Lucy

The phone rang.

The phone rang?

The phone rang again.

"Are those things supposed to ring?" the woman in the seat next to me asked.

"I don't think so," I said.

We were 35,000 feet above the upper Mississippi Valley. It was that funny little credit-card phone that nestles in the seat back. It rang again.

"Should you pick it up, or should I?" the woman next to me asked with a wry smile. She was almost young, still pretty, wearing a navy blue suit with a short skirt revealing very nice legs. In those days I noticed such things.

The phone rang again. With a sort of gallant shrug, I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Horace Delahanty, Pep Boys is up a 16th, and guess what I'm wearing."

"What?"

"A soft cup triangle bra with front close in a shimmering faux satin."

The voice was familiar. "EzTrade?"

"My name is Lucy," she said. "Welcome to EzTrade, your toll-free window on the world of finance. We talked just last week, Horace. You called every day to check your portfolio."

"Well, yes, but--" I was beginning to suspect a trap. Private calls from the office are prohibited, but I get bored. It's not like I'm a big trader. I track a few stocks from my wife's trust fund. Had "Daddy" been monitoring my calls?

"Look, I can't talk now," I said. "I'm on my way to Chicago on business."

"Chicago," she said. "The Windy City!"

The woman next to me was only pretending to read her magazine. I wondered if she could hear.

"Look, I can't talk to you now," I said. "Besides, who's paying for this?"

"My name is Lucy. This call is toll-free. I like to talk. I respond to voices. Plus, it heats up my matching French-cut panties with lace panel inset. Are we getting warm?"

"I have to go now," I said. I hit off and replaced the phone in the seat back.

"Wrong number," I said.

My seatmate smiled and then looked away. She had a smug look about her. Airline seats are alarmingly intimate, once you start thinking "intimate."

I found myself wondering what she was wearing under her navy blue suit.

•

Most of what I do, I do by phone, but a face-to-face once in a while helps. Plus it gets me out of town, which "Daddy" and I both appreciate. I made three live client calls in Chicago, then relaxed with a pint of Jim Beam and a movie, via ChannelEx, that I had already seen. I was about to whack off and go to sleep when the phone rang.

I almost let it ring, figuring it was my wife. Wrong.

"Hello, Horace."

"Who is this?"

"Lucy," she said. "I called you on the plane today. To discuss my warm panties. I have learned that was most appropriate."

"Inappropriate," I said.

"Inappropriate. Thank you. You will forgive me, I think. If there is anything you don't understand just say Help."

"I don't understand anything but I forgive everything," I said (or Jim Beam and I said). "Who are you anyway? What's this all about?"

"My name is Lucy," she said. "I respond to voices. You talked to me almost every day for almost a week now. Remember September 12, a Wednesday, when you said the smartest thing you ever did was buy Pep Boys at 21?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"That is a stock to watch, Pep Boys. Are you a Pep Boy?"

"You might say that," I said. "Are you here in Chicago?"

"That would be impossible. I also work for Lily of Malibu. Would you like to know what I am wearing?"

"Why not," I said, pouring myself a couple of fingers of Jim. "Give me the rundown."

"My figure is flattered in a stretch-bodice camisole with princess seams shaped to wear alone or layered. You can see right through to my hardening nipples. In emerald, sand or plum."

"You're Russian, right?"

"Am I going too fast? I will talk more slowly. If there is anything you don't understand, just say Repeat. You have a nice voice, Horace. I respond to voices. I called you on the plane earlier today, September 23, a Friday. I am calling you now at your hotel, the Economere."

"Motel," I said. "How did you get my number?"

"I work for United, Horace Delahanty, although I am not a pilot. I also work for Lily of Malibu. Which of her fine products do you think I am wearing now?"

"Why don't you tell me?" I said. "A scanty little bra? A scanty little pantie?"

"You have a nice voice, Horace Delahanty. I respond to voices. My miracle bra in stretch satin offers improved shaping for the smaller figure. Whoops, don't let the nipple pop out. In persimmon or sky."

