"Well, lah-de-dah. He's too lofty co make his own phone calls?"

"Yes," Pam said. That Pam—literal-minded was the phrase for her.

"What's this about?"

"I am following his instructions," she said. "He tells me to call the telepath, I call you. You are summoned."

"Pam, I need a little more explanation than that. I don't especially want to see Eric."

"You are being recalcitrant?"

Uh-oh. I hadn't had that on my Word of the Day calendar yet. "I'm not sure I understand." It's better to just go on and confess ignorance than try to fake my way through.

Pam sighed, a long-suffering gust of sound. "You're digging in your heels," she clarified, her English accent making itself known. "And you shouldn't be. Eric treats you very well." She sounded faintly incredulous.

"I'm not giving up work or free time to drive over to Shreveport because Mr. High and Mighty wants me to jump to do his bidding," I protested—reasonably, I thought. "He can haul his ass over here if he wants to tell me something. Or he can pick up the telephone his ownself." So there.

"If he had wanted to pick up the phone 'his ownself,' as you put it, he would have done so. Be here Friday night by eight, he bids me tell you."

"Sorry, no can do."

A significant silence.

"You won't come?"

"I can't. I have a date," I said, trying to keep any trace of smugness out of my voice.

There was another silence. Then Pam snickered. "Oh, that's rich," she said, abruptly switching to American vernacular. "Oh, I'm going to love telling him that."

Her reaction made me begin to feel uneasy. "Um, Pam," I began, wondering if I should backpedal, "listen…"

"Oh, no," she said, almost laughing out loud, which was very un-Pam-like.

"You tell him I did say thanks for the calendar proofs," I said.