ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild) (4 page)

Edna gave a thumbs-up sign, and Maxine winked at her.

Harold gave a little grunt that might or might not be agreement. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but how did you get into this line of work in the first place?"

She filtered quickly through truth and fantasy to find a suitable middle ground. “I was a stewardess, and I developed a phobia about flying." Combining fact with fiction wasn’t too hard. “I didn’t have any other career, and it was tough to find a job that paid as well as this, and was one that I enjoy."

One that she’d been able to do as her belly expanded to monumental proportions, one that she could resume within days of Graham’s birth, one that she could manage while she sat and nursed him.

"So you were a flight attendant, huh? You must have traveled the globe at one point?”

“Maybe not the entire globe, but a fair portion of it,” she lied in a world-weary tone, thinking about all the small towns in B.C. she’d grown familiar with. She’d had only one job after her initial training. The regional airline she’d worked for had been too cash-starved even to buy uniforms for the employees; she’d worn her own dark slacks and white shirt. In-flight refreshments had been bulk peanuts and small tins of tomato juice. She’d thought that first job would be only a stepping-stone, experience until she got hired with a major airline.

"Doing this is a great way to make money." She glanced across at Edna and suddenly had a disturbing mental vision of them both as really old women, still gasping and moaning into a phone. Maxine shuddered.

She was all too aware that she had to find another job before Graham began to understand sentences.

“This job’s great while I upgrade my skills and train for a career,” she added on impulse.

Again, Edna gave her a startled look and raised her eyebrows.

"And what career have you decided on, India?”

Maxine was stumped. Her gaze fell on the radio and inspiration struck. “Broadcasting,” she blurted. “I’d like a career in radio broadcasting.”

“Great idea,” Harold said enthusiastically. "You’ve really got the voice for it.”

Maxine barely heard him. She was astonished at what had just come out of her mouth. Would she like to be a radio announcer? She’d never given it a thought until right now.

She regained her composure and remembered that this was supposed to be a business call. “How about you, Harold? Is there something you want to do besides this business you’re in?"

There was a lengthy silence, and she imagined him staring into the distance, thinking it over.

“I always had a yen to write a book,” he said after a minute. “I'd like to try to write a murder mystery.”

“Well, don’t wait too long,” Maxine advised. "One thing my father used to say made sense.” Her father again? What was it about this Harold that brought up things she’d thought well buried?

She forced her voice to sound gravelly and stem. “‘Life has a way of passing while we're busy with something else.’ Remember that, daughter.”

Harold laughed, and she did as well. His laughter didn’t sound as forced as hers felt.

“Good advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”

They’d been talking an awfully long time, Maxine realized suddenly. She glanced at her watch and realized that the call was lasting well into Edna’s shift, which wasn’t fair; Edna was paid for the amount of time clients stayed on the line, just as Maxine was. Business was business, and she didn’t want to be an unfair employer.

She also didn’t want to end this call, and it had nothing to do with dollars and cents. 

“I’m sorry to have to do this, Harold, but I have to go now. I have a previous engagement. I do hope you’ll call again?" She realized she meant it and was amazed at herself.

"Absolutely, India.” The tone of his voice told her he was sincere. “Tomorrow night, same time?"

“Same time, same place.” She was smiling as she agreed. She knew the smile was evident in her voice.

“I hope you have a pleasant evening, India. Good night, now.”

Maxine was still smiling as she hung up, and Edna gave her a long, curious look.

"What the heck was that all about? Harold sure doesn’t sound like a regular customer. Is he some kind of perv?”

They occasionally got calls from people who were very twisted, and the rule was to be polite and firm and hang up quickly.

Maxine took a gulp of her tea and shook her head.

She felt warmer than usual, and lighthearted. A little light-headed as well?

“Not a perv at all. He’s just really . . . really different.”

“Sounded like it.”

Maxine told Edna a little about the two calls and the conversations she’d had with Harold. “I know it’s crazy,” she added, aware that she was blushing, "but he sounds like . . . ummm, a gentleman, this guy.”

