Twelve Angry Librarians

“Sorry.” I sighed as I skimmed the first page of the document Melba gave me a few minutes ago. Surely I wouldn’t be expected to give a lengthy speech. “You’re right. Forrest is speaking before me, I see. How long do I have to talk?”

“Only two or three minutes,” Melba said. “If you look at the times on the schedule, you can see that there’s only ten minutes allotted for both you and Forrest.”

“He’ll probably talk for nine and a half of the ten.” I grinned. “So I can have thirty seconds to say ‘Welcome to Athena and have a nice time.’ That ought to do it.”

Diesel warbled as if he agreed with me, and Melba laughed.

“I think you should say more than that.”

“We’ll see. How many people usually attend this meeting?” I asked.

Melba shrugged. “We hosted it ten years ago, and as I recall, there were about three hundred people. Nowadays with travel budgets being cut, fewer people may attend.”

I glanced at the header of the document. “Southern Academic Library Association. I’ve heard some of the other librarians talk about it.” I shrugged. “I had my fill of library meetings from my days in the public library system in Houston. The Texas Library Association Annual Conference is about the largest of its kind in the country, and I went to over twenty of them. I thought I was done with them when I moved back here.”

“Stop trying to sound so dang pathetic.” Melba cocked her head to the right and frowned at me. I knew that look. No more whining, or she’d get really testy with me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said in a pert tone. Diesel chirped, and Melba’s expression relaxed into a grin.

“At least you’ve only got a couple days to worry about what you’re going to say, with everything starting on Thursday.”

I forbore to comment. I skimmed through the schedule. After an opening reception Thursday evening, the conference ran from Friday morning through Sunday at noon. I spotted several names I recognized. People I’d gone to library school with nearly thirty years before. We hadn’t kept in touch, but I figured it might be interesting to see them again.

Then my eyes lighted on the name of the speaker for the Friday luncheon keynote. Gavin Fong.

Surely there couldn’t be two of them, although I hoped there were. The Gavin Fong from library school days had been a jerk, a condescending snot who thought he was intellectually superior to the rest of us. He always talked as if he were slumming by earning a master’s degree in library science.

“What’s wrong, Charlie?” Melba asked. “You’re looking like you stepped in something nasty and can’t get it off your shoe.”

I laughed. “Great metaphor.” I glanced at Gavin Fong’s name on the page again. Before I could continue, however, the phone on Melba’s desk rang, and she disappeared to answer it.

Moments later my phone buzzed, and I picked up the handset. “Yes?”

“Lisa Krause for you,” Melba replied before she transferred the call.

I picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Lisa. What can I do for you?” Lisa was head of the reference department at the library.

After returning my greeting, Lisa said, “I’m sorry about the short notice, but I have to go over to the Farrington House to deal with some last-minute issues about the SALA meeting. I’m chair of the local arrangements committee. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take, so I might not be back in time for our meeting at one.”

“That’s not a problem,” I said. “We can always talk later. I’m afraid I haven’t paid much attention to the conference and who’s doing what.”

Lisa chuckled. “You’ve had far more important things to deal with, and better you than me. I hope you’re not still pulling your hair out over the budget mess.”

I grimaced, even though she couldn’t see me. The budget mess was a legacy from the former director who had failed to keep a tight rein on things, and much of my time since I’d been named interim director had been spent in meetings with the college board and the chief financial officer.

“I have a few stray hairs left,” I said. “I hope you can get your problems at the hotel solved more easily.”

“If a certain jackass weren’t coming to the meeting as a plenary speaker, my job would be a lot easier,” Lisa said. I could hear the frustration in her voice.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Gavin Fong.”

“How did you figure that out?” Lisa asked, obviously surprised. “Do you know him?”

“I did, years ago,” I replied. “We went to library school together. I didn’t care for him in the least and was happy to see the last of him. He wouldn’t deign to work in a public library.”

“I think you’d have to look a long time to find someone who does care for him.” Lisa giggled. “Everyone in SALA loathes him and has done for years. I can’t figure out why on earth the program committee chose him as a featured speaker. He’ll just stand there and go on and on for an hour about how wonderful he is and all the innovative things he’s into.”

“About what I would expect,” I said. “What library is he with now?”

Lisa named a school. “It’s in Alabama. He’s the director.”