“This is quite the loan. I’m very surprised they let a twenty-four-year-old—oops, sorry, twenty-five now!” She beams manically. “Anyway, I’m surprised they let someone your age borrow so much. It’s, uh…” She’s tapping away at her keyboard with frank concern. Zaza, you idiot. How much did you borrow? “I see your mother, Nadine O’Connor, cosigned?”
I nod noncommittally. How did Zelda get Mom to stay lucid enough for a trip to the bank? How did she make her cooperate? I thought I had power of attorney.
“Do you think you could print me out some updated information? The new balance, the interest rates?”
“Well, the balance has only increased, I’m afraid. Dear, you haven’t made any payments on this loan. It’s two months overdue. The bank will have to take action real soon,” she says. She looks genuinely worried for me. I appreciate it, really; I’m just feeling very impatient to get out of here. It’s only a matter of time before someone Zelda and I know wanders into the bank, and I don’t want to risk being called on my charade.
“Things have gotten a little overwhelming, but I’m, uh, ready to take responsibility. For my actions. Choices. My decisions. If you could just print out the information…” I smile brightly.
“Yes, of course. But I’m afraid I will have to notify one of the managers. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten more involved at this stage.” Her mouth has tightened into a taut line of disapproval. A few minutes ago, I was a sweet girl. Now I am a disgraceful debtor, in over her head. Few things are more shameful than insolvency in a country where poverty is a moral failing.
“I understand. How about I make a payment of good faith? Right now?” I rifle through my bag before realizing with a jolt that the name on my checkbook is my own. “Or tomorrow? I don’t seem to have my checkbook with me at the moment,” I finish weakly.
She raises an eyebrow, cynical. “Of course you don’t. You could transfer from one of your other accounts. I see you have some small savings in your checking account.”
“Yeah, let’s do that!” I say in relief. “How about a thousand dollars?”
She looks at me blankly. I’m definitely not going to get called “sweetie” again.
“You don’t have a thousand dollars in your account.”
“Oh. Let’s just move the whole balance, then.” I need to leave. Now.
“Great. I’m moving three hundred and forty-three dollars and seventy-nine cents from your checking account to go toward your loan payment. Which is still overdue. If you’re unable to make the full payment before July 1, I’m afraid you’ll be looking at foreclosure proceedings.”
Oh, Jesus. “Great. That printout? Updated with the payment?” I prompt, looking around the bank. She enters some information, and I hear the clack of an old printer discharging a sheet. She collects a few pages from the printer tray and hands them to me. I grab them anxiously, my bangles jangling, and stand up.
“Thanks for your help with this. And I’m…sorry,” I say. It’s not quite the right thing to say, but she does soften.
“Good luck, sweetie. I hope you’re able to sort it out.”
I smile, and she smiles falsely back. I notice a smudge of bubblegum-pink lipstick on her tooth. I turn to leave, and as I’m walking away, I know she’s shaking her head in disbelief and censure. I’m sure she’s never been late on a loan payment. I grit my teeth and head for the door. As I’m pushing it open, someone calls out.
“Zelda!” Instinctively, I turn my head. I have always answered to her name, and she to mine. A young man is hurrying from the other side of the bank. He looks angry. In a panic, I race outside. I don’t need any more confrontations. I dodge left once I’m back outside in the clammy heat. I immediately duck into the convenience store next to the bank and move to the back of the aisles. I pretend to browse in the fridge, hiding behind a wire stand filled with potato chips. From the corner of my eye, I see the man run by the door without looking in. After puttering around for a few minutes, I buy a pack of cigarettes at the counter, then cautiously poke my head outside. Coast seems clear.
I don’t look at the sheets of paper scrunched in my hand until I get back to the truck. I sit in the cab and will myself to look down at the figures. When I do, the breath is knocked out of me.
Following her recent payment of $343.79, Zelda is left with a balance due of $306,000.21.
6
Four hundred grand in debt. I sit in the truck, staring out the window at the bank. The bank statement is on the floor, and I’m fairly sure that if I bend over to get it, I won’t be able to get back upright. Zelda has really outdone herself this time. Over four hundred thousand dollars in debt, and that’s just what I’ve managed to find so far. For all I know, she could have other unpaid bills all over town. Christ. Almost half a million dollars. I knew from the emails that Silenus wasn’t doing well. I know it’s an expensive operation, but this…
If I were a practical person, I would be problem-solving. Brainstorming about mortgages I could take out, people with money I could go to. But all I can think is that I need a bottle of something, and somewhere quiet to consume it. I’m immediately sucked into the pleasure of planning, anticipating, the ritual of drink. First, I will go through a list, examine my palate. Will today be a gin-and-tonic day? Or cold IPAs in frosty brown bottles? Or wine, the classic, my old favorite? And if wine, will it be a buttery, oaked Chardonnay? Too warm for red, so no velvety Zinfandel or bright young Chianti. Maybe sparkling? A light, easy Prosecco, or some creamy Blanc de Blancs. Or will it just be my go-to bottle, a bone-dry Sauvignon Blanc, filled with flint and hints of flowers?