“Do you remember that? Do you remember him? I knew it wasn’t going to be a permanent thing, but he was good for you. Puppy-coat-wearing Dani took care of that, didn’t she?” Dennis got very angry whenever we talked about The Colombian.
At first, I kept Antonio a secret. He was so exciting and fun. He made me feel alive. He made me feel beautiful. He was passionate about everything in life, and he was especially passionate about me. There were things about him that I couldn’t tell Dennis. They were too girly and silly. Did I really want to tell Dennis that, when Antonio kissed me, I felt like I was in some sappy chick flick, chock full of romance, sunsets, and beaches? That I was in twenty-four hour rotation on Lifetime? No, that was girlfriend stuff, and ultimately, I told my girlfriend Dani. I brought her to the café to meet him. I was showing him off, I suppose. I wanted her to see how gorgeous he was. I was dizzy with happiness. How could someone so amazing like me?
Two days after introducing Dani to The Colombian, I went to the café, wanting to surprise him, and there she was. I saw Dani leaning over the counter, wearing what had to be her shortest skirt. She wasn’t just flirting with him, she was coming on to him, full-speed-ahead-I-want-to-seal-the-deal coming on to him. I couldn’t hear anything, and I really didn’t want to. He wasn’t stopping her. Time stood still when she moved in to kiss him. It wasn’t until then that I was able to pull away. I ran across the street and didn’t stop until I was home. No small feat, considering my exercise regimen didn’t include jogging. Dani called me later and confessed. Well, sorta. She told me that she’d been suspicious of his intentions. She’d gone down to the café to see what he really wanted from me, and he was all over her. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt, Em. I just knew that there had to be something behind his liking you.”
When I told Dennis, his initial response was laced with swear words, which is pretty typical of Dennis. He calmed down a little. “Who does that, Emmie? Have I ever done that to you? Have I ever gone after one of your boyfriends? She wanted to hurt you. Lose her.” I could’ve pointed out that I’d only had two other boyfriends my entire life, and both of them were straight. Dennis wouldn’t have been interested in them, but it seemed wise not to bring that up.
For some reason I can’t explain, I remained friends with Dani. But I realized it was time for me to take off my rose-colored glasses and admit things that had slipped by before. I wasn’t invited to parties at her house, even though I was her “best” friend. (“Oh, Em. It’s going to be so boring, just a bunch of editors and reporters.”) I noticed that, if she was with someone else, she wouldn’t say hello when she passed my desk. Our conversations were mostly about her and her latest attempts at dating (“Em, why is he interested in another woman when he could have me?”) I got satisfaction out of everything not being so perfect in Dani’s life.
It had been a whim that made me show Dani what I’d written about my first session with Dennis. I was excited, and she was the only writer I knew. I wanted to know if it was as good as I thought it was. Judging from the circumstances of my termination, I think it’s safe to say it was.
I suddenly didn’t feel like defending Dani anymore. I was jobless. I had more pressing concerns. “What am I going to do, Dennis? I lost my job!”
He’d finished his hamburger and moved on to his fries. “You’re going to get another one.”
“Yeah, well, this one was good. I really liked it. It paid my tuition, and I liked school. I was all set to take two more classes and I can’t go now.” I felt like my dreams were circling the cosmic toilet bowl.
When I looked up from my salad, Dennis was staring at me. Actually, glaring would be a better word. “Why do you have to quit school?”
“I don’t have the money to pay for it.”
He pointed his fry at me like it was one of his fingers. “Look. Daniella might’ve convinced you to go to school, something I’ve wanted you to do for a long time by the way, but you were the one who got good grades. You were the one who lost the weight. You were the one who wrote the thing she took credit for. Don’t sabotage yourself.” He gave me a big sigh. “Emmie, you’ve hidden from the world since the first day we met. You want to be a writer, a reporter or whatever — but you’ve been afraid to put the work in. Now you’re doing it! You’re starting to really get your shit together. You’ve lost weight. You look good. You’re feeling better about yourself. Don’t give up on yourself. Don’t give her that, too. Go get another job, and do this. Make it happen.”
