by W. Arthur
Scott Jensen swiveled mindlessly in his leather office chair. Occasionally he would gaze out the window and marvel at the small buds just emerging on the crabapple tree outside. Then when he got bored with that, he shifted to the spreadsheet displayed on the 23-inch computer monitor on his desk. But mostly, he looked at the framed pictures on the corner of his credenza.
One picture in particular captured his attention: a 5 x 7 portrait of his mother, taken five years ago at Christmas, before she began to fight the war against the cancer that eventually overwhelmed her six months ago.
He sat back and allowed his eyes to droop and his mind to wander. He was supposed to be reviewing the loan status of a select group of customers of the First Bank of Union City, for which he was a junior loan officer. However, this morning he had trouble concentrating, just as he had had trouble concentrating for the past several months. He knew that if his mother were here, she would know very well how to get him to focus his attention on work. She had done it so many times before.
But she wasn't there. She would never be there again. Somehow, he would have to develop the self-discipline necessary to continue his upward mobility. He opened his eyes and looked at the picture once more, this time remembering her with a stern look on her face and a large wooden spoon in her hand, a hand that was hard and calloused from years of work cleaning restaurants and businesses, mixing and handling caustic chemicals. She had made many sacrifices so he could finish his college degree in accounting and secure a position in the prestigious bank. Occasionally she had reminded him of those sacrifices and how much she expected him to make the most of his opportunities.
He thought back to the last time she had disciplined him for what she called slacking off. It had been a little over a year ago. He had overslept and was late for a very important meeting at the bank, a mistake for which he received a written reprimand and the threat of termination if he ever did it again.
When his mother learned of the reprimand and the threat she took immediate action, beginning with a stern lecture and ending with a severe bare bottom spanking with the largest wooden spoon she had in her vast collection. It was one of the worst spankings he had ever endured, but it was effective, as he had been early to every meeting since then.
Now, as he found himself drifting on this slow Saturday morning, he understood that he missed that corporal discipline. Sometimes just the threat of such punishment would be enough to curb his tendency toward negative behavior secondary to a certain motivational deficiency. As the sting of his mother's disease and death was beginning to wear off, he wondered how much longer he could go on without getting into trouble once more with his employer.
Scott was about to close his eyes again when he heard a knock on his partially open door. He glanced up and saw Kim, the receptionist, standing just outside his office. Next to her was a young woman wearing a knee-length jean skirt over black tights. She also wore a blue knitted top with a well-worn leather jacket covering it. Tan boots completed the outfit. Her shoulder-length dark blond hair was tied back in a prim ponytail.
"Mr. Jensen," Kim said once she was certain she had Scott's attention, "this is Valerie Gilmore. She has some questions."
Scott stood up and quickly smoothed down his blue dress shirt and burgundy tie. He gave Valerie a long glance, then moved toward her and extended his right hand. "Very pleased to meet you, Ms. Gilmore. Please come in and have a seat."
Valerie looked at Scott, then at Kim. "Thank you," she said, nodding to Kim. The receptionist nodded back and walked away. Valerie accepted Scott's hand with a grip that was surprisingly strong. She appeared to be only three or four inches shorter than his six feet one inch.
Scott felt the skin on Valerie's hand and noted that it was rough and calloused, reminding him a little of his mother's hands. Valerie Gilmore is no stranger to hard physical work, he thought. He released her hand and motioned to the padded visitor chair. He backed away and resumed his seat while she settled into the chair, not crossing her legs, but rather spreading them slightly - but not enough for him to see what lay beyond her knees.
He gave her his best smile. "What can I do for you, Ms. Gilmore?"
She took a deep breath. "I need a loan."
He nodded. "I can certainly help you with that," he said. "If you can give me some information, we'll get started on the process." He gazed at her expectantly, his fingers twitching near the keyboard on his computer.
She took another deep breath, as though collecting her thoughts. "I... I'm a fourth year student at the veterinary college," she said. "I'm set to graduate in a couple of months."
"Congratulations," Scott said. "Perhaps I should have addressed you as Dr. Gilmore... my apologies."
Valerie smiled. "Not yet. I still have to graduate and pass the licensing exam."
"So... how can I help you with a loan? Certainly, you have something lined up after graduation."
"Yes, as a matter of fact," she said. "I'm originally from Linton, over in Goff County."
Scott nodded. He had been to Linton before - typical small town surrounded by prosperous family farms. His bank even held the mortgages on a few of these farms.