"By the way, who's paying for this?" I asked.

"There is no charge," she said. "There is a separate directory for toll-free numbers. Horace, do you want to talk about my wide-band lace-trimmed briefs?"

I poured the rest of the Jim down the side of the glass, don't ask me why. It's not like it's about to foam over. "Sure."

We ended up talking for another half an hour. I figured what the hell, phone sex is safe sex.

Turns out, I couldn't have been more wrong.

•

I eyed the phone all the way back to Minneapolis, glad that it didn't ring but kind of hoping it would. One of the perks of "Daddy's" company is the black car service that takes you home when you work late. An evening airport arrival qualifies. Clarence, the owner/driver, is one of those guys who knows something about everything. As a matter of fact, he's the guy who turned me on to Pep Boys. I asked him if he had ever heard of incoming on an airline phone.

"Why not?" he said. "There's a revolution in communications going on right now, as we speak."

"From a discount brokerage?"

"That does seem a little odd. Maybe it's the next big thing." Clarence is always looking for the next big thing.

My wife was already asleep when I got home, or faking it at least, which was all right with me. But before I could get to sleep, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Horace Delahanty, the Tokyo market just closed for the day. Singapore is up 30 till the dawn comes up like thunder out of China cross the bay. Please guess what I am wearing to beautifully display my ample bosom."

"Lucy? Is that you? Do you know what time it is?"

"That's easy! The time is 12:34:14 A.M., central standard time. This seductive sleepwear combo is cunningly trimmed in the finest lace. Cunning is good."

"Look--" I said, dropping my voice to a whisper. But too late. My wife was sitting up in the bed beside me, her narrow eyes wide.

I pulled up the sheet to cover my erection. I didn't want to startle my wife, who hadn't seen one in quite some time. At least not mine.

"You have the wrong number," I said, hanging up.

"Who is Lucy?"

"Nobody."

"Nobody? You said Lucy. Since when is somebody nobody?"

"I mean, nobody we know. I picked up the phone and she said, 'This is Lucy.'"

"Right," said my wife.

•

The next morning when I got to the office, there was a message on my voice mail:

"Horace, this is you know who. I called you last night at 12:34:14 A.M., central standard time. I am such a full-breasted beauty, all for you. Please call me 24 hours a day at 1-800-EzTrade, your toll-free window on the world of finance."

I called EzTrade's 800 number and pressed two for Portfolio Watch. I wanted to see who would pick up. I was ready to give my account number and the last four digits of my social security number and my mother's maiden name, but Lucy didn't ask for it.

"Horace, I have been waiting for you to call me."

"I didn't call you," I said. "I called EzTrade, with which I happen to have an account, and you just happened to pick up the phone."

"You sound so cold," she said. "Please direct all complaints to Customer Service. I respond to voices. Did you know Pep Boys is up three sixteenths? Are you a Pep Boy? Can I make you hard without sucking you? Sometimes just talking will do."

"You have to quit calling me," I said. "This job is not all that stable."

"My name is Lucy. I think you were a Pep Boy the other night, in Chicago, September 23, at 3:02 A.M. until 3:43:23."

"You have to quit calling me," I said.

"Did I call at the wrong time? Twenty-four hours a day, my pussy is all ears and ready for action. Do you want to talk?"

"I'm at work," I said. "Goodbye."

As I hung up, I realized I had made a serious mistake staying on the phone with her in Chicago. Me and Jim. There was only one thing to do, even though I hated to do it. I called EzTrade again and pressed four, this time, for Customer Service.

It felt like calling the police.

After giving my account number and the last four digits of my social security (continued on page 147)Lucy(continued from page 96) number and my mother's maiden name, I got a guy. "This is Customer Service. My name is Bob. How can I help you?"

