arrogant
gesture of refusal had been worth it. She would never forget that scene and
neither, she suspected, would the Thorndykes . That
Grand Gesture had been worth every cent it had cost.
Samantha had finished with scrimping almost a year later
when Business Intelligence, Incorporated, had finally achieved critical mass in
terms of having enough clients to begin attracting other subscribers in
satisfying numbers. She now had the kind of income which allowed her such
interesting indulgences as a week at a spa. But, she told herself as she
defiantly faced the desk clerk, she hadn’t reached the level of financial
casualness where she was willing to kiss a chunk of cash good-bye. Not when
said chunk had purchased nothing in return.
“But, Miss Maitland,” the musclebound desk clerk persisted
with hauteur, “surely you understand that the week’s package rate was
nonrefundable?”
“I certainly did not!” Samantha lied, grimly aware that the
travel agent had made some mention of the fact and also aware that she hadn’t
paid any attention to the agent as visions of conducting business in the manner
of the executive elite had danced through her head. She had planned to deal
with her financial angel from the depths of a lounge chair beside a crystal
swimming pool, a margarita in hand. Samantha now realized that she had confused
the realities of spa life with cruise ship living. Next time she would try a
luxury liner. In the meantime she had to make some effort to retrieve the money
she was about to lose.
“Well, I’m afraid that’s the case, Miss Maitland,” the overly
healthy ex-surfer-turned-weight-lifter announced flatly. The young man was far
too large and robust to be a clerk, Samantha decided privately. He would have been
better suited to a job as an orderly in a mental institution. “Your travel
agent guaranteed a week’s stay when she booked the room and I…”
“Originally I planned on staying a week, but something’s come
up. I have business to attend to, and it can’t be done here.” Samantha tried a
reasoning sort of smile.
“You’re quite free to leave” was the cold retort, “although
I must warn you that once you’ve gone off the Plan, even if it’s only for a
meal off the premises, we can no longer promise you the full benefits of the regimen.”
“You don’t seem to understand! I’m not just sneaking off
campus for dinner, I’m checking out permanently! I’ve had it with all this
good, clean living, is that clear?” She knew she was beginning to sound
agitated, but she couldn’t help it. Already the clock was nearing seven, and
the last thing she wanted to be was late to Gabriel Sinclair’s. “I want to go
back to potato chips and wine and a nice walk now and then for exercise!” If
this torture chamber is a sample of what you Californians do for fun, she
thought to herself, you’re going to count me out of the running in the fast
lane.
“No one is stopping you from walking out the front door!”
The clerk, too, was clearly losing patience.
“Not without my refund!”
“There are no refunds on the plan you chose. Especially not
after we made such an effort to accommodate your agent’s request!”
“Don’t blame my travel agent for this. It’s not her fault!”
Samantha gritted furiously. “I want to speak to the manager,” she forced
herself to add more sedately, chin lifting with as much arrogance as she could
command.
“The manager is at dinner with the other guests,” the
oversized beachboy announced vengefully. He looked
very pleased at being able to thwart her.
“Surely he can leave his alfalfa sprouts long enough to
attend to this little matter?”
“Perhaps in the morning,” the clerk conceded dismissingly.
“Perhaps right now!” Samantha interrupted forcefully, only
to find herself interrupted in turn by a low, quiet male voice behind her.
“What seems to be the trouble here, Jon?”
The clerk and Samantha both turned in surprise to see
gesture of refusal had been worth it. She would never forget that scene and
neither, she suspected, would the Thorndykes . That
Grand Gesture had been worth every cent it had cost.
Samantha had finished with scrimping almost a year later
when Business Intelligence, Incorporated, had finally achieved critical mass in
terms of having enough clients to begin attracting other subscribers in
satisfying numbers. She now had the kind of income which allowed her such
interesting indulgences as a week at a spa. But, she told herself as she
defiantly faced the desk clerk, she hadn’t reached the level of financial
casualness where she was willing to kiss a chunk of cash good-bye. Not when
said chunk had purchased nothing in return.
“But, Miss Maitland,” the musclebound desk clerk persisted
with hauteur, “surely you understand that the week’s package rate was
nonrefundable?”
“I certainly did not!” Samantha lied, grimly aware that the
travel agent had made some mention of the fact and also aware that she hadn’t
paid any attention to the agent as visions of conducting business in the manner
of the executive elite had danced through her head. She had planned to deal
with her financial angel from the depths of a lounge chair beside a crystal
swimming pool, a margarita in hand. Samantha now realized that she had confused
the realities of spa life with cruise ship living. Next time she would try a
luxury liner. In the meantime she had to make some effort to retrieve the money
she was about to lose.
“Well, I’m afraid that’s the case, Miss Maitland,” the overly
healthy ex-surfer-turned-weight-lifter announced flatly. The young man was far
too large and robust to be a clerk, Samantha decided privately. He would have been
better suited to a job as an orderly in a mental institution. “Your travel
agent guaranteed a week’s stay when she booked the room and I…”
“Originally I planned on staying a week, but something’s come
up. I have business to attend to, and it can’t be done here.” Samantha tried a
reasoning sort of smile.
“You’re quite free to leave” was the cold retort, “although
I must warn you that once you’ve gone off the Plan, even if it’s only for a
meal off the premises, we can no longer promise you the full benefits of the regimen.”
“You don’t seem to understand! I’m not just sneaking off
campus for dinner, I’m checking out permanently! I’ve had it with all this
good, clean living, is that clear?” She knew she was beginning to sound
agitated, but she couldn’t help it. Already the clock was nearing seven, and
the last thing she wanted to be was late to Gabriel Sinclair’s. “I want to go
back to potato chips and wine and a nice walk now and then for exercise!” If
this torture chamber is a sample of what you Californians do for fun, she
thought to herself, you’re going to count me out of the running in the fast
lane.
“No one is stopping you from walking out the front door!”
The clerk, too, was clearly losing patience.
“Not without my refund!”
“There are no refunds on the plan you chose. Especially not
after we made such an effort to accommodate your agent’s request!”
“Don’t blame my travel agent for this. It’s not her fault!”
Samantha gritted furiously. “I want to speak to the manager,” she forced
herself to add more sedately, chin lifting with as much arrogance as she could
command.
“The manager is at dinner with the other guests,” the
oversized beachboy announced vengefully. He looked
very pleased at being able to thwart her.
“Surely he can leave his alfalfa sprouts long enough to
attend to this little matter?”
“Perhaps in the morning,” the clerk conceded dismissingly.
“Perhaps right now!” Samantha interrupted forcefully, only
to find herself interrupted in turn by a low, quiet male voice behind her.
“What seems to be the trouble here, Jon?”
The clerk and Samantha both turned in surprise to see
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