Cheated Hearts

"Miss Dore, you can get the account with 2% interest. I genuinely believe it would be your best bet."

I looked at the young Miss Dore. She wasn't staring at the paper listing the benefits of her account, but rather at my face. I shifted uncomfortably. She was pretty and all, but I needed to get her to understand her business with Etson.

Her blue eyes shined on me and then after an awkward moment, she seemed to come alive and break into blushes. "I'm sorry, what?"

I started over again.

"You see, your account is set up with–"

The room had turned silent. The world had stopped revolving. Harper Summers walked in. It was like she was in fucking slow motion. Her hair was blowing in the nonexistent wind as she pushed open the glass doors of the bank. I looked over Chloe Dore's confused face and stared at her. She walked in, and Tarquin made a beeline to her. I could hear him ask in his I-want-you voice, "Do you need assistance?"

She shook her head and scrunched her nose in a way that resembled a two year old refusing broccoli. "I'm waiting for him," and she pointed at me. Then she sat down on one of the beige leather chairs in the waiting area.

My heart leapt. If I could just get Dunce Dore here to understand what was going on with her money, I could talk to Harper. Unfortunately, she seemed more confused than ever. I glanced over Dore's shoulder to Harper. She had pulled out a fashion magazine and was chewing absentmindedly on a fingernail.

After ten minutes of explaining, several deep breaths and thanking God for the arsenal of patience I had hidden in my pocket, Chloe Dore seemed to finally get what was going on.

"Oooh, okay. I get it now," she said as if I had just explained to her the meaning of life.

I smiled at her. I felt somewhat accomplished, like I had just taught her how to read. Dore nodded and gave me a sweet smile. I suddenly felt bad for making fun of her so harshly in my mind. It wasn't her fault she was so stupid.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Miller!" she said as she got her handbag from the chair beside her and took the brochures set out on my desk.

"Call me Keaton," I said. She wasn't so bad anymore.

"Okay, Keaton," she said brightly and walked away.

Hopefully she would tell Gary how remarkable I was and he'd give me a raise.

Harper sat down in the chair Chloe Dore had just vacated. She wore black tight jeans and a striped black and white sweater with the word 'WAR' written across the front in gold sequins. Her feet tapped on the marble floor and I saw she was wearing scary looking black heels.

"Why are you here?" I asked, suddenly curious as to why she would wait so long to talk with me.

"Well, Mr. Miller," She started formally, "I moved to Chicago from LA and I've been doing the whole 'hide your cash under your mattress' thing since. I don't really think that's quite safe, do you? So this guy from my building told me about Etson Bank and how great you guys are. I decided this was the place to keep my cash."

I stared at her and then grinned, "Well Miss..."

"Summers. Harper Summers," she said and leaned in to shake my hand.

"Miss Summers, what kind of account would you be interested in?"

She said nothing and only pulled her black leather bag on the desk between us and scooted her chair as close as possible.

"Well, you see. I've accumulated a lot of cash. It's just been months of pay and..."

She opened her bag and it was full of bills.

"Holy shit, did you rob a bank?" I whispered.

"No! I just... when I left LA, I had just gotten an inheritance from my Auntie June and I just did with it what people do in the movies and hid it in my mattress here in Chicago! And then there are the little bits of my paycheck that are added in there," she rambled nervously.

I stared at her.

"Are you lying?" I asked blankly.

"No," she said resolutely.

"Then let’s get started..."

______________________________________________________________________________

It took a long time to get Harper's account in order, mostly attributed to the fact that she kept cracking jokes and distracting me.

"Do you ever notice that that guy," she sneakily pointed to Tarquin and whispered, "looks like that model on the Abercrombie shopping bags?"

I discovered that Harper was a fashion stylist for a magazine. She made $500 a week and spent all of her money on clothes.

"I mean, just because I'm poor, I don't have to let everybody know it," she explained when I asked her why she didn't just use her money on normal things.

We left the bank at closing time. Harper seemed to become more and more relaxed as the sun set, weakening the buzz that flew around us. Running a hand through my dark hair, I felt a touch on my cheek.

I looked down to see Harper Summers digging into my eyes in concentration. We stopped our trek to the subway and I gave her a quizzical look.

"I bet I can guess your birthday," she whispered.

I snorted. We spent the next two hours going through the entire calendar because I was born on December 31st.