I could feel tears in my eyes for the second time that day. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Did you really scream ‘My name is Emily!’ at your boss?”
I nodded. “It wasn’t one of my best moments.”
“I think it was. You stood up for yourself. You’ve done the hardest part; the rest of this will be a piece of cake. I’m seeing good things for you, Emmie.”
He leaned back, smug and satisfied with his advice. I wished I could be as confident as he was.
It was a quick walk home. One of the best things about living downtown is that I can pretty much walk any place. I hadn’t driven my car in months.
I could hear the phone ringing even before I got the key in the door, and I knew it was Dani. She was certainly calling to offer condolences and some excuse to explain what had happened. I wasn’t interested. No more Dani for me.
Besides, I’d see her tomorrow.
Tomorrow I’d have to buy the paper with my words under her picture and byline, because I needed the classifieds to find a new job.
Chapter Two
ARE YOU ALWAYS ON THE PHONE?
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Phone sex girls get retirement benefits? Who knew? But there it was, written in black and white. The job had everything I needed. The question was, could I do it? Was phone sex going to be my path to success? There’s just a chance, I thought.
Just so you know, not only am I invisible, I’m also a stereotype. I’m a chubby girl with a sexy voice. When telemarketers call me, one of two things happens. If it’s a woman, she’ll ask if my mother or father is home. If it’s a man, he’ll try to get a date. I don’t know how they’re able to determine that I’m of age, but somehow they can and they go for it. My voice is a little squeaky and little breathy. It’s a love-it-or-leave-it kinda voice. Some people call it “annoying,” but I’ve always preferred the term “kittenish.” The people who love it really love it, and that’s three-fourths of the male population.
Could I actually whisper dirty words in a stranger’s ear? There was only one way to find out. I called for an interview.
The girl who answered the phone sounded a lot like me. She was perky, upbeat, and wanted me to come in that night for an interview. The thought terrified me, but my only other option was Walmart. I'd heard Walmart locks employees in the store. I’ve often wondered what would happen if one of the employees were pregnant and went into labor while locked up. Would they let her out? Would her supervisor deliver the baby in Housewares and slap a little smiley face sticker on the baby’s bottom? Phone sex had to be better than twenty-four hour retail.
The company name was Dimensions. Located in the back of an industrial park, it was a little scary. There was a gravel parking lot with a dozen cars and only one door with a camera to capture anyone who pressed the call button. I was buzzed in immediately. I wondered, Why does a phone sex place need this much security?
I was met by Taylor, the bubbly girl I talked to on the phone. “Come on, I’ll take you in the back and we can talk.”
She wasn’t what I pictured. Taylor was a tattooed Goth chick, with every piercing imaginable. Taylor isn’t what most people envisioned when it came to “bubbly.”
Once we were in her office, she quickly closed the door. “Look, we talk dirty here. The language is
sexually explicit. You have to say it all. Tits, cock, and fuck. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” There, I said it. I said I could do it. I hoped I really could.
She whipped out a headset, plugged it in, and said, “I want you to listen to a call. We get a lot of girls who come in here and think they can do it, and then freak out on their first call. It really pisses me off. You aren’t going to piss me off, are you?”
Taylor didn’t seem like the type of girl I wanted to piss off. I put on the headset and listened as a girl named Raven guided some guy through the “manipulation of his instrument.” Like a man really needs that type of instruction. There were moans, groans, panting—even a few noises I couldn’t identify—and that was just from her. He screamed once, and then it was over. Raven went on to her next call.
It occurred to me that freaking out wasn’t going to be my problem. Trying not to laugh was going to be my problem.
I did my best not to smile. “I think I can do that.”
She studied me for a second and said, “I think you can, too. Here, fill out these forms, and write down the hours you want to work.”
