr. Phillips seemed to think he would lose his job."

"He probably would. But for him, it wouldn't be the first offense. In fact, he could probably get in trouble for taking such a keen interest in you."

"I thought it was the loan committee's decision that he should work with me on my loan."

"Checking in with you frequently, yes. Not meeting with you personally every week."

"So what was his first offense?"

"Giving special treatment to a client he was fucking." Jose smiled serenely.

"Do you two, like, hate each other for some reason?"

He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "He flies off the handle sometimes. I don't take it seriously. He's like that with everybody."

Jose's condo was modern, sleek, spacious, and obviously expensive. He was all over me as soon as we were inside. His mouth was very persuasive. "I want you, Richie," he whispered in my ear. Then he lit a joint and offered it to me, and I declined. "Come on, Richie. Let's do something to make the big man jealous."

What can I say? He was sexy and considerate and attentive, and he fucked with gusto. No doubt the couple of lines of coke enhanced his performance. I should have been really, really into it. Instead I closed my eyes and pictured Mr. Phillips, which did nothing to diminish the screaming pain in my right hand.

************

Rob demanded a high price to the toffees his mother sent. I dropped by Mrs. Porter's desk on my way to work on Tuesday. She was delighted.

"That's so sweet of you. What were you hoping for in exchange?"

"Pretty obvious, huh?"

"Your interest in cultivating my friendship is rather sudden. Now what did you want?"

"Just to know a little bit about Mr. Phillips. He's so, well -- reserved isn't the word -- impersonal. Did something really bad happen to him?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Something Jose said."

"Oh, yes. Jose." She put the candy in a drawer in her desk. "Thanks for the toffee."

"'Thanks, but no information,' I guess."

"You don't need to bribe me, Mr. Andrews. You just need to convince me that you won't use anything I tell you against him."

"I would never use anything against him."

"I've heard people say exactly that, and then stab him in the back."

"Who?"

She faced her computer again. "Maybe when you're a little older."

"Can you at least tell me if he's single?"

That got a little smile. "I can't see any harm in telling you that. Yes, he's single. I have work to do now. And you should go away and stop hanging around banks and other places of ill repute."

Mr. Phillips came in from the hall. "Richard. What are you doing here?"

Mrs. Porter answered for me. "Oh, he found out I like English candies and he brought me one of my favorites." She showed him the box.

"Isn't that thoughtful?" Mr. Phillips' tone indicated a suspicion that I was being anything but thoughtful.

As I left, Mrs. Porter called after me, "If you can find treacle brittle, I'll do anything you ask. Anything legal."

************

Wednesday I had a few minutes to talk to Stewart.

"Rich. Good to see you. Kind of unexpected. There were two burly guys with New Jersey accents and big bulges under their jackets looking for you. I gave them your complete schedule and home address."

"Thanks. I told them it was a case of mistaken identity and you were the one they should be looking for."

"I'll expect them. What's the news from the front lines?"

"I'm trying to get some information out of his assistant, Mrs. Porter. She liked the toffees I wangled from Rob but she doesn't trust me."

"I wonder why."

"I understand her feeling protective. But I just want to know what's going on with him."

"Mrs. Porter. My mother knows a Mrs. Porter. Anna Porter."

"This one is Anna Porter."

"No kidding. Meanwhile, how is the lovely Jose?"

I told him what Jose had told me. "But I don't know if I can trust him. He seems to have some sort of agenda."

Stewart nodded. "Hence the goons I sent your way."

"Can you come in early again on Friday?"

He rolled his eyes. "The things I do just to get in on a good soap opera."

************

Friday I arrived at Mr. Phillips' office in plenty of time for a chat with Mrs. Porter. I took a seat and she gave me a wry smile. "I got a call from an old friend today," she said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. For some reason she felt that she just had to call me up and give you a glowing character reference."

"Was her last name Drake?"

"Yes, as it happens, it was."

"I did not ask Stewart to have her do that."

"I know. She told me that, too."

