Lost Art of Mystery

He called from a speakerphone as he sat in his minivan on the curb in front of a large estate inside the gated community just outside of LA. The shiny black vehicle sported a slick wrap photo featuring a smiling woman sitting on a large satin bed. She was dressed as a princess with one hand pressing into the plush mattress. Below the image in bold lettering was the tagline, “We make sure your mattress is Just Right!”. (A silly reference to the ‘princess and the pea’ fairytale.)

After a brief conversation with the homeowner to let them know he had arrived, the Bed Whisperer turned off the engine. He glanced in the rear view mirror and smoothed wisps of hair around a bald head, removed wire framed glasses to clean them with a small cloth, put them back on and checked his appearance in the mirror once more. He got out and went to slide the side door of the van open. reached inside and gathered his kit; a small case containing various measuring devices and calibration tools as well as protective gear.

Standing on the doorstep, he pulled on a sanitary mask and waited for the homeowner to answer. Momentarily, a well dressed older woman opened the large ornate door. Her platinum hair was coifed into a tall elaborate beehive. Her husband sat in a wheelchair next to her, bleary eyed and ematiated, wearing blue pinstriped pajamas with leather house slippers. She politely invited him in and thanked him for making the trip out. She introduced herself as Manuela and told him her husband’s name was Don. The Bed Whisperer nodded slowly, and in a muffled voice through the paper mask, he said, “Pleased to meet you Manuela and Don. Name’s Pete, Bed Whisperer at your service.” He paused, pulling out disposable shoe covers from his pocket and slipping them over his work boots. The lady of the house appreciated his efforts to keep her floors clean. Decorated in a classic, albeit slightly over the top rococo style, the home was immaculate. She slowly wheeled her husband ahead of her as she lead the Bed Whisperer down a long pale pink carpeted hallway lined with photos of famous actors from the 50s and 60s on the wood paneled walls. Always discreet with clients, Pete’s eyes grew large as he noted the couple in many of the photos with movie stars. Clearly, they had been highly involved in the entertainment business.

At the end of the hall, she pressed a panel on the wall, and the double doors slid open to reveal a massive master bedroom. The California king was the centerpiece of the suite, and featured an elaborately carved headboard painted white with gold detailing. The woman pointed to it with a long hot pink fingernail, then she awkwardly rolled her husband in his wheelchair over the shag carpet to the bedside. Stopping there, she reached down to lift the linens from a corner of the bed, exposing the bare mattress. “You see, Pete, that’s your name right?” The technician nodded slowly. “You see, Pete, this is the problem. Right here.” She pressed on the pillowy plush top and removed her elegantly manicured hand, leaving an imprint. “This was not a cheap mattress, and look… feel it. Feel it! It’s sagging terribly and my husband is unable to manage safe transfers to and from his wheelchair. We’ve spent a fortune on this home and the bed, only to end up with a faulty mattress. I’m livid, just livid! Pete. That’s why you are here. Thank you for understanding our pain.”

The bed whisperer stared into her eyes over his facemask with deep sincerity in his eyes. “I’m so very sorry. I do understand.” He paused dramatically. “Believe me, we see this all the time ma’m”, he exclaimed with a serious tone of expertise. “Now, I will ask you to please stand back, so I can begin the examination.” The woman gently wheeled her husband out of the way. The elderly man sat there with a blank stare. as they waited across the room next a grand rococo dresser that was covered with various framed photos of the couple over the years. A large ornate mirror hung over the dresser. She watched with fascination as the technician carefully removed the bedding by expertly folding it upward to expose the entire luxurious pillow top mattress. “Here we go!”, he announced in a loud confident voice. He then took out a metal tuning fork from his tool kit, and started making his way around the edge of the bed, tapping it rhythmically side to side, like a drum. He worked his way along the upper edge, then the sides. Pausing, he stood up, looked at the couple and held his finger to his lips, requesting silence. They all listened intently. There was a strange reverberation that resonated from deep within the mattress. “Hear that? That’s the coils. Those coils are singing loud and clear. My friends, that sound is the calling card of a lemon. This here is a lemon of a mattress!” Let’s write this badboy up and get a new one ordered for you asap. The woman smiled. “I knew it! This thing has been uncomfortable and rotten from the day it was delivered! Thank you so much for helping us.”

The technician then sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, using it as a “desk” for his clipboard, where he wrote copious notes and codes while humming to himself. Finally, he stood up and walked over to the couple and asked them to review and sign the paperwork. They wanted to know how it would be replaced, and when. He assured them that they would have a flawless replacement in no time.

He then told them he needed to remain in the room alone with the mattress to do some final notes, and that if they would stay outside the door for a few minutes, he would be out shortly and on his way. Trusting the Bed Whisperer, Manuela maneuvered the wheelchair across the shaggy carpet towards the hallway, where the couple waited patiently outside the closed bedroom doors.

They heard no sounds coming from the room, and more than a few minutes passed. Manuela had guests coming for late afternoon drinks and she was getting impatient for the Mattress Whisperer to finish up his evaluation. Don started to snore loudly, having fallen asleep in his chair. She locked the wheels, and walked over to the double doors and pressed her cheek against the cool wood to listen. Nothing. Silence. She peered through the slim crevice between the oversized double doors and gasped with horror. There he was, The Bed Whisperer, lying in their king sized bed, tossing and turning dramatically. He intermittently took notes on his clipboard which he held in one hand. She watched him in shock. She thought he had confirmed that the mattress was a lemon. What the hell was he doing rolling around on it? She spied again and saw him taking selfies on the satin sheets, his mask off and glasses removed. He made a pout and the flash went off a few times. She knocked on the door gently, as she was afraid of what he might do next. She watched him sit up very straight, grab his glasses and swiftly smooth the bed covers, before making his way to the doors to exit. “Ma’am, you’re all set. I’ve got what I need to replace or refund your mattress completely. We will reach out to you with logistical details within a few days.” She was speechless, but managed to utter an awkward “Thank you, Pete.” He told her he would be on his way, as he rushed past the couple, down the hall and out the door. She heard his van start up, rumble loudly, then race down the street and exit through the front gates.