“Well, Malcolm, I’m a businessman visiting here on Perv,” I said, aware as I spoke that I was unconsciously falling into a formal speech pattern. “My expenses have been running a bit higher than I anticipated, and frankly my ready cash supply is lower than I find comfortable. Someone suggested that I might open a line of credit with your bank, so I stopped in to see if there was any possibility we might work something out.”
“I see.”
He ran his eyes over me, and much of the warmth went out of the room. I was suddenly acutely aware of how I was dressed.
After overdressing for my interview with the Butterfly, I had decided to stick with my normal, comfortable, informal appearance. I had anticipated that bankers would be more conservative than financiers, and that a bank would probably be equipped to detect disguise spells, so it would be wisest if I was as open and honest as possible. Courtesy of a crash course by Bunny, my administrative assistant, on how to dress, my wardrobe was nothing to be embarrassed about, but I probably didn’t look like most of the businessmen Malcolm was used to dealing with. His visual assessment of me reminded me of the once-over I would get when encountering a policeman . . . only more so. I had a feeling the banker could tell me how much money I had in my pockets down to the loose change.
“What line of work did you say you were in. Mister Skeeve?”
I noted that the “Mister” had reappeared, but wasn’t up to arguing over it.
“I’m a magician . . . Well, actually I’m the president of an association of magicians . . . a corporation.” I managed to stop there before I started babbling. I’ve noticed a tendency in myself to run on when I’m nervous.