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Then Rama sat in front of the auditorium, wiggling his toes and fielding questions, a la Chinmoy. "Rama?" a woman might begin. "Yes." "The men where I work are constantly sending me sexual energy. Each day I come home completely drained." "What do you do for a living?" "I'm a receptionist." "Why don't you study programming?" he suggested.
"My personal car to take Cadet Hanlon to the Simonidean Embassy, then return." At the Embassy, Hanlon reported to the receptionist, and was shown with due deference into one of the private offices, where he was introduced to several men, among them the Secretary he was to accompany.
He entered the dark and ornate lobby of Pilgrim's Atlantic. Money was taken seriously here. He looked for the elevator. "Topside," Tom had said. When the elevator doors opened at the top floor, Oliver was disoriented by the orange carpet, the color-coordinated flowery wallpaper, and the sunny windows. A well-built maternal receptionist smiled from behind an antique table. Where was he?
"Thank you for your time." He rose to his feet, smiled at Alexander, and turned to the door. "Don't bother to call your receptionist," he said. "I can find my way out." "Just a minute, Doctor," Alexander said. He was standing behind the desk, holding out his hand. "Another test?" Kennon inquired. Alexander nodded. "The critical one," he said. "Do you want the job?" "Of course."
They drove immediately from the airport to the office of Philip Holland, stopping only long enough for Joe to make a phone call. They retraced the route over which Nadine had taken him that day that seemed so long ago, but actually wasn't. Through the long corridors, and eventually to the small office with the receptionist. Miss Mikhail said, brightly, "Dr. Haer, Major Mauser, Mr.
I will gladly cross swords with Baron Haer another day, when I, too, have ... what did you call the confounded things, Paul?" "Gliders," Lieutenant Colonel Warren said. Major Joseph Mauser, now attired in his best off-duty Category Military uniform, spoke his credentials to the receptionist. "I have no definite appointment, but I am sure the Baron will see me," he said. "Yes, sir."
"Forty-two and forty-three," said the guard, frowning. "I ain't supposed to give it out, but floors forty-two and-three." Hoddan went up. He was unknown. A receptionist looked at him with surprised aversion. "I have a case of space piracy," said Hoddan polite. "A member of the firm, please." Ten minutes later he eased himself into the easiest of easy-chairs.
He hid his white mustache with a forefinger pink as his cheeks. "Yes. Yes. But you must have an appointment to speak to me. That's the rule, you know. Must have an appointment." He appeared extremely nervous and harassed, his eyes darting back to the refuge of his office, but he was evidently held to the spot by whatever distress animated his receptionist.
I had filled out the necessary forms and stated the nature of my business so often I began to be alarmed lest my hand refuse to write anything else and I be condemned for the rest of my life to repeat the idiotic phrases called for in the blank spaces. I am afraid I must have raised my voice in expressing my exasperation to the young lady who acted as receptionist and barrier.
Oliver's stomach tightened; he straightened and nodded as he passed. At the front door, he said, "So long," to the receptionist, a middle-aged redhead. "Y'all come back, now!" Oliver stopped. "Where you from?" "Georgia, honey." "Good deal," Oliver said, "the sun just came out." The hospital, Gifford Sims notwithstanding, had a light atmosphere.
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