It even felt crazy to say such a thing.

She hadn't considered any man a gentleman for a long, long time, and certainly she’d never had a caller before who even remotely fit that description

“A gentleman caller, now there’s a new one to tell Polly about." Edna pursed her lips and whistled soundlessly.

Maxine smiled and agreed, although a small part of her was reluctant. She didn’t want to turn Harold into one of their flaky characters. She wanted him to be exactly what he seemed, a nice, worldly man who was truly interested in her life and her opinions.

Now how sick was that?

Harold was a customer, and there were strict rules about customers; she’d carefully related every one of them to Edna and had her promise she’d abide by them.

There could be no personal contact whatsoever with a customer apart from the phone conversations. Such a thing could be dangerous.  There were all sorts of fruitcakes out there. The very nature of this business invited fruitcakes. And there was something else as well.

They couldn’t ever forget that this job was a game, a charade, a way of spinning the voices they’d been born with, the wicked imaginations they’d developed, and their rather twisted senses of humor into pure gold.

India McBride didn’t exist outside of Maxine’s head, any more than did Lilith Stone, Edna’s nom de plume. The women she and Edna pretended to be were fantasies, dream women, illusions so far from reality as to be ludicrous. There was danger in allowing the game to become real in any sense except the financial.

The phone rang and Edna answered.

“This is Lilith. Hello, there, honey.”

Edna was soon involved in a familiar and predictable conversation, and Maxine tuned it out. She’d do well to remember her own rules, she decided as she gathered up the teacups and made her way into the kitchen.

Harold might sound like a gentleman, but there was no way of knowing who or what he really was. She needed to be a lot more careful about what she told him in the future. She had to guard against thinking there was any more to his calls than just business. The next time, she had to be a lot more India and a lot less Maxine.

She didn’t know why she was so certain he’d call again, but she was. She also didn’t want to admit to herself how much she was looking forward to that next call.

Harold did call, the next night and the two nights after that, and as soon as she heard his voice she promptly forgot all about the rules.

Maxine wasn’t certain, afterward, exactly what they talked about. Conversation just seemed to flow, and he made her laugh, made her think. He had a way with words.

Something else happened that amazed her.

For the first time in her entire career as a telephone sex worker, Maxine was feeling turned on by a caller. She and Harold didn’t even talk about sex; her excitement had to do with the timbre of his voice and the attention he paid to whatever she was saying.

Between business calls, she sang “Love Me Tender.”

Graham’s tooth came through and he began sleeping through the night. The phone rang steadily. She made plans to take Graham to a local play school. The scale said that somehow she’d lost four pounds in the past week, and she was in a generally euphoric mood when Polly Kelville dropped by late Friday afternoon, bringing half a dozen beers, the local kind she knew Maxine liked, as well as a huge bouquet of daffodils.

"Polly, these are gorgeous, thanks.” Maxine put them in several vases on top of the fireplace mantel, where Graham couldn’t overturn them. Then she unplugged the business phone and uncapped a beer, pouring it into a mug.

Polly always refused a glass. She took a hearty slug straight from the bottle.

Maxine sighed blissfully. “I deserve a break. That phone's been ringing all day."

“Yeah, I heard things were going great. I called Edna this afternoon, and she told me business was booming.”

“It is.” Maxine sank onto an armchair, glass in hand, and sighed with satisfaction.

“Edna said there’s some dude named Harold who’s been calling you every single night?” Polly's cornflower-blue eyes were alight with curiosity. "And Edna says this Harold character doesn't even want to get off; he just wants to talk?” She blew a raspberry with lush lips that rivaled those of Julia Roberts. "What’s wrong with this picture? Any guy who calls a number that advertises erotic conversation doesn’t just want to know what books you read.”

Maxine felt irritated and tried not to show it. "Well, you're wrong. So far that’s exactly what’s happened.” She was more than a little annoyed with Edna for telling Polly all about Harold.

