ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild)

by Hutchinson, Bobby

  Leonard, whose open mouth and round eyes made him resemble a fish, gulped and wheezed as she disconnected the phone and stuck it into her jacket pocket.

  “Hi, Leonard.” She pulled the loaded cart backward, forcing him to move out of the way. “Sorry about that. Business call."

  "Hi, Ms. Bleckner.” Leonard’s voice was little more than a whimper. He stood to the side and let her edge past. She had the creepy feeling his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets and roll straight down the neck of her blouse.

  “Did . . . did . . . did you . . . ahhh, did you happen to notice the zucchini, Ms. Bleckner? Fresh in this morning.”

  “I'm in no mood for zucchini, Leonard, thanks anyway."

  Maxine headed for the checkout, praying that she wouldn’t get another call until she was safely out of the store.

  She made it to the car, unloaded the groceries and Graham, and slid behind the wheel. Her hands were trembling, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or burst into tears.

  "I’ve got to get another job,” she said with a moan.

  "Dog,” Graham pronounced, pointing a fat finger into the middle distance.

  “You got it, sweetie. This job is a dog."

  She thought of the two night-school classes she’d attended at broadcasting school. They’d done breathing exercises and enunciation. They’d be learning elocution, how to work with a microphone, timing, and diction. The instructor was an ex-announcer named Dave Boxman, and he’d been enthusiastic about her voice.

  “Hardest thing is breathing," he’d told her. “You’ve gotta be able to read three or four pages at a time without gasping; you have a tendency to gasp.”

  She hadn’t told him that it had taken her a long time to learn to gasp properly, and now she’d have to unlearn it. Gasping aside, could she even manage to finish the course? There were ten more sessions. Polly had babysat Graham, and Edna had come early twice last week to take the business calls. How much longer could she impose on her friends?

  Even if she finished, there were a limited number of jobs available. The B.C. Institute of Technology had a daytime credit course, eight weeks long, in communication arts, and Maxine had heard that its graduates got priority when it came to jobs.

  She was a long way from being able to support herself doing what she wanted. And in the meantime she’d simply have to go on yakking into the phone, regardless of how much she was beginning to hate doing it.

  She turned the key and held her breath until her ancient Toyota coughed and came reluctantly to life.

  This was all Harry's fault.

  She backed up and then steered her way out of the parking lot, wishing she could press her foot on his neck instead of the gas pedal.

  She’d fallen in love with him, damn his sneaky soul, and as if that weren’t enough of a disaster, being with him had also made her dissatisfied with her job. Before she’d found out he was a liar and a cheat, she’d experienced what it was like to have all the separate parts of her come together as a single whole. It had felt powerful and right and good.

  And because of it, she no longer wanted to be India, pretending to make love to faceless men on the telephone.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was two A.M., and Edna knew the caller on the line was young. By the sound of the half stifled laughter in the background, he wasn’t alone, either.

  Edna also knew by the telltale echo that he had her on a speakerphone. Group sex. She shook her head. It happened occasionally, usually when young men got drunk and rowdy.

  “So, Lilith, tell me what you’re wearing."

  She could hear the smothered giggles in the background. Edna shook her head and smiled. “You sound like a nice young man, but I’m not comfortable doing something this intimate when we’ve got an audience,” she explained. “Maybe you could call back sometime when you're alone, honey?”

  The trick was to let them know what the rules were without insulting them.

  There was silence on the other end of the line, and Edna was about to hang up when there was the muted sound of a scuffle; then another male voice, obviously close to the receiver, said in a strangled tone, “Mrs. Gimbel? That's you, isn’t it, Mrs. Gimbel?”

  Edna froze. Horror overwhelmed her. For an instant, as bright spots swam in front of her eyes, she thought she might even faint.

  “Mrs. Gimbel, I know it’s you,” the young man was shouting now in an accusing, angry tone. “I’d know your voice anywhere. It’s you, isn’t—”

  Edna’s numb fingers finally managed to push the button that disconnected the call.

