ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild) (2 page)

A few weeks before, he’d watched a program about stay-at-home moms on the Women's Television Network, about women who pursued their high-powered careers from home while they raised a family. One of them, a former fashion model turned graphic designer, warned that the first thing to go was personal grooming.

Harry had wanted to call in to the program to confirm how right she was. In his former life as an advertising executive, he wouldn’t have dreamed of starting a day without shaving. He would never have worn sweatpants that sagged at the knee and bagged at the ass. But that was before Sadie. Kids changed a guy, all right.

He leaned on the counter that held the grisly remains of last night's supper as well as this morning’s breakfast and contemplated his life and the timeliness of this new assignment.

The transmission was going on his old Chevy. His laptop was five years old, and he had nightmares of the hard drive crashing. Three years ago he’d cashed in most of his retirement savings to make the down payment on this house, so Sadie would grow up in a real home, in a family neighborhood. Financially, he was barely making it, which should keep him awake nights but didn’t.

The truth was, he was happier with his life than he’d ever been, apart from not having enough hours in the day. The decision he’d made when Sadie was born, to leave his lucrative job at the agency and start freelancing so he could stay at home with her, had been the smartest thing he’d ever done in terms of personal satisfaction.

There were a few drawbacks besides the financial ones. His conversation with Sullivan had reminded him that he’d like to get laid again before he lost his hair and teeth, but there were also times he longed just to talk to an intelligent female. There were things you could say to a woman that you’d never in this lifetime confide to a guy, old rugby buddy or not. Guys didn’t get into emotions much, at least the guys he knew.

There was Mrs. Campanato, of course. She lived at the end of the block, she was like a grandmother to Sadie, and God knew she was a lifesaver for those times Harry had to interview someone in person, but she wasn’t somebody he could really have a conversation with. At five-ten, she was four inches shorter than he, but at maybe three hundred pounds, she outweighed him by sixty, and he considered her one scary lady. She didn’t converse; she pronounced, and because of her size and her attitude, Harry always had to fight the urge to salute and stand at attention.

God knew how tiny Mr. Campanato had survived thirty years of being married to her. No wonder he spent most of his time in the workshop he’d fixed up behind their garage, making some lethal concoction he labeled vino.

“Daaaddy, I’m all done now.”

"Coming, princess.” Harry swigged the last of the coffee and headed for the bathroom, thinking over this latest assignment as he did what was necessary for Sadie and then, at her insistence, wrestled her back into the godforsaken striped tights.

He would look up a few of the telephone sex ads in the paper. He’d never paid any attention to them before and wasn't sure what to expect. Then he’d pick a couple that sounded the most intriguing, and narrow them down to the most likely candidates. And he’d have to make sure she was local, he remembered. He had a contact at the phone company who could probably help with that.

How the hell did you have sex with a person you’d never laid eyes on, over the telephone?

Apparently he was about to find out. It made him just a little nervous, and curious as well.

What were these women like who did phone sex for a living? What were their lives like, how did they spend their days? He had a vivid imagination, but try as he might, he found it impossible to imagine. 

The day had been hectic for Maxine, but there was a lull in business around seven forty five, long enough to bathe Graham and rock him to sleep. The lull lasted until Edna arrived to start her ten-hour night shift.

“Want a cup of herbal tea?” Maxine had the kettle on.

“I’d love one, thanks." Edna’s slight lisp and little-girl voice were at variance with her ample, motherly shape. Her straight gray hair was cut in a no-nonsense bowl shape around her square jaw, and as usual she wore comfortable black stretch pants and a blue-checked flannel shirt, frayed at the cuffs and neck, that had probably once belonged to one of her sons. She had the most flawless skin Maxine had ever laid eyes on, creamy and unlined.

Her detective novel and her raffia knitting bag were close at hand; she was making a sweater for her younger son’s birthday, and she always had a mystery handy to read during the inevitable quiet times that came toward dawn.

Maxine had learned that movies, books, and knitting were Edna's passions. She went to matinees in the afternoon, and she was wonderful at describing them. Maxine almost felt as if she’d seen the latest releases herself by the time Edna told her the story line. It was undoubtedly that ability to inject action into stories that made Edna so good at phone sex.

"Has Graham's tooth come through yet?” Edna sipped her peppermint tea and daintily bit into one of the chocolate brownies Maxine offered.

"Not yet.” It was good to have a friend, reassuring to be able to talk about her son and know that Edna sincerely cared about him. "I wish it would pop. He hardly napped at all today, poor little guy.”

"Teething’s hard on them. I remember what a time Gary had with his eyeteeth. Marshall was easier, or maybe it’s just that with the second one you know what to expect.”

Edna's sons were in college. It was amazing that she could remember such details as teething. But things probably stuck in your mind when you were doing something you loved, like raising your kids, Maxine thought as she made short work of her brownie.

