After several minutes I began to see that his authority was to say no and that his major talent lay in saying no in so many pleasant, friendly words that the client hardly realized that she was being turned down.
First, please understand, Miss Baldwin, that California MasterCard and Chicago Imperium MasterCard are separate corporations and that you do not have a contract with us. To our regret. True, as a matter of courtesy and reciprocity we ordinarily honor credit cards issued by them and they honor ours. But he was truly sorry to say that at the moment-he wanted to emphasize “at the moment”- the Imperium had cut off communication and, strange as it seems, there was not today even an established rate of exchange between bnuins and crowns. . . so how can we possibly honor a credit card from the Imperium even though we want to and will gladly do so
later. But we do want to make your stay with us happy and what can we do for you toward that end?
I asked when he thought the emergency would be over.
Mr. Chambers looked blank. “Emergency? What emergency, Miss Baldwin? Perhaps there is one in the Imperium since they have seen fit to close their borders . . . but certainly not here! Look around you-did you ever see a country so glowing with peace and prosperity?”
I agreed with him and stood up, as there seemed no point in arguing. “Thank you, Mr. Chambers. You have been most gracious.”
“My pleasure, Miss Baldwin. MasterCard service. And don’t forget: Anything I can do for you, anything at all, I am at your service.”
“Thank you, I’ll remember. Uh, is there a public terminal somewhere in this building? I bought a lottery ticket earlier today and it turns out that the drawing is almost at once.”
He grinned broadly. “My dear Miss Baldwin, I’m so happy that you asked! Right on this floor we have a large conference room and
every Friday afternoon just before the drawing everything stops and our entire office staff-or at least those who hold tickets; attendance is not compulsory-all of us crowd in and watch the drawing. J.B.-that’s our president and chief executive-old J.B. decided that it was better to do it that way than to have the punters sneaking away to washrooms and toke shops and pretending they weren’t. Better for morale. When one of our people wins one-does happen-she on he gets a fancy cake with sparklers on it, just like a birthday, a gift from old J.B. himself. He comes out and has a piece with the lucky winner.”
“Sounds like a happy ship.”
“Oh, it is! This is one financial institution where computer crime is unheard of, they all love old J.B.” He glanced at his finger. “Let’s get on into the conference room.”
Mr. Chambers saw to it that we were placed in VIP seats, fetched coffee to us himself, then decided to sit down and watch the drawing.
The terminal screen occupied most of the end wall of the room. We sat through an hour of minor prizes during which the master of ceremonies exchanged utterly sidesplitting jokes with his assistant, mostly about the physical charms of the girl who picked the slips out of the tumble bowl. She clearly had been picked for those physical charms, which were considerable-that and her willingness to wear a costume that not only displayed them but also assured the audience that she was not hiding anything. Each time she plunged in an arm and drew out a lucky number she was dressed principally in a blindfold. It looked like easy pleasant work if the studio was properly heated.
Halfway through there were loud squeals from up front; a MasterCard clerk had won a thousand bruins. Chambers grinned broadly. “Doesn’t happen often but when it does, it cheers everyone up for days. Shall we go? No, you still have a ticket that might win, don’t you? Unlikely as it is that lightning will strike here twice.”
At last with a blare of trumpets we reached the week’s grand prize-the “Giant, Supreme, All-California Super Prize!!!” The girl with the goose bumps drew two honorary prizes first, a year’s supply of Ukiah Gold with hash pipe, and dinner with the great sensie star Bobby “The Brute” Pizarro.