|
VICKY:
If Striker's shenanigans were not enough, the office dress was. Who were these women who have the sauce to wear skirts so damn short? I had more than a hunch that the true reason that the uniforms were required was so that the boss had something nice to gawk at during his long, boring hours in the office. I looked like one of those teenage attention whoring girls who traipse around in revealing outfits for the mere, selfish reason to make the boys drool. It was disgusting. The hem of the skirt was nearly halfway up my thigh and clung a bit too much for my liking to my behind. A Partenio would never wear something so degrading. After Vinnie left without a word on me I stormed out of the house doing my best to stifle the tears in my eyes, but not just because I had to keep my head on my shoulders. I was wearing a considerable amount of makeup. Though wearing the stuff is no rarity for me, I was wearing much more than normal to mask my appearance and it took a vast amount of effort to avert smearing it. I felt and looked completely unlike myself. I had to take on the persona of Margaret Cotton and Margaret is the polar opposite of Vicky Partenio. I walked straight past Vinnie without a word, but shot him the most vindictive in the world. I flung open the door to my car, plopped down in the driver's seat and gently pulled the door closed. I sat for a moment and settled myself down. I shoved what Vinnie said out of my head. We argued, just like all siblings, and by the end of the day everything would be right as rain because unlike most siblings, if we lost each other, we lost our entire family. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. I had to somehow gain the trust of Fourth National, while sneaking around behind their backs to get to the vault. It seemed straight forward enough, but I had a sinking feeling that it would not be quite that simple. When I arrived at the bank and introduced myself at one of the desks, I was ushered through a large pair of solid oak doors and whisked into a leather furnished office. Sitting in a regal chair, taller than I was in high heels no less, sat the president of Fourth National, Frank Mallory. He was a tall man and had his greasy black hair combed neatly to cover his residing hairline. He smelled strongly of expensive cologne. I had to suppress the urge to hack up one of my lungs as he light up a cigar. He set down his lighter and extended his hand that was not occupied with tobacco to shake mine. "Welcome to Fourth National, Miss..." his eyes flicked to my name tag pinned to my dress, "Cotton. Margaret is a nice name also," he finished with artificial warmth. "Thank you. I'm glad to be working here, Mr. Mallory," I replied, trying to play the innocent, obeying woman I imagined Margaret Cotton to be. Frank Mallory was known in town as a respectable businessman and with all the businessmen in town he also held his secrets. Mallory was a womanizer, thus the office dress uniforms and the multiple secretaries. Mallory was also a man who wanted the best of everything and therefore could never be satisfied. Once he had a gigantic, expensive house, he d want an even more gigantic and expensive mansion. Vinnie and I had never done any jobs for Mallory for these reasons. I wanted no dealings with the skeletons in this rat s closet. I was quickly informed of my duties as a teller. Again, the tasks were straight forward, nearly too simple. Counting money was always I job Vinnie left to me, being the organizational type. The scheme was going off with out a hitch. I was given the evening shift to help close the bank. It gave the prime opportunity to sack the place. |