What’s your granddaughter’s name?”

“Chelsea.”

“I’m going to assume that Chelsea is like a lot of grandchildren I’ve worked with, and if so, she’s probably had a number of business ideas that haven’t always been sound. I’m also going to assume that you’re a loving grandparent who has loaned her money despite that fact. Or, at the very least, you co-signed her notes.”

“Well of course I have. I love my granddaughter.”

“But when we lend money for poor decisions, we’re not teaching our youngsters sound financial practices, are we?”

“Are you suggesting I refuse to lend her the money?”

“Yes.”

“Excuse me?”

“In a way.”

She fixes a haughty gaze on me. “What’s your intention here?”

“To protect your money, and help your granddaughter, Chelsea, become financially responsible.”

“And?”

“And to convince you I’m the perfect person for this situation.”

“You, and not Jake Robards.”

“That’s correct.”

“And why is that?”

I smile. For once in my life I’m about to turn my biggest weakness as a loan officer into my biggest strength.

“My loans are required to go through committee for approval.”

“Well, I don’t see how that helps.”

“If you send Chelsea to me, I can help her formulate a business plan that will have to be approved by our loan committee. If they don’t like her idea, you’ll have the perfect excuse to keep her out of your pocketbook.”

She nods her head slowly. “And if they approve the loan?”

“They might lend Chelsea the money directly, and keep you out of it completely. Worst case scenario, you might have to guarantee the loan. But if they approve her loan, it’s almost certain to be a good risk.”

She thinks about it a moment, then smiles.

“What’s your name, young man?”

“Buddy Pancake,” I say, smiling broadly.

“You’re joking,” she says.

“Not in the slightest.”

She laughs heartily. Then says, “How much is Mrs. Butterworth?”

I laugh lustily, as though I’d never heard such a witty remark in all my life. “What,” I say, “maybe five dollars?”

She howls with laughter.

 

 

 

Chapter 9

 

I march into the office like a bullfighter with mustard on his sword.

“Howdy, Gus!” I holler.

I’ve startled him awake. He jerks to attention, grabs the butt of his gun before realizing I’m an employee on my way back from lunch.

I smile at the tellers. “Good afternoon, ladies!”

I walk over to the mailbag, turn it upside down on the mail desk and remove my sixteen shameful letters from the pile. Then I put the remaining letters back in the mail bag and look around the room. All eyes are studying me, just as they were on Friday when Oglethorpe threatened to can me. Only this time there’s a nebbish curiosity in the air. I see Hilda pointing at her wrist watch, and I break into a loud song, effectively drowning out the Muzak. I’m performing both parts of Richard Wagner’s Tannhauser, the Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd version:

“Oh, Bwoonhiwda you’re so wuuuvwy!”

“Yes I know it, I can’t heeelllp it!”

“Oh, Bwoonhiwda be my wuv!”

“For I wuuuuvvvvv youuuuuuu!”

I bow and hold my hands high in the air, expecting great applause.

The silence is deafening.

All faces turn to Hilda, whose mouth is hanging open like the door of a cargo plane. Suddenly she spins around, grabs her pen, and begins writing furiously in her notebook.

“Write all you want, you dreary shrew,” I say, aware there are no customers on the floor. “But when you’ve completed your thought, write this down in your stupid journal and shove it up your big fat ass: I just landed the biggest account this bank has ever had!”

All afternoon I refuse to answer questions, saying only, “At nine o’clock tomorrow morning, you’ll see. I’m going to own this bank!”

That evening, as I pull into my driveway, I see Lissie standing outside the front door holding an envelope in her hand. I stop and get out, wondering if it’s a late payment notice. She runs to me and throws her arms around my neck.

“Lissie, what on earth?”

“I can’t believe you did this for me!” she says.

“What?”

“Nothing says apology like front row seats to the Springsteen concert! How in the world did you manage this?”

My mind is going a hundred miles an hour. “Where did you get those?”

“The same way you sent them, my darling. Zip express! God, I could just eat you up!”

And a few minutes later, she did.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

“You’d better get going, rock star,” Lissie says. “You’re going to be late.”

“No worries. I’m bulletproof.”

It’s Tuesday morning and I can’t believe how fast my luck has changed. In an hour I’ll be sitting with Chelsea Blankenship and her business associate, Emma Glendenning, who are applying for a million dollar line of credit for their new business.