Chapter One

For the fifth time in the past hour, Jake England wondered what the hell he was doing here, anyway. Here being the front door of the Bank of New Brunswick building in Chatham, N.B. at eight thirty on a Monday morning. The bank, of course, was currently closed to the public. He knew this, not from prior personal knowledge, but only because the door to the intimidating structure was locked. He had tried opening it, only to receive questioning glares from one or two of the employees inside.

He had never been in the building, knew very little about its business. In fact, he never even had a bank account at any bank, anywhere. He did not see the need. It was the fall of 1964, he had graduated with honors earlier in June and all he had on his mind since then was the weekly Saturday night dance at the Chatham Exhibition building where his rock band, The Esquires, played. Jake was the bass guitarist in the five-man group, and over the past year they had become quite popular in the area.

This morning Jake was at the bank for a job interview, more to appease his parents than any lofty plans that might involve banking. He recalled the initial discussion he had on Career Day in May when some dude from the Bank of New Brunswick had visited his school. He was there to speak with the graduating class about prospective employment with them, an annual thing the bank did to show they were part of the local community.

The guy who Jake was here to see was the son of the Doyles … friends of Jake’s parents who had apparently given Jake’s name to their son, since he had singled him out after his talk to the group during assembly. Jake had half-listened to him and he must have made some kind of commitment to meet with him, since he had called Jake at home last night to remind him of their scheduled meeting.

So here he was, dressed in a grey tweed sports jacket, a blue button-down dress shirt (no tie), black slacks, and freshly shined black shoes that he had only worn once, at his high school graduation three months ago.

He noticed some movement behind the bank’s main entrance door and, finally, a lady was opening the door for him, welcoming him into their hallowed structure. Wow, she is quite an attractive lady, Jake thought. She introduced herself as Sharon Donovan. Maybe a few years older than Jake, she had brunette hair, cut in a short bob, beautiful sea-green eyes, a few freckles on her nose that enhanced a great summer tan, and a killer smile that, immediately in his mind, she managed to display only for him.

“I guess you would be Jacob England?” she asked.

“Uh yeah,” Jake mumbled. God, he was dumb struck.

“I think you’re here to see Ron Doyle?”

Jake frantically recalled the guy’s name. “Ah, yeah. Ronnie. Good guy.” Jesus! From the straight face Sharon displayed, he realized he was babbling, making an arse of himself. “Is he in?” Damn! He did it again. Of course, he was in, this is where the guy works, fool!

Sharon just gave him that fantastic smile and a small chuckle. “Follow me Jacob, I’ll bring you to him.”

Sharon led Jake into the bank where he saw eight or ten people busy behind desks sorting files, or teller wickets counting cash. There were three men sitting in what Jake took to be the manager’s office. Two of them were sitting in front of a desk, apparently in a meeting, the boss behind it, taking a drink from his coffee cup, then grimacing as he placed the cup in front of himself. It was toward this office where Jake was led by Sharon.

“Excuse me, Mr. Crawford. This is Mr. Jacob England who is here for his appointment with Mr. Doyle.” Crawford quickly placed his coffee in the side drawer of his desk which had been opened. Jake watched as Crawford scowled at Doyle who then got up and came out of the office, leaving the other man alone with the manager.

“Jacob, glad you could make it,” Doyle said, extending his hand which Jake shook. “Let’s go into our staff room and have a talk.” Doyle looked at Sharon, giving her a wink. “That’ll be all Miss Donovan. Right this way, Jacob.”

They were seated at a table in a small room off a back hall that led to a washroom, and Doyle explained their company’s commitment to the community by attempting to hire at least one young student from one of the town’s three schools annually. He went on to reiterate the benefits to Jake: secure, steady employment; a competitive salary; good, clean working conditions; staff rates on things like car loans and home mortgages; and last, but not least, a great support staff here to help in the training process.