  Kenny Henderson. God help her, it was Kenny. She’d know his voice anywhere, too. He’d grown up next door; he’d been like a brother to her own sons, Gary and Marshall. She’d made him countless peanut-butter sandwiches; she’d put Band-Aids on his knees; she’d cared for him one entire summer, while his parents went on a second honeymoon to Tahiti. He’d wet the bed every night, and she’d kept it a secret from her boys so as not to embarrass him.

  Kenny. He was in college now, with Gary and Marshall.

  The next thought made her heart pound even harder, and bile rise in her throat.

  Her sons. Were they there, too, with Kenny, with the others? Had they heard her pretending to be Lilith?

  The idea was so horrible she let out a long, keening howl of absolute anguish, and then another, louder one. She was going to be sick. She needed to get to the bathroom, but for several moments she couldn’t move. When she finally managed to struggle to her feet, her rubbery legs wouldn’t support her and she had to flop down again hard. She gagged and tipped her head forward between her knees, gulping in air that wouldn’t reach her lungs.

  "Edna? Edna, honey, are you okay? God, I thought at first it was Graham howling like that.” Maxine put an arm around her shoulders. Maxine’s hair was wild, her face swollen from sleep, her flannel nightshirt creased.

  "What’s going on?” Polly came out of her bedroom, half glasses perched on her nose, crutches thumping. “I was reading and I heard somebody making a terrible noise. Was that you, Edna?”

  Her friends’ concerned voices barely penetrated the terror and despair that were rolling through Edna like bowling balls, intent on knocking her to her knees. She moaned and crossed her arms on her chest, rocking back and forth in agony.

  "What happened, Edna? Is someone hurt?” Maxine knelt at her side, but Edna could only shake her head.

  Polly panicked. "Edna, either you talk to us this minute or I’m calling an ambulance,” she ordered. “And believe me, you don’t want to go to Emergency unless it’s life and death.”

  Edna managed to sit up. Polly took one look at her face and dropped her crutches to the floor. She collapsed on the arm of the chair, got her balance, cursed, and reached for the phone. "I’m calling a bloody doctor anyway. You’re having a heart attack.”

  “No.” Edna’s voice was faint, but the sickness was starting to fade a little. “No. I... I just had a bad shock, that’s all,” she managed to whisper.

  "That’s all?” Polly scowled and shook her head. “It must have been pretty major to make you look this green. What the hell happened? Oh, my God, it’s not your kids, is it? A car accident?"

  Edna clasped her hands over her heart. It was hammering against her chest wall. “I. . . I. . . took a call. It was . . . there were young men, more than one. But one of them was . . . was . . . and, and he said . . .’’ Her voice failed her. Sobs rose in her throat and choked her. Tears gushed from her eyes.

  “Okay, now, let’s calm down here. Just take it easy. What did this asshole say, exactly?” Polly patted her back and smoothed her hair, and Maxine held her hand until Edna was able to talk again.

  "Oh, God, it was ter….terrible. It was ... it was a close friend of my sons. His name is Kenny. He ... he recognized my voice. He knew me; I ... I took care of him when he was younger.”

  Maxine made a shocked sound in her throat.

  “Holy shit." Polly, too, realized wh
at the situation might mean. “Were your sons . . . D’you think your boys were there with him?”

  Edna shrugged hopelessly and a fresh flood of tears poured down her cheeks. “I... I don’t know.” Renewed panic made her shiver. “But the others heard him; he called me”—her voice broke—“he called me Mrs. Gimbel. They all heard him. Someone’s bound to tell Gary and Marshall, whether they were there or not.”

  “Take deep breaths, Edna.” Maxine found a box of tissues and shoved a handful at her.

  "Blow your nose and let’s think this thing through,” Polly ordered. She groped for her crutches just as the business phone rang. She was closest to it, and she snatched it up before Maxine could move.

  "Yeah?” She listened for a moment. “Yeah, well, snookums, you do sound horny as hell, but I’m afraid we’re not doing phone sex just now. Try masturbation on your own.” She hung up.

  Maxine rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. She switched the phone over to the recorded message and got to her feet.

  "I'm gonna make some tea. C’mon in the kitchen, you two. I've got some brandy in the cupboard, I’ll put some in your cup, Edna.”

