“Because my actions would never cause my children to be placed in a spot like this,” Charles responded. “Because instead of getting greedy and getting a second mortgage to begin with, I would have kept my granddaddy’s land free and clear the way he gave it to me.”
“I needed that money!” Russ shot back. “That’s why I got that loan. I needed it!”
“Instead of buying a brand new Cadillac,” Charles went on, “I would have paid that second mortgage.”
“I needed transportation,” the husband explained. “What are you talking about? I was tired of driving a truck everywhere I went. Is it wrong for a man to want a nice car?”
“Instead of going on riverboat cruises and gambling away that loan money you supposedly needed so desperately, I would have made sure my shit was tight and every bill I owed was paid. Then my children would not be in any precarious situations whatsoever, and my wife, if I had one, would not be dragged into somebody’s office to beg for mercy that should have never been required in the first place!”
Charles then stood up. He hated when people took him down these roads to perdition. He hated it when people tried to blame him for their own bad decisions and even worse behavior. “It’s quite late,” he said, “and I have an engagement. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Russ could not believe the coldness, the callousness of this man. He moved back in front of his wife, literally pushing her aside as he did. “You’re a mean, hateful man, Charles Sinatra,” he proclaimed. “We just handed you our hearts on a platter and you cut them up and ate them as if we were nothing more to you than a side of beef! Everybody told us what kind of man you were. Everybody told us to never deal with Big Daddy Sinatra. He wasn’t fair, they said. He is not a fair man!”
The husband calmed back down. “But against all of that advice,” he said, “I decided to come to your bank for that loan. I decided to try you out for myself. I figured how bad could you be? They call a young man like you, a man not even forty yet, Big Daddy. That’s a very affectionate term.”
Charles almost laughed out loud. Affectionate his ass! It was a mocking term the townspeople took to calling him as soon as they realized he was not falling for their con games and lame excuses; that he was not going along to get along; that he was not the man to trifle with.
“So I tried you on for size,” Russ continued. “I walked past two other banks, two other banks, and gave yours a chance.”
Charles knew better than that too. He knew the real story was that his bank gave Russ a chance when those two other banks he so dramatically walked past told him no. But these were supposedly salt of the earth people. These were supposedly real Americans. Simple folk, as Russ called himself. And Charles knew better than that too. He knew he was living around a bunch of salt-of-the-earth-real-American hypocrites. And because he lived among them, he was just as bad as they were. If not worse, he mused.
“Despite all of the warnings I had about you,” Russ continued, “I gave your establishment a chance. I ignored the naysayers, and gave you a chance. But guess what? Those naysayers were right. I am sad to say, those folks were right on!”
But Charles was not moved. He had to leave. “Say it sadly on the sidewalk outside, will you please?” he asked Russ.
Russ, again, was aghast by the coldness. “You are a heartless, merciless, awful man,” he said.
“And so much more,” Charles said, “I’m sure you will agree. But agree outside, if you will. Good day.”
Russ puffed up with even more umbrage. “Okay fine,” he said, nodding his head. “Don’t help us then. We don’t want help from your kind anyway!”
“Come on, Russell.” Trish tugged on his elbow. “We don’t want his help.”
“Kiss my ass!” Russ yelled at Charles. “That’s what you can do for me, Mister Arrogant Hot Shot. You can kiss my ever-loving ass!”
“I’m sure that is an activity your wife may enjoy,” Charles responded, “but I doubt if I would find it nearly as gratifying. No thank-you.”
Russ was dumbstruck. Charles wasn’t even taking his insults the right way. “Kiss my a-s-s ass!” Russ yelled again.
“I’ve smelled your farts,” Charles replied. “No thank-you.”
Russ was practically hyperventilating with anger and confusion, as he stared at this oddball man. But despite his emotions, he had enough sense to know he was wasting his time. Big Daddy Sinatra was everything and more everybody had ever told him. There was no help here.