CINDERELLA STORY
By ALLEN KIM LANG
What a bank! The First Vice-President
was a cool cat—the elevator and the
money operators all wore earmuffs—was
just as phony as a three-dollar bill!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1961.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I
The First Vice-President of the William Howard Taft National Bank andTrust Company, the gentleman to whom Miss Orison McCall was applyingfor a job, was not at all the public picture of a banker. His suit ofhound's-tooth checks, the scarlet vest peeping above the vee of hisjacket, were enough to assure Orison that the Taft Bank was a curiousbank indeed. "I gotta say, chick, these references of yours reallyswing," said the Vice-President, Mr. Wanji. "Your last boss says youcome on real cool in the secretary-bit."
"He was a very kind employer," Orison said. She tried to keep fromstaring at the most remarkable item of Mr. Wanji's costume, a pair offurry green earmuffs. It was not cold.
Mr. Wanji returned to Orison her letters of reference. "What colorbread you got eyes for taking down, baby?" he asked.
"Beg pardon?"
"What kinda salary you bucking for?" he translated, bouncing up anddown on the toes of his rough-leather desert boots.
"I was making one-twenty a week in my last position," Miss McCall said.
"You're worth more'n that, just to jazz up the decor," Mr. Wanji said."What you say we pass you a cee-and-a-half a week. Okay?" He caughtOrison's look of bewilderment. "One each, a Franklin and a Grant," heexplained further. She still looked blank. "Sister, you gonna workin a bank, you gotta know who's picture's on the paper. That's ahunnerd-fifty a week, doll."
"That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji," Orison said. It was indeed.
"Crazy!" Mr. Wanji grabbed Orison's right hand and shook it withathletic vigor. "You just now joined up with our herd. I wanna tellyou, chick, it's none too soon we got some decent scenery aroundthis tomb, girlwise." He took her arm and led her toward the bank ofelevators. The uniformed operator nodded to Mr. Wanji, bowed slightlyto Orison. He, too, she observed, wore earmuffs. His were more formalthan Mr. Wanji's, being midnight blue in color. "Lift us to five, Mac,"Mr. Wanji said. As the elevator door shut he explained to Orison,"You can make the Taft Bank scene anywhere between the street floorand floor five. Basement and everything higher'n fifth floor is IronCurtain Country far's you're concerned. Dig, baby?"
"Yes, sir," Orison said. She was wondering if she'd be issued earmuffs,now that she'd become an employee of this most peculiar bank.
The elevator opened on five to a tiny office, just large enough tohold a single desk and two chairs. On the desk were a telephone anda microphone. Beside them was a double-decked "In" and "Out" basket."Here's where you'll do your nine-to-five, honey," Mr. Wanji said.
"What will I be doing, Mr. Wanji?" Orison asked.
The Vice-President pointed to the newspaper folded in the "In" basket."Flip on the microphone and read the paper to it," he said. "When youget done reading the paper, someone will run you up something new toread. Okay?"
"It seems a rather peculiar job," Orison said. "After all, I'm asecretary. Is reading the newspaper aloud supposed to familiarize mewith the Bank's operation?"
"Don't bug me, kid," Mr. Wanji said. "All you gotta