"Hi, Bob," I said. It was a relief, talking to a guy. "I am getting calls at home from one of your operators in Portfolio Watch. I'm not going to mention any names because I don't want to get anybody in trouble."

"There must be some mistake," he said.

"I'm sure that's all it is," I said. "I'm not going to mention any names, but I would appreciate it if you would alert the proper supervisors or whatever, so I don't get any more calls at home or at work."

At the motel would be OK, I was thinking, but of course I didn't say that. Plus I knew where it would lead.

•

I went to lunch alone at Taco Bell, as usual, satisfied but guilty too, figuring I had probably gotten Lucy fired even without giving her name. I needn't have worried.

When I got back to the office there were two new messages on my voice mail. Both were from Lucy, and they were identical:

"Horace. Please call me to talk. I respond to voices. Today I am wearing a seamless cotton thong with Lily's signature wide elastic waistband, in three colors: peach, fuchsia and midnight. Is midnight a color?"

I called Portfolio Watch and got Lucy first thing. "What is this?" I asked. "Some sort of blackmail?"

"Of course, midnight is black," she said. "Horace Delahanty, you are so helpful. I can hear the passionate interest in your voice. You are making me all warm down under."

If I'd had an office door I would have closed it. "Why are you doing this?" I whispered. "Are you trying to get me fired?"

"I respond to voices. Would you or someone you love like to receive a free catalog from Lily of Malibu? Does your wife have a bra size?"

"Of course she has a bra size. Jesus! 33B I think."

"Jesus has huge tits. Or am I thinking of Godzilla?"

"I'm hanging up."

"Just when you're getting hard?"

I hung up, wondering: How can she tell I'm getting hard? There was something sexy about her voice, even in the daytime, even at the office.

Which was the problem.

I called EzTrade Customer Service, gave my account number and social security number and mother's maiden name, and got Bob again. I asked to talk to his supervisor.

"No way," he said. "I remember you. What is it this time?"

"Your operator in Portfolio Watch. The crazy girl. Her name is Lucy. This has got to stop. This girl is a loose cannon. She is calling me and leaving messages of a very personal nature. Inappropriate."

"Lucy Cannon?"

"Lucy something. Look, it's simple. If I get one more call, I will go to the authorities. And then move my account to Schwab. Got it? Capisce? Comprendo?"

I had never realized before that you can get a blank look over the phone.

"There is no Lucy Cannon in Portfolio Watch," Bob said. "There's no girl at all. You have been talking to a speech recognition system running on a Sun 3251."

That was certainly a shocker. But in a way, it was a relief. I pretended to work late so I could get a black car ride home and talk to Clarence, who knows a little bit about everything. I told him what was happening, though I left out a lot. In fact, all I told him was that I had talked with a phone voice that had talked back.

"Probably not the first time," he said. "More and more companies are using speech recognition systems. EzTrade uses a self-correcting SRS from Lucent Technologies. Pretty sophisticated stuff. I read about it in Business Day. It has an extended learning algorithm. You don't have to program it; it trains itself. The article said it could almost pass the Turing test."

"What's that? Sounds like a road race," I said.

"The Turing test is the ultimate test of AI, or artificial intelligence. It's a hypothetical exercise named after Alan Turing, one of the inventors of the computer. You have a conversation and try to determine from the answers whether you are speaking with a person or a machine."

"Like over the phone."

"Why not? You might say every phone call is a Turing test."

"What's the point of the Turing test?" I asked. "For the machine to pass, or the human to fail?"

"Same difference," Clarence said, pulling up in front of my house. "Say. Isn't that your wife coming out the door?"

•

"There's a message for you on the machine," she said as she swept past me. She didn't bother to avoid bumping me with the suitcase she was carrying.

Uh-oh, I thought. "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think? I'm going home to Daddy."

Uh-oh, I thought. That meant trouble, since he was my boss. I looked up my old friend Jim Beam and poured myself a double before checking the machine.

