"Thank you for calling Bezoar Medical Insurance. All our representatives are busy right now, but your call is very important to us, so please hold on the line for the next available rep. Approximate wait time is fifteen minutes."
Silver fought the urge to slam the phone against the wall. Fifteen minutes? She'd already been holding on for twenty. Carefully, she weighed the prospects...hang up and call again, thus making it more than fifteen minutes or hang up and never call again and bugger them all? Or, should she take a plane to wherever and find the representatives in person?
It might be faster.
But the music was interesting...better than elevator music, not quite funeral parlor music, sort of classical though not quite.
Unfortunately, it gave her time to remember her awful dreams.
She shuddered as the memory slipped through her brain of falling into icy black water, feeling trapped until her wetsuit pulled off and freed her to swim. Ink. The water smelled of print ink but not quite. After awhile, it wasn't chilly any more and she reveled in the freedom of being able to swim at ease though she couldn't see anything. Dark surrounded her without a speck of light, reminding her of a cave she'd been in once. Her parents had taken her to see some cavern in Virginia. The guide wanted all the visitors to experience complete darkness, as it would be in the cave if he turned out the lights, so he did, plunging her into the void.
She had wanted to scream, to flail her arms to reach something real, a parent, the wall, anything to anchor her. When some other kid with sneakers that lit up when he moved flashed a tiny light at floor level, at least she knew she wasn't alone and her heart stopped thudding and her fears slowly dissipated. When the guide turned the lights back on, she heard every adult sigh with relief, but she never forgot that experience.
This dream was probably just reliving that.
Of course it was.
The past few days, and that idiot Evans--he'd really frightened her--well, she probably just remembered that feeling of panic in the cave and the utter blackness of it all.
Maybe her mind needed to slow down, stop worrying, stop obsessing about everything and she'd never have that nightmare again.
But, some of it hadn't been so bad. The freedom, the slipperiness of the water, the ease of moving, the total lack of restrictions. There, that was it! She hadn't been restricted in the dark water. All the crap she'd been living through since her parents shipped off to Uzbekistan, running the paper, taking care of her grandmother, the pressure from the syndicate plus the pressure to put out the Chronicle.
Yep, that was it.
That explained it all.
No need to worry about a stupid dream.
The telephone clicked, a representative spoke. "Thenkyou for calling Bezoar. This is Tiffany speeging, howmay I helb you?"
Oh, no. English is not this babe's native language. Bezoar had outsourced their twentyfour hour service reps to someplace halfway across the world.
"Tiffany, I'm calling on behalf of my grandmother, Mary McLaren. Her policy number is -------. It seems that you have stopped paying her medical bills and I have receipts in my hand that show we are up to date with all payments."
"One moment, plees."
Five minutes passed before the rep came back.
"Oh, according to our records, Mary McLaren, policy number ------- is dead."
Silver screamed into the phone. "What?"
The rep quickly responded, "Yez, I am very much afraid Mary McLaren is deceased."
Silver shook, nearly dropping the phone, torn between outrage and out and out hatred for whomever was on the line, spouting such utter nonsense.
"My grandmother, Mary McLaren, is very much alive. How can you say that? How can your records show that she's dead? I spoke to her not half an hour ago and she is very, very much alive. Of course, this news might kill her," Silver paused, trying to tamp down her fury, "and you certainly wouldn't want to be responsible for that, now, would you, Tiffany?"
Loud pause as the rep regrouped. "Now, miz, please, dere is no need to get violent."
"I'm not getting violent. That doesn't mean what I am right now, though I could consider getting violent if I don't talk with your supervisor immediately."
"Yez, miz. I will get the supervisor right away."
Another ten minutes. Thank goodness this was an 800 number.
"This is Harry Badjawani, Tiffany's supervisor. I understand you are quite beside yourself in grief, miz. I totally understand in this hour how upset you must be, and let me offer this word of comfort...."
"Oh, no, buster! I am not grieving, but I am angry. My grandmother has paid for this supplemental health insurance for the past twenty years and never once had to use it. Now she needs it to the tune of some twenty thousand dollars and you people tell me she's dead? What the heck is going on here? She is alive, I tell you. Very much alive, though suffering from the effects of chemotherapy that your company refuses to pay for."
"Oh, miz, I am very glad to hear that you think your grandmother is alive, but according to our records, she passed on."
Silver sucked in a deep breath. "Oh, and when was that?"
The deep sing-song voice came back after a few seconds. "According to the records, she died on March seventh of this year."
Silver watched her hand turn white as it gripped the phone tighter. "That is her birthday. And we all celebrated with a big party and cake and candles and everything. She was alive enough to blow out all the candles and she's alive now."
"Oh?"
She'd had enough. Had this guy not been halfway around the world in a third world country where English was not necessarily spoken every day, she'd gladly have strangled him with her bare hands.
"My grandmother is alive. Did you receive a copy of her death certificate? Did you not notice that there were more current bills? How could she have gone for treatments over the past month if she died over four weeks ago? Huh? Can you tell me that?"
"I am veddy sorry, miz, but I cannot answer that."
"Well, take it from me. She's not dead, she needs her chemotherapy and you're going to pay for it."
"But our records...."
"Hang your records. The woman is alive and your company has to pony up right away. I will not tolerate her being dunned for these bills that should be covered completely by Bezoar."
"But...."
