The Persistent Caller

Ring, ring.

I answered the phone. “Hello?” I said, disguising my voice.

“Is this Sean Dietrich?” said the little girl’s on the phone. So grown-up sounding. She gets a little bigger every day.

“This is his assistant,” I replied in said fake voice. “Who am I speaking with, please?”

Suppressed little-girl laughter. “Sean doesn’t HAVE an assistant.”

“He does now.”

More snickering. “Are you SURE this isn’t Sean Dietrich? Because this sounds, literally, just like him.”

“I am invariably sure, ma’am. How may I direct your call, Miss…? I never caught your name.”

“My name? Yes. Please tell Mister Dietrich that this is a little girl whose name STARTS WITH THE LETTER B. She is looking to speak directly with him.”

I rifled some papers for effect.

“Hmmm,” I said. “I don’t see here that Mister Dietrich knows any little girls whose names begin with the second letter of the Latin alphabet. Are you sure you have the right number?”

“Quite.”

I rifled more papers. “I’m sorry, Miss B. Mister Dietrich is currently in a meeting, they are discussing very important matters.”

“What kind of important matters?”

“Mister Dietrich is purchasing a shipment of personalized, monogrammed toilet paper.”

“That is quite repulsive.”

“Thank you. Anything else I may help you with?”

“Yes. You there is. You can tell Mister Dietrich this little girl is also his goddaughter. That ought to help his memory.”

“A goddaughter?” I replied. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember hearing about Mister Dietrich having any goddaughters. Are you certain he has one?”

“Oh yes. I am certain. He DOES have one. And she is very amazing.”

“And you say her name starts with a B?”

“That is correct.” More suppressed kid laughs.

“Hold please.”

Silence.

“Are you still there?” I said.

“I am.”

“Mister Dietrich wants to know how to spell your name.”

“Tell him, my name rhymes with ‘Mecca.’”

“Sorry, miss. That’s not ringing any bells.”

“Maybe,” she said, enunciating her words clearly, “you should GO TELL Mister Dietrich to get on the phone right now. I mean, if you ARE his assistant, and he IS paying you, you pretty much have to do what I say since I am, as stated earlier, a valued family member.”

“Hold please?”

Sigh. “I am getting tired of holding, but yes, I will hold one more time.

I sang elevator music into the phone: “My Heart Will Go On,” by Celeine Dion.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?”

“Mister Dietrich says he’s busy.”

“This is an outrage,” she said. “I’ll have you fired, sir. I’ll have you demoted, you, you… I don’t believe you ever gave me YOUR name.”

“My name?”

“Yes, sir. What is your name?”

“My name is Lord Brigadier Sir Anthony Bartholomew Raisnby Jones III.”

“Well, Lord Brigadier Sir Anthony Bartholomew Raisnby Jones III, if you don’t put me through to Mister Dietrich right now, your life is going to become very complicated. Because I don’t know if you know this or not, but you are speaking to BECCA, his BEST and ONLY goddaughter who he LOVES very, very much, and she is not in the mood for your tricks, sir.”

“Becca!” I shouted into the phone, using my real voice.

“Sean!” she howled.

We laughed and laughed.

Then, in a small voice, she said, “I miss you.”