"The vet there, Dr. Merle Agnew, is retiring next year. I'm set to take over his practice."
Again, Scott nodded. A part of him was intrigued by this strong-looking soon-to-be vet with the hard hands. But another part of him was already getting bored by the conversation. Get to the point, please, he wanted to shout.
"Ms. Gilmore... if you have a practice waiting for you in Linton, why do you need a loan?" The question was a little more blunt than he had intended, and he immediately regretted it. Tact was not one of his strongest assets.
She smiled again. "It probably does sound a little strange," she said. "After graduation, I plan to pursue a specialty in bovine and equine medicine. While I am doing this, I won't be able to work... at least not enough to support myself and I won't have the scholarships I've been living on."
"How long is your specialty course?"
"Six months," she said. "Normally they last a year, but I've gotten credit for the work I did with Dr. Agnew before I went to vet school. Also, I grew up on a farm and have worked with cows and horses all my life."
"So, how much do you think you'll need?"
She thought for a moment. "I'm not sure," she said. "My truck needs quite a bit of work to keep it running. And I'll need to find a cheaper apartment near the campus and, of course, eat and buy insurance. I'll be able to work in the barns in exchange for my tuition. Perhaps... around twenty thousand dollars to see me through."
"Well, let's see what we can do," he said, shifting his gaze from her to his monitor. "Do you have an account with us?"
"Checking," she said. She extracted a bank card from her brown leather wallet and slid it over to him.
"Thank you," he said, taking the card. He entered the account number into the computer and looked at what was on the screen: checking account balance, $1,104. 35. He consciously resisted the urge to shake his head. "Any outstanding loans?"
"Just a credit card balance... about three thousand dollars, I think."
He swiveled back to face her. This would be a difficult loan; but, as he looked at her, he knew he wanted to help her. He saw the strength in her that he had seen in his mother. He felt something stir inside him. "Of course, I'll have to run your credit through Equifax or Transunion, but I'm not going to lie, Ms. Gilmore. This may not be an automatic loan, especially since you have no collateral. But I do understand the importance of you furthering your education, and I will fight for you." In the back of his mind, he wondered if she would be grateful for his support and if she would show that gratitude in a way that was more than a spoken thank you. It had been a while since he'd been with a woman, and he missed it, especially now that his mother was not around to discourage him from developing a relationship that lasted more than a week or so.
She smiled thinly. "I would certainly appreciate any help you could give me."
As she said this, her legs parted just enough so that he got a glimpse of her upper thighs and the crotch of her tights. Whether or not she intended to give him that glimpse, he didn't know. But in that instant he had an image of her naked body straddling him while he lay on his back urging her to impale herself. This was followed by an even stronger image of lying across her lap while she lit into him with her hard right hand, punishing him for slacking off.
He shook these images from his head. "Let me crunch some numbers," he said. "I'm sorry I can't give you an answer today. I'll have to submit this to the loan committee on Monday. Can you stop by Monday afternoon? I should have an answer for you by then. The bank closes at five, but I'm usually here until at least six." He thought about the loan committee to which he alluded. It consisted of himself and the senior loan officer, John Hardy. They would talk for maybe five minutes.
Valerie considered for a moment. "I understand," she said, clamping her legs together. "I guess Monday will have to do. I don't think I'll be able to get here much before six. I'm sorry."
"No problem. I'll wait for you by the door to let you in."
She pushed back the chair and stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Jensen," she said.
He also stood up and extended his right hand. "My pleasure, Ms. Gilmore." They briefly gripped each other's hand. "Until Monday, then," he continued. "I'll try to have good news for you."
She nodded, pivoted on her right foot, and exited the office, leaving a little of her earthy but pleasant scent behind.
Scott breathed it in as he watched her disappear. Then he walked to the window and looked to his left into the small parking lot. He saw her get into a tired-looking F150. He watched her back out of the parking space and drive off in a cloud of oily smoke. She would need a new truck very soon, he thought.
He resumed his seat and shifted his attention to the computer screen, still displaying her account information. Quickly, he looked up her credit and saw that her credit score was marginal at best; there was no way they could approve her loan request, at least not for twenty thousand dollars. He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to project more images of the two of them together.
Over the past ten or twelve years, he had dated a number of young women. He had been privileged to have sex with a few of them - when he could get past his mother's resistance ("No woman is good enough for my Scotty," she would say).
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