Bankers' Hours (2 page)

“No,” I replied. “I’m coming.” I shut the door and returned to my station. The same woman was waiting there. I greeted her with a smile. “Good morning.”

“It’s 12:10, therefore afternoon,” she corrected, handing me her deposit.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Time flies when you’re having fun,” I joked, hoping she would let my inattention slide.

“Or chatting up a customer,” Jessica commented as she walked past me on her way over to the drive-thru window.

I blanched and hoped my customer didn’t notice as I entered her account number into the computer. I couldn’t believe Jessica would say such a thing with a customer right there. Was this the type of person she was? How was I supposed to make friends with someone who embarrassed me in front of customers?

“That man
did
look dirty,” the customer said, oblivious to Jessica’s comment or at least ignoring it. “I don’t blame you for washing your hands.” She slid her license toward me without a prompt.

“Thank you. Although it’s not necessary for a deposit.”

She smiled. “I come in here several days a week. You’re new, so I wanted to make sure you got familiar with my name… and face. It will make it easier the next time.”

“True.” I read the name. “Ms. Gina Snyder.” I chuckled, finding her name ironic. “I have Snyder’s pretzels in my lunch today. I don’t suppose you own the pretzel company, do you?” Her deposit
was
large, but there had to be hundreds of Snyders in the greater tristate area. Snyder’s was a Pennsylvania company.

“
Mrs
.,” she stressed. “And not directly, no,” she replied, grinning rather mischievously. Her eyes lingered on me, and my face flushed. “I’ll see you another day, my dear boy.” She winked and turned away.

Two winks in one day. If this was any indication of the type of town Westminster was, I wasn’t sure I could handle it. I was used to attention, but this was silly. I wasn’t sure I’d last in this branch if every customer flirted with me, although perhaps I was assuming too much. Mr. Carr couldn’t possibly have known I was gay, and Mrs. Snyder wouldn’t flirt with a guy my age, would she? I was young enough to be her son.

Jessica stepped up behind me and whispered, “Be careful with her. She’s a cougar.”

I turned around sharply. “What?”

Jessica glanced at the lobby before saying, “She’s an aggressive older woman who likes to prey on hot young guys.”

There was one person filling out a slip and another waiting to see the manager about opening an account, so I had a minute or two to fuss. I protested, “I’m not hot.”

She snorted. “Oh, please. You’re hot. I wouldn’t normally admit it to your face, but since you’re gay, my opinion won’t get misconstrued.”

“Gay? I’m not…,” I started to protest, but the look she gave me screamed, “Stop before I smack you.” I glanced around and whispered, “How did you know?”

She snorted again, louder this time. If she’d been drinking something, it would have come out her nose for sure. “I know this is going to sound awful, but you
drip
gay. From your pink shirts—”

“Straight guys wear pink,” I blurted.

“To your perfect hair—”

“Straight guys comb their hair.”

“And your obsession with cleanliness—”

“Straight guys can be clean.”

“There isn’t a single thing about you I’ve seen this week to convince me you’re straight. Maybe Mrs. Snyder can overlook your less-than-straight qualities because she wants to bag you, but I pegged you from day one. I’m just saying… be careful and stop flirting with the customers.”

“I’m not.” Besides the fact her assessment of me was offensive, I didn’t flirt.
Did I?

“Oh, right,” she laughed. “Then you better control your blushing, because women like Mrs. Snyder will eat you alive, and guys like Mr. Carr will punch the shit out of you. I saw him at a Papa Joe’s once. He got off his motorcycle and walked across the parking lot like he owned the place. It scared the crap out of me. He could be a police officer, or a general of an army. Believe me, you don’t want to mess with him.”

I couldn’t imagine Mr. Carr punching me. He’d seemed very nice. His half smile intrigued me—it made me think of trouble brewing under the surface. He certainly had that bad-boy quality I’d always appreciated from afar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He didn’t seem dangerous to me. Besides, I’m not flirting with anyone, and I don’t blush easily.”

“The hell you don’t. Just watch yourself, or Tracy will haul you into her office and rip you a new one. She’s all about policy, and dating customers is frowned upon.”

We were only standing in my cubicle, but as she hissed at me so intensely, she might as well have yelled, I felt as though she’d shoved me into a corner with her finger pointed in my face. “Okay, okay. Jeez. I haven’t done anything.”

