Carol, in a conservative gray wig and matching pink skirt and jacket, sat down at a desk marked NEW ACCOUNTS-IUMI ISHIKAWA. A young Oriental woman in ponytail and sundress smiled. On the desk was a framed photo of a middle-aged Oriental couple.
"I'd like to open an account." Carol enunciated each word carefully. Rich-lady talk.
The clerk handed her a signature card. "Please fill this out."
Carol filled in the name and address and got goose bumps. She always did. It would be just her luck that someday she would forget the name on the phony driver's license. Every account meant memorizing a new name. Since 10:00 A.M., when the banks opened, she had memorized four different names and addresses, one for each bank. She had four thousand dollars in cash in her purse.
She handed the signature card back to the young woman.
"How much would you like to deposit?" She rolled the card into a typewriter.
Carol reached into her purse. "I'd like to deposit this check. It's for three thousand dollars."
Iumi Ishikawa put on her glasses and examined the check. "May I see your driver's license?"
"Certainly. Here you are."
"Thank you." She copied the driver's license number onto the signature card and laid the check in front of Carol. "Would you please second-endorse the check."
Carol held her breath, signed "Gladys T. Zimmerman," and exhaled. The goose bumps started to disappear.
"You're cold," Iumi Ishikawa said. "I think the air conditioning is on too high." She rolled a rubber stamp over the check.
"Uh … yes … uh … too high. I would like one thousand dollars in cash. Make the initial deposit for two thousand instead of three. I'll take the remainder in cash. I'm going to buy a used car today. Cute VW. Got it picked out already." Carol smiled pertly.
"Where did you do your banking previously?"
"In Europe. My husband is with the Foreign Service. He's teaching for a year at USC. No use buying a new car and having to sell it in a year."
The clerk wasn't listening. She was staring at the check.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Zimmerman, but we don't usually allow cash back transactions on an initial deposit," she said.
Carol put a hand to her chest and gave a surprised look. "Then just how are we supposed to buy the VW today? My husband will kill me if I don't get the money for the VW. We're buying it from a student. We're getting a very good deal. Today is Friday. The car could be sold over the weekend. Would you prefer that I speak with the bank manager?"
"Well, if you feel that…"
"That's really not necessary. Surely you can see your way to bending the rules just a little for me. I would so appreciate it…is that a picture of your mother and father?"
"Yes, it is."
"My parents live with us. That's why we came back to the U.S., to take care of them. My mother has cancer. She has me so worried." Carol looked at the floor.
"I'm sorry," Iumi Ishikawa said.
Carol raised her head. "I assure you the check is good."
"I'll speak with the manager. I'm sure he will approve the transaction once I explain it to him." Iumi Ishikawa gave an embarrassed smile, or was it a nervous smile? She walked to the manager's desk. He was blond, tan, trim as a jogger. She talked with him briefly and came back to the desk. The manager picked up his phone and dialed.
"Is there a problem?" Carol asked, lowering her voice halfway through the sentence.
The manager stared at her while speaking on the phone. The Japanese girl stood at the desk with the check in her hands. She did not sit down.
Carol's knees were shaking.
"If you'll just wait a few minutes, the check will be approved," Iumi Ishikawa said.
"No way!" Carol lunged, grabbed the check, and ran out the glass door.
Brakes squealed as she dodged across the street. Looking behind her, Carol flung herself into a department store's revolving door. She heard a siren.
Out of breath, she mixed in with women in furs and rings, moving from table to table, picking things up and putting them down, as if browsing.
Standing behind a window display, she held up a blouse and looked across the street at the bank. The bank manager and the Japanese girl were standing outside the bank looking around.
A police car pulled up. A black policeman got out and slipped his baton into a ring on his belt. The bank manager pointed down the street toward another store. He was pointing the wrong way!
The policeman and the bank manager trotted down the sidewalk.
Carol headed toward an escalator and realized she was walking too fast. She slowed down. In front of her was a tiered display of purses. She picked one up and studied every face near her. No one was looking. She ripped off the gray wig, stuffed it in the purse, and set it back down. She ran her hand through her hair and got on the escalator.
On the way up she had a view of the entire first floor. It had three street entrances. There was canned music and the murmur of soap-opera talk from a row of color televisions. A man and woman on TV kissed. She was safe.
If no one had seen her run into the store, they would look around for an hour or so and then go away. She breathed deeply.
She realized the check was still in her hand. She asked a salesman where the rest room was and headed for a door near a group of sofas.
In the rest room she stuffed the check in her bra. Watching the door, she took off the pink jacket and put it in a trashcan. She tucked in her blouse. Her watch said it was noon. This was as good a place to wait as any.
Two giggling salesgirls came in twenty minutes later, and Carol left the rest room.
The escalator took her to each floor. She paused at every department and made up questions for the salespeople. In the fourth-floor rest room she spent a full half hour standing in front of the mirror before anyone else came in. In linens she purchased some beach towels. They filled up a shopping bag nicely.
On the third trip down the escalator, Carol began to wonder whether the salespeople were staring at her. Or was it just her imagination? But then again, why take chances?
She looked at her watch. She had been in the store two full hours.
From the display window she could see that the police car was gone from the bank. Everything seemed back to normal. The street was crowded with shoppers.
Carol tapped a young salesgirl on the shoulder. "Excuse me, is there a back way out…into the parking lot?"
"Sorry, these are the only customers' doors," she said, pointing to the street entrance.
"Thank you."
A bus stopped across the street and picked up passengers. That was it! She could see a bus two blocks down. Thank God!
She joined a group of women going out the door, and walked in the opposite direction from the bank, toward a bus bench. She sat down.
Was that a police car down the street near the bus? Jesus, it was. It was just cruising. It passed the bus and then stopped for a light. It was too late to get up and run. He would see her. Once she got on the bus she would be home free.
As the police car approached, she could see that the driver was black. She felt the goose bumps. He was pulling over to the curb in front of the bus bench. She turned her head.
The policeman got out of the car and walked around the car to her. The bus passed by.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes, officer," Carol said.
"We're looking for a lady in a pink skirt. May I ask you where you've just been?"
"Just bought some towels for the beach house." She opened the bag and smiled. "See?"
"Thank you. Would you mind walking down the street with me to the bank? It will just take a minute."
"I am in a hurry. I'd really rather not. My husband is waiting for me. He's a producer at the studios." Carol looked at her watch.
"I'm afraid you'll have to come along with me. It'll just take a minute," said the policeman.