Infinity + One
Page 49
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I SENT A text to Bear as soon as we were back on the road, telling him we were on our way, and got an immediate reply.
I’ve got you registered at the Hotel Bordeaux under my mama’s name, just like we always do. Call before you arrive and they will bring you in through the back per our usual – no check-in required. Bill covered. Mr. Clyde can act as your security until I roll in on Sunday. Your tickets for Sunday will be with the concierge. The hotel will have a limo available for the big show. You got wardrobe covered? You won’t have a team there. Just you and me, Rae. That’s what happens when you go AWOL.
I responded:
I don’t have any hair left, I think I can handle my makeup, and I’ll buy a dress in Vegas. It’s just the Oscars. No big. :P I Love you, Bear.
And his final text:
Love you too, Baby Rae. Be wise. I’ll see you Sunday.
THE BANK WAS small, but it was still a bank. Normally, this wouldn’t bug me. The bank back in Grassley had been a little, brown brick building that had bats in the rafters and smelled like mold—a fitting statement for the state of Grassley’s financial situation. I hadn’t spent much time in any bank, truth be told. I had opened a little checking account and received my own debit card when Minnie and I got our first job at fourteen. It was a job at the Grassley Grill. We shared it, splitting shifts when there was only enough work for one of us. We started out scrubbing toilets and cleaning fryers and then worked our way up to cashier, making $6.75 an hour. I think minimum wage has risen since then, but half of every paycheck went into my bank account, and I watched my money like a hawk. Gran and I had emptied that account and Minnie’s account when we went to Nashville. It had taken all of our savings and hers, which wasn’t much, to buy our bus tickets there, and if I hadn’t made it all the way through the competition and won, we wouldn’t have had any money to get home because Gran spent it all on that damn wig.
But I knew how it worked, even though it’d been years since I’d managed my money. As long as I had ID and my account numbers, I should be able to withdraw whatever I wanted at my bank, no matter what branch I went into, anywhere in America. I was nervous, though. I was going to walk right up there and tell them I was Bonnie Rae Shelby, hand them my ID that didn’t look much like me anymore, and ask for ten grand. I would have asked for more than ten, but I wanted cash, and I didn’t want there to be a problem getting it.
Ten thousand would get me and Finn to Los Angeles, with plenty to spare. I was going to have to buy an Oscar-worthy dress, and Finn was going to need a tux. Plus, I was going to have to wire some money to Finn’s father to get the Blazer from the impound yard. And after a few days, the charges would be steep. Ten thousand shouldn’t be a problem—there was fifty times that in this one account. This was my cash account, and Gran’s too, I supposed, since her name was on the account as well. I had money in mutual funds and trusts and stocks and bonds, money in property and land, and, like Gran, money stuffed in my sock drawer at home. But in the last five years, I’d hardly dealt with my finances at all. I had people for that. Now I wished I had been more hands-on.
The bank smelled like new carpets and leather, with just a hint of Windex thrown in to convince bank patrons that the facility was squeaky clean and therefore, safe and secure. The girl behind the marble counter smiled at me from her little open partition and asked me how she could help me. She was as clean and tidy as the shiny floors, and a gold plaque at her workstation identified her as Cassie. I felt a little grubby in Finn’s over-sized T-shirt and my tight jeans that needed a wash, but I still flashed her a giant Bonnie Rae Shelby grin on full wattage and pulled out my driver’s license.
“I need to withdraw some money from my savings account.”
“All right. Do you need a withdrawal slip?”
“No ma’am. I have one.”
I handed her the withdrawal slip I had already filled out, along with my driver’s license and watched as her eyes grew big. She glanced at me furtively and looked away, two bright red dots appearing high on her smooth cheeks. She either recognized me, or I was in trouble, or both.
She started click clacking away on her computer, her fingers flying over the keys. Then she opened a cash drawer and set five bundles on the counter, each bundle encircled with a band that said “two thousand.” She slid all five bundles into an envelope and pushed a button on a funny little machine to print out my check-sized receipt. Thank you, Cassie. Thank you, Lord.
“Cassie?” Another woman who had been manning the drive-up window behind Cassie, approached the young teller and pointed out something on Cassie’s computer screen. Then they both looked at me. The older woman pulled her aside just to the left of the partition, and I heard her explain something in dulcet tones. Cassie stepped back to her position and tried to smile. The spots on her cheeks were now the size of tomatoes. She looked mortified.
“Um. I’m sorry Miss . . . um Shelby. I’m new . . . and I haven’t seen something like this before. Um, there’s an alert on this account. There’s been some fraudulent activity reported, and no money can be released from the account without the presence of both parties listed on the account.” She said all of this like she was repeating exactly what her superior had just told her.
“But this is my account.” I tapped my driver’s license. “And I am here in person—standing here in front of you . . . not fraudulent. You have verification that I am who I say I am. And that’s my money.” I tried to keep my voice level, my smile in place, but my heart was in my throat, and I felt the burn of shame creeping up my neck in a scarlet line. I had felt this way often growing up in Grassley, using food stamps at the grocery store or having Mama’s debit card declined at the gas station. Shame was like a loud, embarrassing cousin who constantly tagged along and always made sure everyone knew who he was related to. But everyone had cousins in Grassley, so at least then I wasn’t alone.