"No buts, mister. If I have to drive all the way to Indianapolis to the company headquarters and tell them you made a mistake with my grandmother's payments, I most certainly will. And, I will be sure to let them know that you, Harry Badjawani, refused to fix this little problem. I am an angry woman, Mr. Badjawani, and I mean what I say."
In the background, she heard a female voice interrupt the supervisor. He must have cupped his hand over the receiver to block out what was being said, but the female voice was frantic and speaking in a stage whisper, urgent as all get out.
Silence, then Mr. Badjawani resumed speaking. "Ah, miz, my representative has just explained to me that these expenses occurred when another representative, one who was fired for incompetence, was handling the claims. That explainz everyting, for sure."
Somehow, this didn't ease Silver's pique. "So, somebody else, someone who no longer works for Bezoar wherever you are, messed up my grandmother's claim and pronounced her dead. That makes everything all right, I suppose. So, delete her death date and pay the bills."
Prolonged silence, then, "Oh, miz, I am sorry, but this will have to go to the main office. I cannot just delete someone's death. It is not in my power."
Silver actually slapped her forehead with her empty palm.
"Okay, tell me what I have to do to prove that my grandmother is not dead. We don't give out 'life certificates' in this country."
"That I do not know, miz."
"Well, tell me who does know and I'll get on it right away."
"I don't know that, either."
Something snapped. Silver's brain couldn't take any more of this bullshit, so she lowered her voice and spoke very slowly and softly. "Harry Badjawani, supervisor of customer representatives, somewhere halfway around the world from me and my very much alive grandmother, do you like your job?"
"Oh, yes, very much, miz."
"Tell me, Harry, may I call you Harry? Do you want to keep your job?"
His voice came back with just a touch of unease in it. "Oh, yes. I have a wife and seven children to support."
"Do you want them to go hungry because their father couldn't delete an old lady's death and fix this whole mess with the home office right away?"
"Oh, nooo, miz. That would not be good."
"Well, then, Mr. Harry Badjawani, I suggest you get on this right away because my next phone call will be to the head office in Indianapolis, USA, and I will speak to your direct boss about this matter. What do you think I will say to him, Mr. Badjawani, if you cannot fix this little matter right now?"
"I think it will not go veddy well for me, miz."
"For the first time in our conversation, Harry, you've got that right. Now, please attend to this matter immediately. I will be calling the head office in Indianapolis in one half hour. If they have not heard from you by then, I will be forced to tell them of our conversation, which I have recorded, by the way."
She hated doing things like this. She did have this recorded on her answering machine, but it would bother her forever if she had to use it against this poor man and his seven children.
But she would, if it meant getting her grandmother's bills paid.
"I will do what I can, miz."
"Harry Badjawani, you'd better. My grandmother is depending on you. Your children are depending on you. I have every confidence that you will be able to clear this up."
She slapped her phone shut and felt the hostility drain from her, along with the tension. She would give him his half hour then phone Indianapolis if she could find some number for them. It had to be somewhere in her grandmother's papers.
Somewhere.
The Chronicle office thumped and hummed around her while human voices responded to telephone calls and jokes and something broadcast on the ubiquitous CNN droning in the background.
Silver waited, checked out the insurance company head office online and got a phone number.
Forty five minutes passed.
Her telephone rang and she picked it up.
"This is Frank Marshall of Bezoar Insurance. Is this the granddaughter of Mary McLaren?"
"Yes."
"We have received a call from our overseas representative, Mr. Badjawani, regarding the death of Mrs. Mclaren. I personally wish to extend condolences at your loss."
She did scream, this time. Long and loud, directly into the phone.
"Mary McLaren is NOT DEAD!"
"Oh, well. Oh, dear. There's been some mistake then."
Silver's entire body shook as the anger and tension returned worse than before.
"Oh, I'll say there's been a mistake. A big mistake. And you had better fix it, Mr. Marshall, immediately."
Long pause, dead silence on the other end.
"Can you prove that Mrs. McLaren is alive?"
"What do you want me to do, have her breathe into the phone? Tell me, just what do you need for me to do to prove that she is not dead?"
"Er, I don't know."
"She's got cancer. She's undergoing chemotherapy and not fit to travel to Indianapolis. Maybe you could come here, Mr. Marshall, to see for yourself. Whaddya say? It's lovely in New Jersey in the spring. You'd like it. And you'll like my grandmother. She's quite a woman, done some astounding things."
His voice took on a different, mellow tone, all too familiar to Silver. "I'd like that. Say, will I get to meet you?" He couldn't be after her, not over the phone. Oh, hell.
"I'm sorry, but I'm leaving for..." she looked at her desk, saw the tiny flag of Scotland in her pencil holder, and blurted out, "Scotland. I'm leaving for Scotland tomorrow. But my lawyer will be there, at Gram's house, when you arrive. Let's set the date and time, Mr. Marshall. Right now."
"Is this necessary?"
"I don't know, Frank. Is this necessary? She will expect you this Friday after one. She has a health care provider who will be with her, along with her lawyer. If you are not there, our lawyer will know what to do. Thank you for your cooperation. Good-bye."
She slumped in her desk chair, exhausted. They did have a lawyer, a good one. She made a call, poured out the story to the small town lawyer who agreed to handle everything. It was good having a lawyer whose wife was on the Chronicle staff. He assured Silver that he would handle everything.
"I'm leaving for Scotland tomorrow. I'll let you know where I can be reached."
She got off the phone with him, called her travel agent and booked a flight.
Simple as that.
She could always cancel it as soon as she cooled down.
If she cooled down.
copyright 2009, Irene Peterson