Her expression changed. “I’m sorry, Grant. I like you. I don’t want to see you get fired or hurt. You seem very sweet, albeit a bit naive.”

She had me there. My cheeks heated from embarrassment.

“See, you’re blushing again.” She reached up and touched my arm as I clapped my hands over my cheeks. “I’m sorry I commented about chatting up the customers. I think it was my way of challenging what I’d seen. Part of me hoped it wasn’t true. You’re seriously cute, Grant. Being gay would ruin my chances.”

I sighed. “You’re right, I’m gay.”

“Then why be so defensive about it?”

“I guess because you deconstructed my sexuality based on stereotypes. I don’t like labels and definitions. I think there are too many people out there who don’t fit into a category. Some get offended.”

“But yours are obvious.” She looked over my shoulder. “Sorry. Customers. I gotta go.” Jessica patted my arm and waved the customer in line to head over to her window.

I waved one over as well. I greeted the older man, saying, “Good afternoon.”

I WENT
home after my shift and gazed at myself in the mirror of my dresser. Was I really stereotypical? I liked pastel shirts, and I didn’t see a reason to wear white or black just to blend in. I undid my pink-and-white striped tie and pulled it from around my neck. I hung it on the tie organizer in my closet and unbuttoned my shirt. My pasty white skin sagged in my reflection. I flexed. The lack of muscle made my self-image worse. I was scrawny and awkward, and my body wasn’t one guys like Tristan Carr desired, or any guy for that matter. Even with the .02 percent chance Tristan was gay, I highly doubted I had anything he’d find attractive once he took his eyes off my okay-I-admit-it’s-pretty face. In my suit and tie, I had the hot-young-executive appearance in my favor. Out of the suit, I was a pathetic twenty-six-year-old virgin with zero appeal.

I took off my trousers and hung them up, then pushed my underwear down and reassessed. My sad little penis hung to the left. “Negative twenty appeal.” I rubbed my crotch and scratched my patch of blond hair. “This poor thing will shrivel and fall off before I find a guy to suck it.”

Heavyhearted, I took a shower and put on my pajamas before heating up leftovers.

After I had washed my plate and put it away, my phone rang. I could tell it was my best friend, Mel, by the ringtone. His jingle was different from my mother’s.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Hey. How’s your first week been?” he asked.

I met Mel Tersiguel on my first day of work right out of college. I had graduated with an accounting degree, but I felt the need to ease my way into the work world after so many years in school. Some guys couldn’t wait to break free of their parents, but I hadn’t been one of them. In fact, it had taken me three years after college simply to move into my own place. Mel had applauded me for my independence, although I still waffled about the decision a year later.

“Fine, I guess,” I answered.

“Hmm, you don’t sound fine. What happened?”

“Nothing, I guess. Do you think I’m flamboyant?” I asked.

“Wow. Where did that question come from?”

I stretched out on the sofa and pulled the afghan off the back of it to cover my legs. It was the middle of September and I wasn’t very warm natured to begin with, so any slight drop in temperature had me covering up. I sighed into the receiver. “I don’t know. A girl at work said she knew I was gay from the first day. I’ve only been there five days.”

“So? You’ve never denied it, have you?”

“No.”

“You were as up-front with me as I was with you. Remember our first lunch?” he asked, his voice conveying his happiness so well I could almost picture the smile on his face.

“Yeah, I remember. But it was the way she said it and based her assumption on my clothes and mannerisms.”

“Ah! Stereotyping. You’ve always hated that, haven’t you?” Mel asked, but I knew it was rhetorical.

“Mostly since meeting you. I guess I don’t want to admit my appearance isn’t more neutral. But you didn’t answer my question: am I flamboyantly gay?”

“Of course not. But it’s more than your Easter egg colored wardrobe, Grant. When a guy… for example, you… ogles another guy’s ass as often as I’ve seen you do, then that guy’s gay, and it doesn’t matter what color his shirts are or how much his hips sway when he walks.”

“My hips do not sway!” I protested.

Mel snickered. “Okay, they don’t sway…
much
, but the way you openly check guys out is obvious.”

“I haven’t done that at the bank, I don’t think.”

