878: Just before . . .
Leaving Small’s Hotel, Chapter 2 concludes
JUST BEFORE Albertine and I started up the stairs to bed, the phone rang. At that hour, Al generally preferred to let the machine take all calls, but I still had hopes that I would find on the other end of the line a representative of a vast extended family calling to inquire about taking the entire hotel for a reunion, desperate to find a place that suited their needs, willing to pay whatever I wanted to ask.
“I’ll get it,” I said.
“Oh, please don’t,” said Albertine.
I did. It was a woman who identified herself as a Satisfaction Specialist from the Babbington Reporter calling to see whether Mr. Leroy had received the paper.
“Yes,” I said. “We received it, but — ”
“Was it on time?” she asked.
“Yes, it was on time, but — ”
“What’s this?” asked Al.
“The Reporter,” I said.
The Satisfaction Specialist asked, “Would you say that the credibility of our journalism was equal to your expectations, lower than your expectations, or in excess of your expectations?”
“Your credibility?”
“Equal to your expectations, lower than your expectations, or in excess of your expectations?”
“Well, to be honest with you, my expectations are not very high. You see, I’ve been reading the Reporter for quite a few years, so I’ve come to expect — ”
“Give me that,” said Albertine, and she took — it would not be unfair to say snatched — the phone from me. “Listen,” she said into the mouthpiece, “I am probably your biggest single subscriber — sixteen copies — no, seventeen — every day — and I want to tell you that the imbecile you employ to deliver that rag — Dexter Burke — right — well — oh — really? — then you have my sympathies, Mrs. Burke, believe me. The man is an idiot — and my aged mother has got a stronger throwing arm than — oh, yeah? Well, the same to you, sweetheart!”
She handed the phone back to me and said, shaking her head, “I’ve got to get out of this town.”
[to be continued]
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