  Edna shook her head. She was shaking, both inside and out, and she didn’t think brandy would help. “What am I going to do? I’ll never be able to face my sons again." She started to cry harder. “And they’ll. . . they’ll tell Jooooohn," she wailed. The thought of her ex-husband finding out that she did phone sex made her hysterical.

  “Damn crutches. Ouch.” Polly was struggling with a chair as Maxine set teapot, cups, and a bottle of brandy on the table.

  "I could use a shot of that.” With a sigh of relief, Polly flopped down, adding a good amount of brandy to the mug Maxine set in front of her. She took a swallow and slumped back in her chair. “Okay, let’s look at this head-on, Edna. Let’s say the worst has happened and the truth is out.”

  Edna could feel panic building again. Her hands were shaking so much that her tea splashed on her Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. The tea was hot, but she barely felt it. Shame and fear made it hard to breathe.

  Polly reached over and patted her shoulder. “I know this is tough for you to hear right now,

  Edna, but from my point of view this is the best thing that could have happened. If your sons don’t tell Gimbel, I’d strongly suggest you let me tell him.”

  “You’d tell him?” Anger, shock, and betrayal mingled with the other emotions Edna felt, and she swiped at her nose and glared at Polly through her tear-streaked glasses. She could feel her chin trembling. "How . . . how c-can you say such a heartless thing?”

  “Easy.” Polly added more brandy and took another swig of tea. “Look, here’s the deal.” She leaned forward and took Edna’s stiff fingers in hers. "Now you’ve got nothing to lose, Edna. That’s a very powerful position to be in. I’ll apply a little pressure to dear old John, letting him know that unless he coughs up every cent of the money he legally owes you, I’ll see to it….,” She thought for a moment; then her face took on an expression of unholy glee.

  “I’ll see to it that Watson writes a follow-up to his expose, naming names and explaining how a wonderful lady of fifty-three got forced to do phone sex in order to pay the rent because of her lawyer husband’s lies.” There was jubilation in her voice. "Hallelujah, this is the break we’ve been waiting for, girls. Let’s attack, okay, Edna? Pleeeease, Edna?”

  Edna couldn’t think straight, but Polly was her lawyer. Edna had spent endless hours listening to John and his colleagues lament the fact that clients hired them and then didn’t follow their advice.

  “I ... I don’t know,” she said, her voice quavering. “What would you do, Maxine?”

  But Maxine was glaring at Polly. “You'd actually ask him to write a follow-up to that article?”

  No one had to ask whom Maxine meant by him. Edna and Polly had watched helplessly for the last week as Maxine refused phone calls, insisted that no one answer the door when Harry came by, and, worst of all, tossed a dozen beautiful long-stemmed red roses in the garbage can.

  “Yeah, of course I’d ask him,” Polly said. “Edna and I've both told you countless times that the article wasn’t that bad. So the guy made a mistake, you could cut him a little slack. At least he didn’t withhold sexual favors, did he?”

  “Is that what you’re doing with Bruce Turner, cutting him a little slack?" Maxine’s tone was downright nasty.

  Polly’s face grew crimson. “There’s no similarity at all between Watson and that. . . that sheep in wolf’s clothing,” she snapped. “Watson didn’t lead you on, rub suntan lotion on practically every inch of your body, kiss you brainless, and then refuse, for the fourteenth time, to go the distance with you. I’ve told you before, the good doctor obviously has some major sexual issues."

  Edna and Maxine had already heard Polly’s views on the doctor’s hang-ups, numerous times and in scathing detail. The last—and worst— episode had occurred—or not—the day he and Polly had gone to the beach and then to Polly’s apartment, ostensibly to pick up clothing she needed. It seemed she’d done her inspired best at getting Turner into bed, only to have him tell her quietly but firmly that the consummation of their relationship would be on his terms.

  "He actually said,” Polly had fumed, “can you believe this, that he’s a trifle old-fashioned about sex. Old-fashioned?” Her voice had dripped venom. “He’s antediluvian, for God’s sake.”

  Both Edna and Maxine had noticed that Polly never once said the doctor was impotent. And in spite of being furious with him, Polly still never hung up when he called.