"Mmmmmmm.” Edna was enjoying hers as well. "There’re advantages to being overweight,” she mused with a wink. "It gives you license to indulge, because it isn’t going to show on these hips.” She moved her ample bottom from side to side on the chair and laughed.

“When I was an airline hostess,” Maxine remarked, "I had to watch every morsel I ate.  They wanted us to stay thin."

“When I was married I had to do the same thing," Edna said with a grin. “John always wanted me thinner.”

“I saw a program on PBS where a woman doctor said studies now prove chocolate is good for women; it has a beneficial effect on their sexuality,” Maxine declared. “So have another, they’re just what we need.”

They giggled and munched until the phone interrupted.

Edna glanced up at the clock and then picked up; it was close enough to ten to be her call.

“Lilith here, how are you tonight? Oh, Walter, hello there. I’m so glad it’s you.”

It was one of Edna’s regular clients.

“Oh, me too, honey. What is it about rainy evenings that makes a girl horny?” Edna held up the remnants of her brownie and rolled her eyes at Maxine as she cooed and giggled into the receiver.

Edna had come a long way in the weeks since she’d answered the ad Maxine had put in the newspaper under "Help Wanted, Female.”

Do you like to talk on the phone? Seeking woman with feminine voice for romantic discussions
, it had read. To Maxine’s amazement, there had been twenty-six applicants, some of them with previous experience.

She’d chosen Edna mostly because the older woman had the perfect voice, one that was vastly different from her own but equally as provocative. She’d also hired her because Edna had been painfully open and honest about her circumstances.

“My husband, John, left me for a bimbo after twenty-two years of marriage,” Edna had explained at that first meeting. "I’m forty-six and I’ve been a housewife all my married life. The only job I’ve done in years besides housework was volunteering at the library, reading books to kids on Saturday mornings.”

She’d gone on to say that no one would hire her, and she was getting desperate.

“For the first few months after it happened, I went into a depression," she related. “I wanted to die, and I didn’t give a hoot about anything. John divorced me as fast as the law allowed, and when he told me one day that he’d sold the house, I acted like a wimp. I took my clothes and some furniture and moved into the first apartment I looked at. I was your classic stupid hausfrau," she admitted, her beautiful gray eyes rueful.

She’d never bothered about business affairs; John had taken care of all that, Edna recounted with a bitter smile. He’d done a good job of hiding whatever assets there were.

She’d gotten a share of the sale of the house, but it was minute, and legal bills had already eaten up most of it. John had taken out a large mortgage on the house the year before they separated, supposedly to buy out a partner at the law firm, but the money had somehow disappeared.

“I have a lawyer, but he doesn’t seem to be doing much except billing me,” Edna had said with a sigh.

“I’ll introduce you to my lawyer, Polly Kelville,” Maxine had offered. Within a matter of days, Edna had fired her lawyer and hired Polly.

Edna had admitted readily that she wasn’t any expert at sex, John had been anything but adventurous in that regard. But she’d read widely, and she had a good imagination and no inhibitions, and she was eager to learn, she’d assured Maxine.

Maxine hired her on the spot. She knew all too well what it felt like to be dumped and duped by a man. She knew how betrayal felt, and the self-doubt that came with it. She’d taught Edna everything she herself had learned about giving good sex on the telephone.

Edna was a quick study. Her distinctive voice and what proved to be a wicked and bawdy imagination stood her in good stead, as did her sense of humor. No one could do phone sex and be successful without a well-developed sense of the ridiculous.

Edna gathered up her knitting now, cordless receiver clamped to her ear, and went to sit in her favorite chair in front of the television. The picture was on, but the sound was off, and the muted clack of knitting needles was soothing to Maxine as she rinsed the teacups and put plastic wrap over the remaining brownies.

“What am I wearing?”

Hearing Edna repeat the familiar question, Maxine peeked around the corner, enjoying the scene. Edna had set down her knitting and picked up a catalog from the table beside her.

“Oh, honey, this little peach camisole with lace up the front. It’s satin, and it feels so smooth and sexy against my bare skin,” Edna lisped. “It has matching thong panties and a garter belt.” Edna picked up her knitting again. “I just love garter belts, don’t you? And thongs make me think of…”

Maxine shook her head and smiled. Thanks to Polly, she and Edna always had the latest Victoria’s Secret catalog on hand so they could vary their imaginary lingerie.

Polly actually ordered from the catalogs. Maxine and Edna figured at least half of their sexy lawyer’s wardrobe came from Victoria's Secret. Tall and leggy, she could have modeled for the catalogs, although Maxine suspected Polly’s IQ qualified her for Mensa.

She'd told them that the pastel suits with the teensy skirts and low cut jackets had helped her win many a case; males underestimated the keen intelligence and wily mind underneath the fall of long blond hair. Even other female lawyers tended at first to think she was a lightweight, until she nailed them on some point of law and won the case.