“In your case, Jacob, assuming you are interested in joining our firm, Miss Donovan will be your trainer. You’ve met Sharon already.”

“Uh, yes sir. Sharon. She’s beau __, I mean, she’s great.” He wanted to say, ‘Sign me up, Ron, when do I start?’, but caught himself in time. From that point on, Jake was sold on his new job. The rest of his meeting with Doyle was a blur. He ended up having to give some personal info to an older lady, Viola, who opened an account for him, which at first Jake had declined. But then he was informed by Viola, with a frown, that it was a necessity, that is, if he wanted to get paid. After this, he was passed back to Sharon.

It was noon time. “Want to grab some lunch, Jacob?” suggested Sharon. They were on their way out the main entrance when they passed Ron’s desk.

“Hey Sharon, what’s up?” said Ron, giving her a big smile.

“Jacob and I were just going out for lunch, Ron. We’ll be back by one. See you,” and they were out the door. Jake noted a scowl that had appeared on Ron’s face as they made their exit.

They sat across from each other in a window booth with a street view in the Mic Mac Restaurant, a popular diner for the younger set of the town. There were at least four dozen booths that each held room for six average-sized teenagers. That did not include another twenty or more singles stools that ran along the front counter of the large dining area.

There was always current pop music playing from hidden speakers. Songs that patrons would select from an array of choices available to them in glass-enclosed boxes in each booth. Song selections appeared on thirty or more pages of song lists that one could ‘flip’ through by turning metal clips attached to the top of each page; then one could push designated alpha-numeric buttons relating to their selections…very similar to the ‘juke boxes’ that were introduced in the fifties.

At the moment, B-9 was Jake’s favorite which he now selected after depositing a dime in the proper slot. When the previous tune that had been playing was finished, the opening to Jake’s selection commenced, Oh, Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison.

He watched Sharon as a waitress arrived and took her order for a burger with fries and a coke. Sharon tapped the tabletop in time to the heavy four/four beat produced by the snare drum, bass and lead guitar intro. He picked up on this and knew right away she was someone he could really get to like.

Sharon sensed she was being watched and she returned his stare, raising her eyebrows in question marks.

“My apologies for staring,” he said. “I was just admiring your timing.”

“My timing?”

“Yes. With this song. Your table taps. You’d make a good drummer,” Jake said, nodding toward her hands, fingers, keeping time. She stopped tapping, and blushed.

“You got me, Jacob, I like that tune. And hey, my mother was a music teacher, then taught Literature in her later years, so maybe it comes naturally.” Again, that smile.

“Okay, now I got it. Yes, Mrs. Donovan. She taught me English 1 last year. I like her. Why did Ron give you a mean look when we were leaving for lunch?” This question, out of the blue, took her aback.

“Well, Jacob, don’t you think that’s getting a little personal?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. But just so you know, while you were speaking with him in the staff room, Mr. Crawford told me I would be responsible for your training. So, us coming to lunch together? I just wanted to get to know you better, seeing as how we will be working closely over the next few months.” Just then the waitress arrived with their food. They both waited, then when the girl had left them, Sharon resumed.

“And, since you picked up on something, here is the situation: Ron and I dated for a while. I made a mistake, now it’s history. Maybe he’s still peed off, I really don’t know, nor do I care. But a little advice: be careful with Doyle, okay?”

She was serious, and Jake didn’t quite know what to make of this. He simply thanked her and nodded. There’d be lots of time later to get back into that part of their discussion. They ate their lunch in silence, and soon it was time to go back to work.

“Tell me Jacob, why do you want to work with the bank?” Sharon asked before they got up to leave.

“Ah, fair question,” replied Jake. “Steady job, pay’s not bad, indoor work, you know,” he faltered.

“That sounds like something Ron Doyle would say at one of his recruitment sessions.”

Jake just smiled at Sharon and nodded. She continued to talk to him.

“We’ve been here almost an hour, and you have not yet asked me one question about work.”