  “And anyway, we’re not discussing Bruce Turner here; we’re talking business. Edna’s business. Let me do this, Edna. I know it’ll work. Your ex wouldn’t like the kind of publicity. I’ll spell out for him.”

  Edna still hesitated. “What do you think, Maxine?” she asked again. “What should I do?”

  Maxine thought it over. “I’d go for it,” she finally said with a resigned sigh. "This telephone sex thing isn’t the kind of business anyone wants to be in long-term, and if you got a decent settlement out of John, you wouldn't have to do it anymore.”

  “But then you’d have to hire someone else,” Edna said. Although the work itself wasn’t what she'd spent her life dreaming of doing, Maxine had become her closest friend.

  “Yeah.” Maxine gave her a weary smile. “But that's my problem, and it hasn’t happened yet. Let’s take one disaster at a time here.” She yawned and got to her feet.

  “Anyhow, I’m going back to bed; Graham’ll be up in another couple hours. Night, you two."

  “So what do ya say, Edna? Yes or no?” Polly drained the last of her tea and, after a moment’s hesitation, she poured another generous inch of brandy into her cup.

  “I guess yes,” Edna said tremulously. Polly was right. She had nothing left to lose. She got to her feet and found that she wasn’t shaky in the least anymore. Making the decision had calmed her. It was probably the same calm victims of earthquakes described.

  “I’ll get back to work before we lose all our customers,” she said in a rational tone. “Thank you, Polly.”

  “Atta girl." Polly held up the cup in a toast and downed it in one swallow. “I’ll get on it first thing in the morning. I’ll bet we have some action by dinnertime. Yahoo and ali-kazaam.”

  It was only four the following afternoon when Polly turned off her cell phone and gave a shrill, prolonged shriek of triumph.

  “Johnny boy caved,” she warbled to Maxine, who was making a pot of soup in the kitchen. “He’s agreed to spill the beans about all those foreign accounts. It’ll take a few days to draw up the papers and get them signed, and then Edna’s gonna get a check that'll make her very happy. I’ll call her right now with the good news. She oughta be up by now. And if she’s not, this is worth waking up for."

  “Tell her I’m thrilled for her.” She was, too, Maxine told herself as she sampled the soup.

  It was tasteless, and she couldn’t think
what to add to give it flavor. Soy sauce, maybe? She stepped over Graham, who was happily unloading the pots-and-pans drawer. The clatter he was making was giving her a headache, but at least he was happy.

  She hadn't taken him to Motoring Munchkins since the breakup with Harry, and she felt guilty about it; he needed the contact with other children, but she couldn’t face the possibility of meeting Harry there. Not yet, she told herself, pouring a liberal dose of the sauce into the soup and tasting it again. Maybe later, but not yet. She was still too mad. Too sad. Too resentful.

  Now the damned soup was too salty; Graham wasn't going to like it. She felt the ready tears building behind her eyes and grimly attacked the dishes in the sink, determined not to cry. Again. She'd been doing far too much crying the last week, and far too little work.

  Her mind went from Harry to her job, and the dark depression that she couldn’t seem to fight off overwhelmed her.

  She knew that she wasn’t doing a good job with the calls that came in. For the first time it was almost impossible to be India. She found herself wanting to tell the sad, silly men that she was actually a mother, that she usually wore jeans, that she had a few too many pounds around her hips, that she wore practical cotton underwear and the only orgasms she’d had recently were in the arms of a man who’d lied to her and used her trust for his own purposes.

  She hadn’t really done that to a caller, at least not yet. But her clients definitely sensed that she wasn’t putting her imagination into her work. The number of incoming calls from regular customers had dropped sharply in the past few days, and all Maxine could feel was relief.

  The truth was terrifying, but it was impossible to avoid. She didn’t want to be India anymore. She couldn't be India anymore. The article Harry had written had done more than ruin their relationship; it had also made it impossible for her to go on doing the work that earned her a living.

  If she didn’t snap out of it soon, she warned herself, she’d be in serious financial trouble.

  She’d already paid the fees for her night-school courses, which had depleted her meager savings.