I’ve got you registered at the Hotel Bordeaux under my mama’s name, just like we always do. Call before you arrive and they will bring you in through the back per our usual – no check-in required. Bill covered. Mr. Clyde can act as your security until I roll in on Sunday. Your tickets for Sunday will be with the concierge. The hotel will have a limo available for the big show. You got wardrobe covered? You won’t have a team there. Just you and me, Rae. That’s what happens when you go AWOL.
I responded:
I don’t have any hair left, I think I can handle my makeup, and I’ll buy a dress in Vegas. It’s just the Oscars. No big. :P I Love you, Bear.
And his final text:
Love you too, Baby Rae. Be wise. I’ll see you Sunday.
THE BANK WAS small, but it was still a bank. Normally, this wouldn’t bug me. The bank back in Grassley had been a little, brown brick building that had bats in the rafters and smelled like mold—a fitting statement for the state of Grassley’s financial situation. I hadn’t spent much time in any bank, truth be told. I had opened a little checking account and received my own debit card when Minnie and I got our first job at fourteen. It was a job at the Grassley Grill. We shared it, splitting shifts when there was only enough work for one of us. We started out scrubbing toilets and cleaning fryers and then worked our way up to cashier, making $6.75 an hour. I think minimum wage has risen since then, but half of every paycheck went into my bank account, and I watched my money like a hawk. Gran and I had emptied that account and Minnie’s account when we went to Nashville. It had taken all of our savings and hers, which wasn’t much, to buy our bus tickets there, and if I hadn’t made it all the way through the competition and won, we wouldn’t have had any money to get home because Gran spent it all on that damn wig.
But I knew how it worked, even though it’d been years since I’d managed my money. As long as I had ID and my account numbers, I should be able to withdraw whatever I wanted at my bank, no matter what branch I went into, anywhere in America. I was nervous, though. I was going to walk right up there and tell them I was Bonnie Rae Shelby, hand them my ID that didn’t look much like me anymore, and ask for ten grand. I would have asked for more than ten, but I wanted cash, and I didn’t want there to be a problem getting it.
Ten thousand would get me and Finn to Los Angeles, with plenty to spare. I was going to have to buy an Oscar-worthy dress, and Finn was going to need a tux. Plus, I was going to have to wire some money to Finn’s father to get the Blazer from the impound yard. And after a few days, the charges would be steep. Ten thousand shouldn’t be a problem—there was fifty times that in this one account. This was my cash account, and Gran’s too, I supposed, since her name was on the account as well. I had money in mutual funds and trusts and stocks and bonds, money in property and land, and, like Gran, money stuffed in my sock drawer at home. But in the last five years, I’d hardly dealt with my finances at all. I had people for that. Now I wished I had been more hands-on.
The bank smelled like new carpets and leather, with just a hint of Windex thrown in to convince bank patrons that the facility was squeaky clean and therefore, safe and secure. The girl behind the marble counter smiled at me from her little open partition and asked me how she could help me. She was as clean and tidy as the shiny floors, and a gold plaque at her workstation identified her as Cassie. I felt a little grubby in Finn’s over-sized T-shirt and my tight jeans that needed a wash, but I still flashed her a giant Bonnie Rae Shelby grin on full wattage and pulled out my driver’s license.
“I need to withdraw some money from my savings account.”
“All right. Do you need a withdrawal slip?”
“No ma’am. I have one.”
I handed her the withdrawal slip I had already filled out, along with my driver’s license and watched as her eyes grew big. She glanced at me furtively and looked away, two bright red dots appearing high on her smooth cheeks. She either recognized me, or I was in trouble, or both.
She started click clacking away on her computer, her fingers flying over the keys. Then she opened a cash drawer and set five bundles on the counter, each bundle encircled with a band that said “two thousand.” She slid all five bundles into an envelope and pushed a button on a funny little machine to print out my check-sized receipt. Thank you, Cassie. Thank you, Lord.
“Cassie?” Another woman who had been manning the drive-up window behind Cassie, approached the young teller and pointed out something on Cassie’s computer screen. Then they both looked at me. The older woman pulled her aside just to the left of the partition, and I heard her explain something in dulcet tones. Cassie stepped back to her position and tried to smile. The spots on her cheeks were now the size of tomatoes. She looked mortified.
“Um. I’m sorry Miss . . . um Shelby. I’m new . . . and I haven’t seen something like this before. Um, there’s an alert on this account. There’s been some fraudulent activity reported, and no money can be released from the account without the presence of both parties listed on the account.” She said all of this like she was repeating exactly what her superior had just told her.
“But this is my account.” I tapped my driver’s license. “And I am here in person—standing here in front of you . . . not fraudulent. You have verification that I am who I say I am. And that’s my money.” I tried to keep my voice level, my smile in place, but my heart was in my throat, and I felt the burn of shame creeping up my neck in a scarlet line. I had felt this way often growing up in Grassley, using food stamps at the grocery store or having Mama’s debit card declined at the gas station. Shame was like a loud, embarrassing cousin who constantly tagged along and always made sure everyone knew who he was related to. But everyone had cousins in Grassley, so at least then I wasn’t alone.