“He’s called five, six times now, and all he’s done is talk about everyday things.”

"Yeah? What sort of everyday things?” Polly looked and sounded skeptical.

They’d discussed smoking. Maxine had never started, and he’d stopped four years ago. They’d talked about poetry; he liked Robert Service and Lawrence Housman. He’d asked her opinion on Internet sex. She’d admitted she didn’t have a computer and didn’t know anything about it. He’d said that in his opinion computers weren’t very comfortable to snuggle up with in the middle of the night, and her stomach had tensed as she’d waited for him to get further into that fantasy and destroy the illusions she’d built about him, but he hadn’t.

Instead he’d started talking about art, asking what kind of art she enjoyed. She didn’t know. She’d just hung framed posters on the walls for color, but after that call she’d asked Edna for the names of some books on famous artists.

“He just sounds like a nice, ordinary guy,” she told Polly, smiling at Graham as he came crab- walking across the carpet to where they were sitting.

“I thought we agreed a long time ago that there ain’t no such animal,” Polly said, smiling at Graham as he grabbed the edge of the coffee table and pulled himself to his feet. “But if by some aberration there happened to be one last living member of that endangered species,” she went on, “he sure as heck wouldn’t be calling a number for phone sex, now would he? He’d be out volunteering as a Big Brother or reading to his blind grandma in the rest home.” Polly’s sarcasm disappeared entirely as she cooed at Graham, "C’mon, snookie, you can do it. One big step and you’re home.”

She held out a finger to him. He was hanging onto the coffee table with one hand and trying to work up enough nerve to let go and take the step it would require to reach her. “C’mon, sugar, take that big first step over here to your auntie Polly.”

Graham pumped up and down as if he were doing calisthenics and grinned at Polly adoringly, drool running off his chin.

“Watch out for your suit,” Maxine warned. “His hands are none too clean. He’s been on the floor since he got up from his nap.”

But the warning came too late. Graham hurled himself across the great divide and Polly scooped him up in her arms and held him close, cooing into his ear.

“I’m on my way to the gym; this suit’s headed for the cleaner’s anyhow," she declared. “Besides, I need a cuddle, and with this guy there’s no strings, right, darlin’? Your cuddles are still free.”

Graham rubbed his face against the lapel of the silky shell-pink garment, leaving a trail of goop. He reached a hand up and touched Polly’s face, and then babbled out a long, indecipherable string of adoring syllables as he stared into her eyes from a distance of six inches.

“You have the most amazing effect on him. He can be cranky as all get out and you walk in the door and he acts like he's a kitten and you’re catnip." Even though she, too, loved Polly, Maxine couldn't help feeling just a little jealous.

“It’s probably this pheromone stuff I ordered from the back of Vegetarian Times," Polly confided, gently unhooking Graham’s fingers from her shiny blond hair. "It’s supposed to increase your attractiveness to any male in the vicinity, regardless of age.” Polly rubbed noses with Graham and giggled when he tried to put a finger up her nostril. “You can add it to your perfume, or just use it alone in a base of witch hazel.”

“And it works?” The way Polly looked, Maxine figured any male in the vicinity wouldn’t give a damn if she smelled like cow manure. They’d be after her regardless. “I can’t believe you think you need it.” She shook her head in amazement. “Even without pheromones you’ve got guys drooling over you; witness my son.”

And grown men as well. Since Maxine had known her, the pretty lawyer had dated and rejected so many guys, they could form their own support group.

“A woman can never be too attractive,” Polly declared, nuzzling Graham’s neck and making him giggle and writhe with delight. "Besides, I figured it might work on that crusty old Judge Barkoff. I’m trying to get him to sign an order freezing all John Gimbel’s assets until I can get an actuarial service to do an analysis. Edna’s gonna be one wealthy woman when I get this all sorted out; it’s just gonna take me some time.” Polly scowled. "And a little cooperation from that mastodon of a judge. I swear, they drag their feet when it’s a lawyer they know.” She narrowed her eyes and shook her head in disgust. “Old boy’s club, that’s what it is. I’ve asked for an order for copies of Gimbel’s telephone and credit card records for the purpose of confirming what he spends. He’s got money socked away somewhere, and I’m gonna find it.”

