I forbore to comment. I skimmed through the schedule. After an opening reception Thursday evening, the conference ran from Friday morning through Sunday at noon. I spotted several names I recognized. People I’d gone to library school with nearly thirty years before. We hadn’t kept in touch, but I figured it might be interesting to see them again.
Then my eyes lighted on the name of the speaker for the Friday luncheon keynote. Gavin Fong.
Surely there couldn’t be two of them, although I hoped there were. The Gavin Fong from library school days had been a jerk, a condescending snot who thought he was intellectually superior to the rest of us. He always talked as if he were slumming by earning a master’s degree in library science.
“What’s wrong, Charlie?” Melba asked. “You’re looking like you stepped in something nasty and can’t get it off your shoe.”
I laughed. “Great metaphor.” I glanced at Gavin Fong’s name on the page again. Before I could continue, however, the phone on Melba’s desk rang, and she disappeared to answer it.
Moments later my phone buzzed, and I picked up the handset. “Yes?”
“Lisa Krause for you,” Melba replied before she transferred the call.
I picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Lisa. What can I do for you?” Lisa was head of the reference department at the library.
After returning my greeting, Lisa said, “I’m sorry about the short notice, but I have to go over to the Farrington House to deal with some last-minute issues about the SALA meeting. I’m chair of the local arrangements committee. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take, so I might not be back in time for our meeting at one.”
“That’s not a problem,” I said. “We can always talk later. I’m afraid I haven’t paid much attention to the conference and who’s doing what.”
Lisa chuckled. “You’ve had far more important things to deal with, and better you than me. I hope you’re not still pulling your hair out over the budget mess.”
I grimaced, even though she couldn’t see me. The budget mess was a legacy from the former director who had failed to keep a tight rein on things, and much of my time since I’d been named interim director had been spent in meetings with the college board and the chief financial officer.
“I have a few stray hairs left,” I said. “I hope you can get your problems at the hotel solved more easily.”
“If a certain jackass weren’t coming to the meeting as a plenary speaker, my job would be a lot easier,” Lisa said. I could hear the frustration in her voice.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Gavin Fong.”
“How did you figure that out?” Lisa asked, obviously surprised. “Do you know him?”
“I did, years ago,” I replied. “We went to library school together. I didn’t care for him in the least and was happy to see the last of him. He wouldn’t deign to work in a public library.”
“I think you’d have to look a long time to find someone who does care for him.” Lisa giggled. “Everyone in SALA loathes him and has done for years. I can’t figure out why on earth the program committee chose him as a featured speaker. He’ll just stand there and go on and on for an hour about how wonderful he is and all the innovative things he’s into.”
“About what I would expect,” I said. “What library is he with now?”
Lisa named a school. “It’s in Alabama. He’s the director.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” I said. “I figured he’d be heading one of the big university libraries. You know, dean of libraries, or vice provost of something-or-other by now.”
“The way I’ve heard it, he started at one of the Ivy League schools as some kind of hotshot right out of library school, but after that he moved down the ladder instead of up. And down, and down.” Lisa giggled. “Which is why he’s at this tiny school in Alabama that nobody’s ever heard of.”
I had to admit my baser nature found great satisfaction in hearing that. “If that’s the best he can do, he must have gotten even more obnoxious than he was when I knew him.”
“Obnoxious doesn’t even begin to describe him,” Lisa said. “I’ll have to show you the list of demands he sent. I swear you’d think he was some opera prima donna. He has to have a certain kind of bottled water, and his room has to be kept at a certain temperature, and he can only eat certain foods, and, well, you get the gist.”
“What a twit.” I laughed. “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this infantile behavior.”
“It’s only for a few days.” Lisa sighed. “Don’t be surprised if I don’t make it in on Monday, though. I may be under my bed, sucking my thumb and clutching my blankie by the time this is over with.”
“Once he gives his speech, I wouldn’t pay any more attention to his demands. If he isn’t happy, he can go back to Alabama, and good riddance.”
“I like the way you think, Charlie.” Lisa chuckled. “Well, I’d better get on over to the hotel. Thanks for the encouraging words.”
“Good luck.”
Melba ambled back into my office right after I hung up the phone. “What was all that about? Lisa sounded in a tizzy when I answered the phone.”
I explained, and Melba grimaced. “Sounds to me like somebody needs to take that guy out behind the woodshed and give him a good talking-to. With a horsewhip.”
“Are you volunteering?” I asked. Diesel chose that moment to speak up with a loud meow.
“You reckon he’s saying he’ll help me?” Melba laughed. “If this jerk gets in my way, you’d better bet I’ll be telling him what he can do with his bottled water.”
“I’d pay good money to see you give him what for,” I said. “I hope he’s not going to disrupt the whole conference. There’s no telling what he might say when he gets up in front of a captive audience of librarians.”
“I’ll see about having a supply of tar and feathers on hand.”
I laughed. “You do that.”
The phone rang again, and Melba disappeared to answer it.
Diesel tapped my leg with a large paw, and I rubbed his head. I glanced at the clock on my desk. Nearly noon. Time to head home for lunch. The cat could tell time as well as I could.
“Okay, boy, let me finish this e-mail, and we’ll go home.”
Diesel chattered at me, a mixture of chirps and trills, and I knew he understood what I had said. He stared at me the whole time I typed at the keyboard, as if he were afraid I would leave without him.
A few minutes later, with Diesel harnessed and on the leash, we ambled down the sidewalk toward home. The late April sunshine bore down, but thanks to the low humidity, the heat was not uncomfortable. Trees shaded our way for the short trip to the house. As we drew close, I spotted a familiar car in the driveway.
“Laura is here,” I told Diesel, and he tugged against the leash in his eagerness to get into the house. He adored Laura, and she adored him.
We found her in the kitchen, seated at the table, chatting happily with my housekeeper, Azalea Berry. I unhooked the leash, and Diesel trotted over to my daughter. He put his front paws on her leg and rubbed his head against her belly. She scratched his head and laughed.
I bent to kiss her cheek. “How are you feeling? Ready to have that baby?”
Laura rolled her eyes. “Only six weeks to go, and I am so ready not to be pregnant anymore.”
Azalea had her eyes fixed on Diesel as he continued to rub against Laura. “I swear that cat knows you’re going to have a baby, Miss Laura. I’ve never seen the like.”
“He’s a smart boy.” Laura rubbed Diesel’s head. The cat responded with a loud meow. “See, he agrees with me.”
“He’s as anxious to meet the baby as the rest of us.” I went to the sink to wash my hands. “Are you having lunch with us, sweetheart?”
“There’s plenty,” Azalea said.
“I could manage to eat a little.” Laura grinned. “I have to keep up my strength, you know.” Then she sobered. “Before we eat though, Dad, I have something to tell you. I hope it won’t ruin your appetite.”