We Install Read Free Page B

Kate!” he says, and she does. If she doesn’t quite grok why he’s got that kind of smile on his face while he says it, you have to remember she’s only someone who’s finishing an MBA.
    At the reception, Kate’s mother comes up to Tesla Kidder, champagne flute in hand. “Hey, listen,” she says, “you didn’t have anything to do with the, ah, unfortunate incident, didja?” That’s what Kate’s family—and their lawyers—have taken to calling the scaly, incendiary rampage through the mall.
    â€œHow could I possibly?” Professor Kidder answers. “I was in my laboratory the whole time. You can ask Igor, if you like. He was there with me.”
    Actually, Kate’s mom can’t ask Igor right this second. He’s out on the dance floor with Stacey (who smells, defiantly, of frangipani). Kate’s mother nods, as if in wisdom. “Okay,” she says. “That’s what I already heard, anyways.” You have to remember, she’s only an investment banker. Mad scientists? They’re right out of her league.

WE INSTALL
    This one is my daughter Rebecca’s fault. Living in sunny Southern California, we put up with visits from, among other people, solar-power-company salespeople hawking their outfits’ products door-to-door. After I sent yet another one of them away without buying, I noticed that she was giggling.
    â€œWhat’s funny?” I asked.
    â€œDidn’t you hear what he said?” she answered. “He said, ‘We install solar systems.’”
    I thought about that. “Oh.” I laughed, too, and went on, “Well, if I write the story, I’ll give you a chunk of the check.” A few days later, I wrote it, and she did get a piece of what I got for it.
    S o the doorbell rings. So for a wonder it’s twenty minutes before dinner, not during. So okay, I heave my butt out of the recliner and go to the door. There’s a kind of dweeby-looking guy on my front porch. Khakis. Dark blue polo shirt with a company logo on the left breast. Plastic badge on a lanyard around his neck. Clipboard.
    Not likely to be a home-invasion robber. Possible, sure, but not likely. So I open the door. “Yes?” I say.
    â€œHi.” He smiles almost like he means it. “My name’s Eric.” He holds up his badge. The badge’s name is Eric, anyway.
    I nod. I say, “And?” I wait.
    â€œI’m with Superior Solar.” He taps the logo on his chest. “We install solar systems, and we’re going through your neighborhood now offering some very attractive discounts. Putting in a new solar system can save you some serious money, you know.”
    When I open the door, I expect I’ll listen to his spiel and go We’re not interested, thanks . It’s like there’s a tape in my head. A salesman comes, I listen to his spiel, I go We’re not interested, thanks , and I shut the door. Spiel runs long, I shut it before he finishes.
    Only not today. I turn and I yell, “Debbie! Hey, Debbie!”
    â€œWhat?” my wife yells from the kitchen. That’s where the good smells come from. Twenty minutes till dinnertime, remember?
    â€œThere’s a guy from Superior Solar on the porch.” When she’s in the kitchen, she can’t hardly hear the bell ring. “He says they got good deals on new solar systems.”
    â€œWell, talk to him, for crying out loud,” she says. “The one that came with this place is old as the hills, and it’s a piece of junk.”
    She’s right, no two ways about it. She is. That old solar system’s given us nothing but trouble ever since we moved in here. And when she goes talk to him , that means we can finally afford to replace the miserable thing. Debbie minds the checkbook around here. Tell me it’s not like that at your house, pal.
    So okay, I say, “C’mon in, Eric. Let’s talk