"If Edna gets rich, I’ll lose a great employee.” The thought made Maxine sad, even though she wanted her friend to get what was legally hers.

“Sometimes I feel like confronting that ex-husband of hers and saying to him, 'You know what you’ve forced your wife to do for a living, you piece of human’”—Polly glanced at Graham, who was staring curiously up into her face, and substituted—“piece of human garbage?”

Polly’s language tended to be explicit and graphic. Maxine had been shocked when she’d first met her, because the visual image didn’t match the audio. It hadn’t taken long to understand that Polly would go to any lengths for her clients, and that her heart was as soft as her mouth was tough. But she also had decided ideas about what was right and what wasn't.

Maxine, on the other hand, suspected there were gray areas. "You know you can’t tell Gimbel what Edna does," she warned. "Edna’d die of shame if her sons ever found out she does phone sex. They think she takes care of an elderly invalid during the night."

Polly snorted. “Edna's way too softhearted. She should lay it out on the table to those boys, exactly how their father snookered their mother into that travesty of a settlement."

Maxine shook her head. “Edna doesn't want the boys involved."

“Boys, hell. They're adults, they’re nineteen and twenty-one. And I don’t exactly see either of them standing up for her against that creep of an ex.”

“It's because he’s the one with the bank account," Maxine reminded her. “Money inspires loyalty, especially when it pays for your university fees and a snappy sports car to drive instead of taking the bus.”

"It makes my blood boil for both of you when I think about the rotten deal you got from guys you trusted.” Polly sighed. “And I still can’t get a single line on where Slippery Shwartzie is, either. Sometimes I feel like a bloody failure.”

Maxine couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

“No news from Costa Rica yet, huh?”

Polly shook her head. “The lawyer I contacted down there is still doing inquiries, but so far nothing. Don't despair, Maxine. I'll find that slime ball if it's the last thing I do.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice took on a steely note. "And when I do, I'll nail his sorry ass to the wall and sell it, if that’s what it takes to get your money back and the support legally due this little tiger."

Ricky Shwartz, the swashbuckling pilot Maxine had once loved and been engaged to, had talked her into loaning him twenty-three thousand dollars, her entire life’s savings, supposedly to help save Eagle Airlines, the small regional company they’d both worked for.

Ricky was supposedly a part owner of Eagle. She’d been crazy in love with him, and she’d emptied her bank account for him. She’d been smart enough, though, in spite of being love- struck, to get a promissory note for the money.

That was just before she found out she was pregnant. When she broke that news, Ricky had casually suggested abortion. He’d changed his mind about marriage, he announced. He wanted adventure instead of matrimony. He was going to Costa Rica to start a business with an old friend.

When she asked for her money back, he said he didn’t have it. He’d repay it the moment his new business took off.

But Ricky took off instead, and Maxine had never seen him again. She’d also found out that the friend he was going to Costa Rica with was female and gorgeous.

Things had gotten very bad after he left. No one would hire a pregnant stewardess, and when she grew desperate enough to try to pawn the diamond engagement ring he’d given her, she found it was a zircon. That was the day she’d found Polly in the phone book, under “Legal Aid.”

She’d gone through an entire box of tissues in Polly’s office that morning, explaining her predicament. But disasters are really opportunities in disguise, Maxine reminded herself now.

That had been the beginning of her business; totally destitute, she’d answered an ad that same week and been hired on the spot by a company that sold phone sex. They didn’t care that she was pregnant; she had the right voice for the job, they assured her.

At first she’d been shamed, shocked, and horrified at what she was doing. Somewhere deep inside, she was still the daughter of the town minister, Zacharias Bleckner.