“Well, there is one other perk that Doyle mentioned.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. He was high on the ‘great support staff’ that’s available for training purposes. His words.”

“Do you know Ron? You referred to him earlier as ‘Ronnie’, a ‘good guy’.”

Jake was now embarrassed by his stupid remark. He had trouble meeting her eyes as he spoke.

“No, Sharon, I don’t know the guy from Adam. I was stupidly trying to act as if I had an ‘in’ with you guys. His folks know my parents, that’s all. I’m happy with what I’m doing at the moment. I play in a rock band.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about your band from some girlfriends. They tell me you guys are pretty good. But how long will this last? And isn’t music very fickle? I mean, styles and fads change quickly. If you really are into music, why not go to university and get a degree, become a music teacher?”

“All good points,” he said. “And maybe I will, down the road. But this is the here and now. I feel it is like a kind of movement, not some fad, like, ah, hula hoops, or bell-bottom jeans. I think it’s important, Sharon. And I have a chance to be part of it. Maybe I can do both, that is, work in the bank, and play in the band?”

“Maybe you can. But personally, I think your two pursuits will eventually clash. In the meantime, let’s get back to this one. And remember what I said about Doyle. I think Ron has his own agenda, so watch what you say and do around him, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jake suddenly sounded all business. Then, as they left the Mic Mac, “But one thing, Sharon. Can you call me Jake?”

Their walk back to work took them through a back-alley short-cut where they ran into a couple of young punks whom Jake vaguely knew. They were not friends, just guys that hung around the dance hall, often causing the odd fight, either with young airmen from the Canadian Air Force base located in the town, college boys from St Thomas University, or other kids from Newcastle, a nearby rival community. Jake prepared himself for trouble. He recalled their names were Johnny Dorsey and Fred MacMillan.

“Hey Jake! Lookin’ gooood!” the taller of the two said, basically leering at Sharon as they approached them. Jake could tell the guy was stoned, and it was mid-day, for God’s sake.

“Hi John,” Jake responded, not giving the guy a second look.

“Whoa, wait up, man. Don’t suppose you could help out a friend with a five-spot, now that you got yourself a big job?”

“Can’t help you today, John. Maybe next week,” he continued on, but it was necessary to brush against the guy who had gotten too close to them. “Sorry, John. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, you will, Jake…” The guy’s response was ominous, and it matched the glare he gave Jake. What the hell is wrong with them? Lately he had noticed a number of guys his age who seemed to be getting into some very serious drugs. Up until this point, Jake had experimented with a bit of pot a couple of times but that was where he drew the line.

“Come on, Sharon.” Jake took her hand and led her out of the alley. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Not the most upstanding citizens in town.”

Sharon had no response; she just kept her head down until they were back to the bank.

The remainder of the day was spent with Sharon while she introduced Jake to the rest of the staff at the branch. There were four cash tellers, two stenos, a Personal Loans Manager and his assistant, and finally, they went into the manager’s office where she formally introduced the bank Manager, Mr. Ralph Crawford, whom Jake had only nodded to when he first came into the bank that morning. Now the man asked Jake to have a seat and Sharon left them alone.

“So, Jacob. You want to be a banker.” It was a statement, and Jake was not inclined to debate the matter with the manager at this moment. “Look,” said Crawford. “I don’t have a lot of time. Do you have any questions?”

“Ah, no sir.”

“Very well, then,” and Crawford reached down and pulled an empty coffee cup from the bottom drawer of his desk. “Son, would you let the water run really cold from the tap for me,” he instructed Jake, handing him the cup and pointing toward the washroom. “And I think it would be a good idea to get yourself a haircut.”

So, Jake thought, Ralph likes his vodka cold. Good info to have. The first day at his new job had begun, and already he had mixed ideas about how long he’d be here. Certainly at least long enough though, to get to know a little more about Sharon Donovan.

The haircut could wait.