Polly had also become a good friend. Maxine had known her now for more than a year. Polly worked for the Family Law Clinic, and Maxine had first gone to her in an unsuccessful effort to locate Ricky Shwartz, the louse who unfortunately was Graham’s father. So far Polly hadn’t been able to locate him, but Maxine was positive she would eventually.

She didn’t want to think about Ricky Shwartz now. She wanted to have a hot bath and go to bed. Maxine yawned, waggled her fingers at Edna, and headed down the hall.

She tiptoed into Graham’s room. He was sleeping soundly, bottom in the air, thumb plugged into his mouth. She gently pulled the quilt up over him, praying he’d sleep through the night so she could too.

With luck, tomorrow would be as busy as today, she thought as she ran a tub of hot water, stripped off her grubby clothes, and climbed in, sighing at the sheer pleasure of being alone with no phone clamped to her head.

But busy was good. Busy didn’t leave any time to think about how long it had been since she’d talked to a man about something besides sex, or held anyone close except her son. Her clientele might be totally male, but she hadn’t had a real date since long before Graham was born. The truth was, she never met any men suitable for dating.

There was Leonard, the produce manager at Safeway, she reminded herself with a wry grin, sinking deep into the bubbles. He always made a point of telling her how fresh the broccoli was while his eyes lingered on her breasts.

She did have quite nice breasts, she decided, admiring them as they bobbled in the water.

But it wasn’t fresh broccoli she wanted to talk about, and it sure wasn’t breasts either. She got more than enough talk of breasts just doing her job.

She wanted to laugh with a man, the same way she did with Polly and Edna. Why couldn’t a man and woman have the kind of funny, outrageous conversations that came so easily to her and her female friends?

Maxine thought that over and then chuckled at herself.

It could have something to do with the fact that the conversations she and Polly and Edna enjoyed so much were mostly about men. Polly loved the wicked, funny stories Maxine and Edna told about their customers, and they listened raptly to the outrageous tales Polly told of the men she dated and discarded like used tissues.

The last thing she needed was a man in her personal life, Maxine assured herself, slowly rubbing lavender soap over her belly and arms.

Every man she'd ever known, beginning with her father, had wanted her to be something she wasn’t. And she’d tried to change herself into whatever it was they wanted.

She’d become adept at it. Ironically, that adaptability was the very thing that had made her successful at creating illusions on the telephone.

She used that talent to earn a living, but she vowed she’d never again be anyone but plain old Maxine Bleckner in her normal life. No matter how much she wanted a companion along the way, no matter how much she longed for a grown-up male to share the rest of her life, she wouldn’t pretend for him. He’d have to take her exactly the way she was.

Well, maybe she’d shave her legs she amended with a grin. And have something constructive done with her hair. She’d go that far, but no farther.

What are you wearing, Maxine?

Flannel pajamas and sports socks with holes. Vaseline to soften the skin on my heels. Tea tree oil to dry up the zit on my chin. And baby puke, lots of baby puke.

If her callers only knew the truth.

If they did, they’d never call again. Maxine grinned and pulled the plug in the tub.

She was the fifth one he called, and it was her voice that instantly captivated him.

“India McBride, hi, there,” she said. “How are you this fine day?”

It was a bedroom voice, husky and sultry, provocative, honey smooth. It was also, in some complex fashion, innocently friendly and inexplicably filled with joy.

Harry had thought he was getting good at this. The other local numbers had resulted in conversations so blatantly and immediately sexual, he’d felt amused rather than aroused; it had sounded as if the women were reading out of X-rated magazines. He’d cut them short, conscious of his budget restraints and the fact that Sadie was napping and would awaken before long.

He absolutely didn’t want her to hear him talking about sex on the phone, and he hadn’t wanted to develop any sort of a relationship with the voices on the other end of the line, not even in the interests of research.

This voice was different.

He cleared his throat and found his tongue. "I’m fine, thanks.” What the hell was there to say next? "You’re looking good today, India.”

She giggled, a sophisticated giggle, and again the timbre of her voice thrilled him. "And you’re a smooth talker, sir. Do you happen to have a name?”

“Harold.” He hadn’t planned to use his full name, but once he had, it was fine. It made what he was doing less personal, because everyone called him Harry. Harold was a different guy altogether.

“Well, Harold, how do you do? I like that name, Harold. It’s dignified, sort of a Volvo name.”

"Volvo?” For an instant he’d thought she’d said something else.

"You know, significant. Solid, dependable. Trustworthy.”

He'd never thought about his name in those terms. He’d only thought how much he’d rather be called David or Robert. All of a sudden, Harold wasn’t bad at all.

This lady definitely had a different slant on sexy than the others he’d called.

“Where are you calling from, Harold?”

Her voice wrapped itself around his name like caramel around an apple, sweet and firm and inviting. It made him smile.