“That’s it?”
Taylor looked at me. “Well, this isn’t the kinda job that checks references.”
That made sense. What could they really check for?
When I left, I had my schedule. I was starting in two days, and my shift began at midnight. I’d even managed to score weekends off. At the end of the first week, I would have my signing bonus. Now all I had to do was learn to talk dirty, and there was only one man who could help me with that.
“You want me to what?”
“I want you to talk dirty to me. I want to see if I can do this. I got a job as a phone actress.” Why was Dennis making such a big deal about this?
He seemed stunned. “You’re a phone whore?”
“Phone actress,” I corrected.
“Phone whore. You’re talking nasty for money, right?”
“Given your past, do you really think you’re in a place to call me a whore? I know all about the debauchery that is Craig Boone.” Craig Boone is Dennis’s only weakness. Not only could Craig get Dennis to do anything, he could get him to do it anywhere, at any time.
“That’s slut, not whore. You’re going to have to learn the difference.” He sighed. “Were there no waitressing jobs in town? Emmie, what are you doing? I heard Walmart is hiring.”
“This will pay more, there are incentives, and a bonus, and…”
Dennis screeched. “I do not even want to hear what your bonus is. Jesus! If someone had told me you’d be asking me to do this, I’d have said they were nuts! I’d have said, not my Emmie.”
“Come on, Dennis, I need you to help me! I wouldn’t do it if I weren’t desperate. Ask me about my boobs.”
“The less I know about your boobs, the happier I am.”
“Dennis, they aren’t really my boobs, they’re Delilah’s boobs.”
“Delilah? Who’s Delilah?”
“Delilah is the girl I’ll be playing. It’s my character. I told you: it’s acting.”
“Is that what they told you?”
His smug little chuckle was starting to annoy me, so I talked over it. “I thought Delilah was a good name. You know—Biblical temptress and all.”
“Emmie, do you think the men who are going to be calling you are going to be interested in Biblical temptresses? Do you think that after talking to you, they’re going to reach over to the night stand and get the good book?”
“Can you please do this?”
He groaned, cleared his throat, and in his sexiest hey-baby voice, he said, “Tell me about your breasts, Delilah.”
“Dennis! Say it right! A guy calling wouldn’t say 'breasts.' He’d call them tits!” I was beginning to wonder what Craig saw in him. Dennis was being rather unsexy right now.
“I’m in character. My name is Arthur Wuller. I’m a shoe salesman from Beloit, Wisconsin, and Arthur would say breasts. He’s respectful.”
“Artie has had a couple beers and is looking to have fun. He’d say tits.”
“You’re making up a whole lot of rules for my dirty phone call!” He cleared his throat and said, “Take two.” Like he was directing. Once again, he started in his sexy voice. “So tell me about your tits.”
I started to laugh.
“You can’t laugh, Emmie! You’re supposed to be naked, nubile Delilah, who sits at home all day masturbating. Start with the nipples. Tell me about your nips.”
“Well…” I started to giggle again. “…I can’t talk to you about that.”
“But Emmie, they aren’t your nips. They’re Delilah’s!”
That settled it. My first call was going to be cold. It was going to be trial by fire for Delilah and me.
First thing the morning of the gig, I went to Borders, there being no way I was going to stop at Haslam’s and mill around in the adult section. They know me there. At Borders I could be anonymous so long as I paid cash. I’m no virgin, but it was safe to say that my experience was limited, and I would be talking about things I had no experience with. That meant research.
Delta of Venus, The Story of O, The Beauty Series—there was a lot to choose from. I weeded out anything that was too “advanced” or had too much plot. I walked out with three volumes of The Best of Penthouse Forum, which I thought offered the deepest insights—written by guys for guys, right? I also got Fannie Hill, for me. All I needed now was a highlighter.
