"Queen Elizabeth," Booth said. "Tuesday Weld, Pearl Buck
"Bad taste, Booth," Ronkers said. "Don't be a swine."
"Bella Abzug," Booth said. "Gloria Steinern, Raquel Welch, Mamie Eisenhower
Ronkers hung up. Go get him if you can, Maggie Brant; I wish you luck!
There was a crush of people in the waiting room outside his office; Ronkers peered out the letter slot at them. His receptionist caught the secret signal and flashed his phone light.
"Yes?"
"You're supposed to call your wife. You want me to hold up the throng a minute?" "Thank you, yes."
Kit must have picked up the phone and immediately shoved the mouthpiece toward the open window, because Ronkers heard the unmistakably harsh yowl of a chain saw (maybe, two chain saws).
"Well," Kit said, "this is some tree outfit, all right. Didn't Bardlong say he'd fix us up with a good tree outfit?"
"Yes," Ronkers said. "What's wrong?"
"Well, there are three men here with chain saws and helmets with their names printed on them. Their names are Mike, Joe, and Dougie. Dougie is the highest up in the tree right now; I hope he breaks his thick neck.
"Kit, for God's sake, what's the matter?"
"Oh, Raunch, they're not a tree outfit at all. They're Bardlong's men -- you know, they came in a goddamn BARDLONG STOPS YOU SHORT truck. They'll probably kill the whole tree," Kit said. "You can't just hack off limbs and branches without putting that stuff "on, can you?"
"Stuff?"
"Goop? Gunk?" Kit said. "You know, that gooey black stuff. It heals the tree. God, Raunch, you're supposed to be a doctor, I thought you'd know something about it."
"I'm not a tree doctor," Ronkers said.
"These men don't even look like they know what they're doing," Kit said. "They've got ropes all over the tree and they're swinging back and forth on the ropes, and every once in a while they buzz something off with those damn saws."
"I'll call Bardlong," Ronkers said.
But his phone light was flashing. He saw three patients in rapid order, gained four minutes on his appointment schedule, peeked through the letter slot, pleaded with his receptionist, took three minutes off to call Bardlong.
"I thought you were hiring professionals, " Ronkers said.
"These men are very professional," Bardlong told him.
"Professional shock-absorber men," Ronkers said. "No, no," Bardlong said. "Dougie used to be a tree man."
"Specialized in the walnut tree, too, I'll bet."
"Everything's fine,"
Bardlong said.
"I see why it costs me less," Ronkers said. "I end up paying you"
"I'm retired," Bardlong said.
Ronkers's phone light was flashing again; he was about to hang up.
"Please don't worry," Bardlong said. "Everything is in good hands." And then there was an ear-splitting disturbance that made Ronkers sweep his desk ashtray into the wastebasket. From Bardlong's end of the phone came a rending sound -- glassy, baroque chandeliers falling to a ballroom floor? Mrs. Bardlong, or some equally shrill and elderly woman, hooted and howled.
"Good Christ I Bardlong said over the phone. And to Ronkers he hastily added, "Excuse me." He hung up, but Ronkers had distinctly heard it: a splintering of wood, a shattering of glass, and the yammer of a chain saw "invited in" the house. He tried to imagine the tree man, Dougie, falling with a roped limb through the Bardlongs' bay window, his chain saw still sawing as he snarled his way through the velvet drapes and the chaise longue. Mrs. Bardlong, an ancient cat on her lap, would have been reading the paper, when ...