"What did she say?"

"That you're spacey, you're a dreamer, you have the attention span of a butterfly, and you don't know how to dress."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. That your honestly level is well above average and you don't have a mean bone in your body."

"At least she got that right. 'Don't know how to dress,' indeed."

"Stewart told her that you are quite infatuated with Mr. Phillips. And he wanted her to tell me that you can be trusted."

"I can. I just want to know what happened to Mr. Phillips. I like him. I'm not going to do anything against him."

She fiddled with some things on her desk. "It's not as if it's really a secret anyway. There was a client."

"What client?"

She looked at me, seeming to gauge whether or not I was ready to listen. "That man was bad news -- dishonest, manipulative. But Mr. Phillips didn't see it. I think he fell for him pretty hard. And then when Mr. Phillips wouldn't give him what he wanted -- special favors, extensions, things the rules just don't allow -- he accused Mr. Phillips of making unwanted sexual advances. Mr. Phillips got dragged in front of the ethics committee. Nobody should have to go through what he went through. It wasn't true, and there was no proof. He was let off with a warning, but if anything similar happens again-- What that Judas did to him was much worse than what the bank did."

"But he kept his job."

"Yes, and he went through a very bad time. He drank a lot. Never on the job, but he was always coming in hung over. There might have been drugs, and other -- self-destructive things."

"Self-destructive?"

"I don't know exactly what was going on. He never told me. You know those lovely dress shirts he wears?"

"Yeah, they're pretty nice."

"He was going through a lot of those at one point. Throwing one away every other day--"

She seemed to find it difficult to finish the sentence. "Why?"

"Because he couldn't get the blood stains out. All over the back. It went on for months."

Whoever this guy had been, I wanted to kill him. "But -- he got better? Things settled down?"

"He found something that got him through it. He stopped drinking. I don't know if it was therapy or religion or what it was. He never talked about it. But he didn't settle down. He shut down. You think he's impersonal now? Compared to how he was, he's practically bubbly, ever since--"

"Since what?"

"Since he met you."

************

Mr. Phillips was still low-key at our appointment. I handed him my payment and my homework, the list of ten free things to do to keep myself entertained.

I was finding it surprisingly easy to stay within the budget, except for occasional things like the outrageous price I paid for those toffees. Mr. Phillips just said I was doing well.

As I got ready to leave I asked, "Shaking hands isn't a problem, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, shaking hands can't get you in trouble, or lose you your job, can it?"

"No, of course not."

"Then could we shake hands before I go?"

"Sure. Of course."

"--for a few minutes?"

"What?"

"Could we shake hands for a few minutes before I go?"

"That seems a little strange."

"Yes, sir, it is, but could we, please?" I just want to touch you. I just want to feel your skin against mine.

"All right. Just stand here and shake hands?"

"We can sit down."

So we sat and shook hands, then just held the handclasp and looked at each other for about three minutes. I studied the complexity of his eyes, the browns and ambers surrounded by grays and greens. I looked at the fine lines of his face, the darkness of his lips. I tried to read his expression. I saw two things, or maybe I imagined them: wariness and hope.

As I walked to the elevator, I thought those three minutes were better than a lot of the sex I've had. Strike that. Better than any of the sex I've had.

************

"Stewart, you really should not have done that."

"You're welcome. I know when someone needs a helping hand."

"You didn't warn me and it was pretty embarrassing."

"But did it work?"

"Yes, it worked."

"And what did you find out?"

"Things I shouldn't repeat. Except that he went through a really rough time."

"And is this helping to seduce him?"

"I'm not giving up on that. But I'm adjusting my timeline."

"Still trying to induce jealousy?"

"Oh, that was just Phase One."

"What, he asked with grave apprehension, is next?"

"By the time this loan is paid off, he is going to want to marry me."

"Well then. I guess he's still Mr. Right."

"It's more than that."

"What could be more than Mr. Right?"

"He makes me want to be Mr. Right. Right for him."