When I got to work that night, I hoped I was up for it. Taylor had given me a big three-ring binder, so if someone called in for some exotic but disgusting fantasy I wasn’t familiar with, I would have something to refer to. I whipped through a brief little orientation, highlighted a few do’s and don’ts, and then I got on the phone.
Taylor quickly explained the phone system to me. She acted as the switchboard operator. A call would drop in on her line; she would get all the essential information, such as the caller’s name and the type of girl he wanted to talk to. Then she would click in on my phone, tell me all the juicy details, and transfer him to me. His dream-girl.
Almost immediately, I heard Taylor’s voice. “Hey, Lilah, he wants to talk to a busty redhead.”
Hmm, a redhead. He wanted a wildcat.
His voice was a little shaky. “Hi Delilah, my name is Mark.”
I was a little embarrassed, so I scrunched into my cubicle and did my best Demi Moore imitation. Given the actual timbre of my voice, it’s safe to say Demi didn’t have anything to worry about. “Hi Mark, how are you tonight?”
“I’m doing okay.” His voice was shaking.
My God! Could it be? Was Mark more nervous than I was?
“When I’m done with you, you’ll feel a little more than okay.”
He actually laughed! “What are you wearing, Lilah? Can I call you Lilah?”
“Please do.” Right then and there, I decided that Delilah was a bit Ann-Margret-esque. What would she lounge around in? A leopard-skin print, see-through nightie, of course. She hadn’t starred in Kitten with a Whip for nothing.
I took a deep breath and remembered my Penthouse. It was a matter of combining all the things that guys like. I weaved a story with a cast of thousands (well, three). To Delilah and her bouncing breasts, I added another girl, a blonde, buxom, handcuff-carrying Warrior princess. Delilah had a magic bag of tricks that contained a cornucopia of toys that poked, plugged and vibrated every orifice imaginable. She moaned, groaned, and panted for more.
As for Mark, he was grunting, begging her and the Amazon to do things that would amaze the performers of Cirque du Soleil. I don’t think a lot of what I was describing was physically possible, and, even if so, probably neither Mark nor I was athletic enough to pull it off, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He just wanted more. So Delilah gave him… more. She squealed with delight when he described what he wanted to do to her. Delilah was, as one of the bodice-busting romances my mother loved to read said, “a willing cap
tive of his flesh.”
And to really hammer it home, I set the whole scene in the locker room of Yankee Stadium. What guy doesn’t love easy babes, boobs, and baseball? Mark’s voice got frantic, begging for me to continue, and, when the ultimate goal of our conversation was reached, he screamed so loud that I’m sure his neighbor filed a noise complaint.
Out of breath, he quietly thanked Delilah. All I could do was giggle.
When my shift was over, Taylor smiled at me as she handed me my check-out slip. “You were great, Lilah. You’re a natural.”
I knew she was right. I was a natural! I’d finally found something I was good at.
“So you’re good at getting guys off on the phone? I’m proud of you, Emmie.”
Sarcasm is not pretty early in the morning, so I chose to ignore it. As soon as I got home, I called Dennis. I knew he would be up doing push-ups or something equally grueling. I could talk to him while I was getting ready for bed. My classes were in the late afternoon, so I had time for a nap.
“Dennis, all the girls who work there are really nice and they aren’t just chubby girls like me. There are some pretty girls there, too. And there’s a sixty-year-old woman, who’s teaching everyone how to knit, and…” I don’t know why I whispered the next part, but I did. “There’s even a guy who works there. Dennis, he’s like four-hundred pounds, and he’s so queenie! He has the sweetest voice. I sat next to him most of the night, and he gave me a few tips.”
“Rewind. There’s a guy working there?” Dennis seemed stunned.
“Yeah.” I crawled into bed.
“He gave you tips?”
“Yeah, he’s a natural. We had the best night on our shift. I’m sitting next to him tomorrow, too, so I can pick up a few more things. He has an electric toothbrush that he uses so it sounds like a vibrator. I’m going to pick up one of those before I go to work.”
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery Page 2
