Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

"How's her Lady Macbeth progressing?" Carol, who had been arranging a scarf display in the women's department, steered him away from the hovering staff who were eager to wait on Mr. Q. He was a regular customer, and they all knew that Polly wore size 16, liked blue and gray, preferred silver jewelry, and avoided anything that required ironing. Before answering his question, Carol said, "This is off the record, I hope." "Always." "Well, Larry finds her very hard to work with. She never looks at him when they're acting together, and there's nothing worse! She acts for herself and doesn't give him anything to play against. Very bad!" "Is Dwight aware of this?" "Yes, he's given her notes several times. Granted we have another ten days to rehearse, but... I don't know about Melinda. Did you hear that she lost another patient? Wally To.whistle's grandmother. Perhaps you saw the obituary." "What can you expect, Carol? She inherited all of Dr. Hal's octogenarian and nonagenarian patients with one foot in the grave." "Well..." Carol said uncertainly, "our daughter got her M.D. in June and is interning in Chicago. Melinda wants her to come back and join the clinic. Naturally, Larry and I would love to have her living here rather than Down Below, but we're not sure it's the wise thing to do, considering..." She shrugged.

"What do you think?" "What does your daughter think?" "She wants to stay in Chicago." "Then let her stay there. It's her decision. Don't interfere." "I guess you're right, Qwill," Carol admitted.

"Now what can we do for you?" "I need a birthday gift for Polly. Any ideas?" "How about a lovely gown and robe set?" She showed him a blue one in size 16. "Fine! Wrap it up," he said.

"Nothing fancy, please." He was a brisk shopper.

"White box with blue ribbon?" "That'll do... Now, what do I need to know about the box office job tomorrow?" "Just report a few minutes early," Carol said.

"I'll meet you there and explain the system." At one-thirty the next day, Qwilleran said to the Siamese, "Well, here goes! Let's hope I don't sell the same seat twice." He had sold baseball programs at Comiskey Park and ties at Macy's, but he had never sold tickets in a box office. He walked to the theatre, through the woods and across the parking lot, where there appeared to be an unusual profusion of cars for a Tuesday afternoon. In the lobby, the ticket purchasers were milling about as if it were opening night.

"Hi, Mr. Q," several called out as he pushed through to the box office. The window was shuttered, but there was a light inside, and Carol admitted him through the side door.

"Can you believe this crowd?" she remarked.

"Looks like we've got a hit show! Now, here's what you do. When customers first come up to the window, ask them what date they want, and pull the seating chart for that performance. Seats already sold have been x-ed out on the chart.

" The chart of the auditorium showed twelve rows of seats on the main floor and three in the balcony--twenty seats to the row, divided into left, right, and center sections.

"Next, ask them how many tickets they want and where they want to sit.

All seats are the same price. Then you take the tickets out of this rack; they're in cubbyholes labeled according to row. Be sure to x-out the seats they're buying... Then take their money. No credit cards, but personal checks are okay. Any questions?" "What's that other rack?" "Those are reserved tickets waiting to be picked up. You probably won't have any pickups so early in the game, but you'll get phone orders. When you sell tickets by phone, put them in the pickup rack, and don't forget to x-out the seats on the chart." Carol pulled out a drawer under the counter.

"There's the till, with enough small bills to make change. Lock it when you're through, and lock the box office when you leave." "What do I do with the keys?" "Put them in the bottom of the tall-case clock in the lobby. It's all very simple.

" The hard part, Qwilleran discovered, was on the other side of the window. He opened the shutters and faced his public. They had formed a queue, and there were about forty in a line that snaked around the lobby. The first at the window was a small, nervous woman with graying hair and wrinkled brow.

"Do you know me?" she asked.

"I'm Jennifer's mother." "Jennifer?" he repeated.

"Jennifer Olson. She's in the play." "No doubt you'll want tickets for opening night," he guessed, reaching for the Wednesday chart.

"Yes, ten tickets. Our whole family is going." "Here's what's available, Mrs. Olson. Do you want them all in the same row, or a block of seats?" "What would a block be like?" "It could be two rows of five, one behind the other, or three shorter rows bunched together." "I don't know. Which do you think would be best?" "Well, it's like this," Qwilleran explained.