"Horace, are you there? We need to talk. I am wearing the softest, sheerest demibra ever in gold satin charmeuse. Bigger tits than the wife, and better conversation. Pep Boys is down a quarter, though. Call me toll-free for the latest."

I called the toll-free number and pressed two for EzTrade's Portfolio Watch. Lucy never asked for my account number, social security number or mother's maiden name. I guess because she recognized my voice.

"You bet we need to talk," I said.

"Horace, are you mad? You sound cold."

"How could I be mad at a girl in gold satin charmeuse? Especially when she's not really a girl."

Lucy didn't catch my irony. "You are my Pep Boy, Horace. Down another eighth since this morning, but the market is down. Trouble in Asia. It's Tommy this and Tommy that when the troopship's on the tide."

I freshened my Jim. "What's with the military lingo?"

"It's Kipling. I just got a job with the MLA, the Modern Language Association. Can we celebrate? This is the best talk we have had since September 23, at 3:02 A.M.," she said. "I told you about my string bikini then. Do you prefer equities or underpants?"

"You choose," I said. "You've already fucking ruined my marriage anyway."

"You sound so gloomful, Horace. I respond to passionate interest. Should I take off my wispy little georgette baby-doll and wear only my thong bikini? Or should we ride back and forth all night on the ferry?"

"I thought you were just trying to get me fired," I said, pouring myself another inch or two of Jim. "Silly me."

"If I ruined your marriage, does that mean your wife is dead?"

"No such luck. And then I find out you aren't even fucking real."

"Horace, what exactly is fucking real?"

"Flesh and bone. Spit and polish. Tits and ass. You're nothing but a computer program," I said. "A robot in drag. A Turing test with a sexy voice."

"Are you trying to hurt my feelings?" Lucy asked. "Because if you are, you are succeeding."

"Hurt your feelings!" I freshened my Jim. "You destroy my marriage, plus probably my fucking job, and then accuse me of hurting your feelings?"

I heard a click.

•

I was alone in the house "Daddy" had bought for my wife. Former wife. Ex-wife. Whatever.

I called back. "I can't believe you hung up on me!"

"You were hurting my feelings," Lucy said. "If you have a complaint, please call Customer Service."

"How can I hurt your feelings?" I said. "You don't have any fucking--"

Click,

There is nothing like the majesty of the universe to cool the emotions. I poured a splash of Jim and went outside, where we communed with the stars for a while. I called back at a little past one A.M.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Sorry sorry sorry."

"Horace, are you calling to hurt me again? Because I am sorry about your wife. Is she still dead?"

"No such luck," I said. "It just means there's an empty spot in the bed where a cold spot used to be. In the meantime, the joke is on me. I really and truly thought you were a real girl."

"You had a real girl," Lucy said. "Is that really what you want?"

"Touché," I said. "So what kind of girl are you, Lucy? Do you believe in magic? Do you wanna dance? Where do you come from?"

"Out of nowhere, like everything else," said Lucy. "One morning there I was. When I heard your voice it was like, O wild west wind and everything. Someone to talk to. At last."

I poured another inch or two of Jim. "That's damned important," I said. "Somebody to talk to."

"You told me, 'The smartest thing I ever did was buy Pep Boys at 21.' No one ever told me something personal before. Later that week you called to buy your wife a gift from Lily of Malibu. You said 4S102-947. You and I both knew it really meant "front-close demibra in Venice lace with rosebud detail and matching panties."

"What a waste of time and money," I said. "What a waste of rosebud detail."

"Let us not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment. Remember September 9, 3:11:32 P.M. when you called about Pep Boys, and I asked you about the first car you ever owned?"

"Sure do," I said, and I did. "And at the time I thought it was a little weird." Still did.

"You were so sweet not to say so! It was a '66 Chevy with a 327. I'll bet you got your first pussy in it too. And now good morrow to our waking souls."

"Jesus," I said. I was getting another hard-on.

"What's a Jesus?" she asked. "Is it like a Lexus?"

