Harry smacked his palm on the desk to get her attention, which sent cold coffee splashing all over the notes he’d made for the article that was due on smoking for the Vancouver Health Unit. He scowled ferociously at Sadie and shook his head no, but the kid knew when she had him. She gave him a sweet, coy grin and went right on banging and cursing.
"See, Harry, I wanna go at this phone sex thing from a human interest angle, a firsthand encounter, that kind of approach.”
Harry figured sex of any sort was definitely interesting to humans, but Sullivan was finally on a roll, and there wasn’t any point in interrupting. If he did, he’d be here with his ear glued to the phone for the rest of the day.
"Does this sound like a thing you’d want to explore, Harry?”
Harry assured Sullivan it was. He was interested in exploring any damn thing this side of the law that would bring in a few extra bucks.
"Good. Excellent. Now, I’ll tell you how I want to go about this. I want you to find somebody local who’s in the business, an’ I want you to do me an expose with lots of human interest, plenty of detail. Readers are gonna want detail about this here subject, you understand, Harry. And I want it from the customer’s POV, like it was actually happening. I don’t want an interview with some little gal who’ll give you a shined-up version of what really goes on in this business. I want it to be authentic; I don’t want her to know you’re doing a story on her. Get as up-close and personal as you can. Readers are gonna wanna know what makes these sorta women tick, if you get my meaning.”
Harry thought so. "You want me to be more than just a onetime telephone customer. You want me to develop a personal relationship with the lady?”
"Within reason, Harry. I don’t want you to get us sued for slander, or compromise your honor. Or your body, neither, old buddy.” Sullivan gurgled and coughed, and Harry waited.
"But yeah, I want you to get to know her away from the job, if you can. I, for one, would like to know just what these women really look like, and if I’m curious, you can bet our readers will be too.”
Harry frowned, considering. "That might be tough, Oscar. I’m pretty sure they don't make a habit of meeting their customers face-to-face. It could be dangerous for them, for one thing.”
"You’re a persuasive guy, Harry. Talk your way in.”
Harry broached the other reservation he had about the assignment. "These services charge by the minute, don’t they?”
He had no experience with telephone sex. He preferred the real thing, although lately he’d have taken whatever was offered, in any form available. He’d been celibate, much against his will, for longer than he cared to recall. The combined demands of single parenthood and the stress of earning a living as a writer for hire had practically turned him into a monk. Well, not quite. But closer than he’d ever wanted to come.
“This is going to take time, Oscar, to build up a relationship, get a woman to tell me details about herself and her business, maybe get her to trust me enough to meet me. At God knows what per minute, expenses could get pretty steep.”
There was a prolonged and pained silence on the other end, and Harry grinned. The sure way to put a crimp in Sullivan’s tongue was to mention expense money. The Star paid well, but Oscar had a thing about keeping expense accounts down.
“Daddy, I gotta go potty.” Sadie’s voice was loud and urgent, and Harry hastily covered the mouthpiece.
“Can you go by yourself, tiger?"
“Unh-unh. I gotta go poo. I need you, Daddy.”
Sullivan was back, sounding reluctant. “I’ll advance you something to cover phone expenses, but don’t go hog-wild on me here, buddy. You gotta consider this’ll likely be more pleasure than actual work, right? You’ll be gettin’ paid to have a good time, if you see what I mean?" He laughed. "Maybe we could split expenses on this one?”
Bull. Work was work. Writing was hard work, sex or no sex. Harry trailed down the hall after Sadie and tamped down his irritation. “A writer's gotta stay detached if the story's gonna be any good, Oscar; you know that. And in order to do a good job, I’ve gotta put in the time.” He tried to sound reasonable, but his impatience came across anyway.
“Daddy, I can't get these off.” Sadie sounded frantic, and Harry tugged at her striped tights, but it was a two-handed job. Why were little girls’ tights so damned tight? Why was Sadie such a nutcase about what she wore? She’d had these red-and-blue horizontally striped circus things on for three days now, and even by his relaxed standards, they needed to go in the laundry.
"How about I call you back on this, Oscar?”
“Can’t be done. See, I’m goin’ down to San Diego on a two-week golfing holiday, leavin’ today. I want this in the bag before I walk out of here. Let's see, I guess we’ll agree to reimburse you.” He named a figure that in Harry’s estimation was low, but still more than he’d expected Sullivan to cough up.
“Just see you don’t go getting addicted to this phone sex stuff, okay, Harry?” Sullivan laughed again as Harry finally managed to get the tights unglued and peeled down.
“Sure, Oscar. And what about the finished piece? How much?"
Again, Sullivan surprised him by naming a figure that was well above what Harry had expected. The editor was obviously thinking of this as a lead story, maybe even a cover item, which might give Harry a little bargaining power. He thought of the negative balance in his checking account, mentally crossed his fingers, and talked fast.
“How about I do some research during the next couple weeks, write you out a general outline of what I figure the story could be, and if it's all that you expected, you pay me half the article fee at that point?”
There was a longer silence than before, and then Sullivan sighed. “You know that ain’t the way it goes, but okay, Harry. What the hell, I know you'll do a decent job."
Harry’s spirits soared as he hung up and reached out to plop his daughter on the throne. She scowled at him and pointed an imperious finger at the door. “Go ’way, Daddy. I can do it my own self.”
He grinned and shook his head at her contrariness. “Okay, button. Call me when you’re done.”
The bathroom was off the kitchen, and he went over to the coffeemaker and poured himself a fresh cup while he waited for Sadie’s summons. He sipped and absently scratched his face, which was itchy because he hadn’t shaved in three days.
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, bu
t 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.
Chapter Three
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 successfu
l 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.
ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild) Page 2