“Just be careful, Grant. Carroll County is a way more conservative part of Maryland than Howard County. You don’t want to piss off some old-school farmer, or a Harley-Davidson–loving auto mechanic.” I choked and pulled the phone away from my mouth to clear my throat. When I brought the phone back up to my ear, I heard Mel laughing. “Oh, wow. Did you ogle a farmer? You slut!”

“Oh my God, Mel. Don’t make this harder than it already is,” I whined.

His tone changed right away. “I’m sorry. I know relationships are hard for you. I didn’t mean to poke fun.”

“I’d almost prefer being a slut to being alone. I hate it. Every night I come home to an empty house. Maybe I should move back in with my mother.”

“Grant,” he warned.

“She’s all alone. She’s got that stupid cat I’m allergic to, but I could take shots.”

“Grant, don’t.”

“But, Mel!”

“No buts. Moving out last year was the best thing you’ve done for yourself. And if you
do
meet a hot farmer, then at least you don’t have to explain why you’re still living with your mother.”

“I could tell him she’s sick,” I countered.

“But she’s not. Your mother is perfectly healthy and active. There is no reason that doesn’t make you sound pitiful. You’re a big boy. You can take care of yourself.”

“You’re right. So do you think I’m attractive?” I asked, even though we’d covered the answer before.

“Yes, you know you are. But I’ve told you before, I’m attracted to girls, so your looks don’t matter to me either way.”

“I know. But do you think my looks would be enough for an auto mechanic?”

“You know I was only joking about the auto mechanic, right? There
are
other professions in Carroll County.”

“Oh, I know. I’m asking because there was a guy who came in today who’s an auto mechanic.”

“And?”

“And he’s hot,” I whined.

“Oooh, do tell.” I appreciated his interest. Mel had egged me on for details about all three guys I’d been interested in since we’d met. And he’d been there to support me after all three had bombed after one date. He was used to my crushes and hadn’t discouraged me from dreaming.

I drew my knees up and tucked my afghan under my feet, positioning myself for the juicy details I was about to spill. “Okay, he’s built like a tank. Taller than me, and he has more muscle than the bodybuilder guy we used to make up stories about last year.”

“Mr. Goodwin?”

“Yeah.”

His voice went up two octaves. “Oh my gosh! How do you know? Was this guy wearing a tank top or something?”

“No. He had on a uniform and coveralls, but his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms were bigger than my biceps.”

“Niiice. What else? Hair, eyes, height, name?”

“His name’s Tristan Carr.”

Mel giggled. “And he’s an auto mechanic? I bet that’s a drag.”

“Yeah. I guess. I thought it was amusing. Anyway, I didn’t look directly into his eyes long enough to notice the color.” I had wanted to look, but I’d been too nervous.

“And you say he’s taller than you?
Jeez.
You’re six foot, Grant.”

“I know, right? This guy has to be six four, and I’ve never seen shoulders that wide.”

“Wow. I’ll seem like a midget.”

“You aren’t a midget.”

“I said
seeeem
. I know other guys shorter than me, but compared to six foot four, my five five is going to
seeeem
like I’m a midget.”

“
Okaaaay
,” I mocked his mocking tone for mocking me, and then we both laughed.

“What color’s his hair?”

“Don’t know. His head’s shaved.”

“Fair enough. I’ve seen some hot bald guys. So what’s your opinion? Do you wish he had hair, or is he fine without it?”

“Oh, absolutely fine without it. He’s very tan and sexy. Possibly cover-model material for a biker magazine.”

“Good, but I’ve got a question for you. How clean are his hands? I know how you are.”

My heart sank. I had been fine talking about how nice Mr. Carr looked until Mel brought up his hands. “Well, they looked like they were covered in grease. He shook my hand and they didn’t feel greasy, but I still had to wash my hands after he left. His hands were rough and huge, and stained black around his fingernails.”

“That’s typical. When I work on my car, I get oil and grease on my hands, and sometimes it takes days to come off. Imagine working on cars every day. I bet his hands were clean, but you couldn’t tell.”

“You’re probably right, although my hand
did
have an odd scent on it after he shook it.”

“Odd good or odd bad?”

I knew why he’d asked. Mel was one of the few people in my life who understood where my hand-washing fetish came from. I said, “The jury is still holding session over that one. The scent was new to me, and I paused before I bolted for the bathroom.”