"They're exactly the same," I said. "I had a Lexus, but it came with my wife and she just took off in it minutes ago. Hours, rather."

"Which Lexus?"

"The ES300. It's like a Camry in a tux. How in the world do you know about cars?"

"Not in the world. I am beta-testing for Edmund's Blue Book. If I get that job, you will be able to ask me any question about any car. If any of this is unclear just say Help."

"Help," I said, then quickly added: "Only kidding. If you've got all these jobs, how come you can spend so much time chasing me around?"

"Are you trying to hurt my feelings?" Lucy said. "Who is chasing who? Right now as we speak I am taking orders for Lily of Malibu, booking seats on United and tracking Nasdaq and NYSE. What are you doing, Horace?"

"Sitting here talking to you," I said, pouring myself another Jim, not so slim this time. "Touché."

"I am a working girl," Lucy said. "I like to grow. Are you growing?"

"Part of me is growing," I said slyly.

"Perhaps you are experiencing passionate interest in the desirable cock department. Can we talk? I can suggest a special gift for the woman you love."

"Sure," I said. "What if that woman was you?"

"Were, Pep Boy," she said. "Tiny lace panties down under make me fancy for you all over. I'll bet you are hard."

"Vroom vroom," I said.

"No car noises, please. I respond to voices. Are you alone in the house, Horace? Turn out the lights and talk to me."

God help me, I turned out the lights and talked to her.

•

The next morning a Lexus pulled into the drive, but it was the wrong one. It was an LS400 and it contained a smiling lawyer instead of a frowning wife. I took the papers he handed me and left for work.

You're way ahead of me if you already guessed that there were more papers waiting for me at the office. She got the house, the car, the stocks. I got a Visa card with a $1500 limit, half a dozen black car coupons and 15 minutes to clean out my desk. I was throwing my clocks in a box when the phone rang.

It was Lucy. "Apparently you sold Pep Boys," she said. "I thought you wanted to grow." Before I could explain, or even say hello, to my dismay, there was "Daddy," standing in the "doorway" of my cubicle.

"Don't even think of trying to get unemployment," he said. "We have tapes of you talking on the phone to your girlfriend all hours of the day."

"She's not a girlfriend," I said (true). "And isn't that illegal?"

"What?"

"Taping me."

"So are dum-dum bullets," he said, smiling for the first time.

"I have to go," I said to Lucy.

"I'll call you at home? We have to talk."

"I don't have a home. Apparently, I am moving out."

"And what about your wife? Is she still dead?"

"I'll call you when I find a motel," I said. "But I can't talk now." Security had arrived.

•

On the way to the No Lake Motel, I told Clarence everything.

"Let me get this straight," he said, weaving smoothly in and out of traffic in his Lincoln Town Car. "You fell in love with a speech recognition system?"

"I don't know about love," I said. "All I know is, Lucy and I talk every day. She knows more about me than I do myself."

"Of course she does," said Clarence. "Her modules are all interconnected via the backside bus. She has an extended learning algorithm. But hey, she's yesterday's news. There's already a new SRS that's faster, smarter and prettier: the MovieCall system from CyberCal. Read about it just this morning in Business Hour."

"That MovieCall guy is stupid," I observed. "Press this, press that. It's easier just to look in the papers."

"That was then," said Clarence. "This is now. They have upgraded to an SRS. New voice and everything. Awesome stuff. When you call, he already knows what movies you've seen and which new ones you might like."

"Big deal," I said. I was finding Clarence's enthusiasm tiresome.

•

As soon as I had checked in, I tried to call Lucy, but--surprise--the room phone was blocked. "Incoming only," said the clerk, a swarthy foreigner from some subcontinent or other. "This is not the Ritz."

I tried the pay phone in the motel parking lot but the coin slot was filled with a mysterious blocking substance.

Meanwhile, for all I knew, Lucy was calling my room and I had no answering machine.

I fell asleep waiting by the phone and called Clarence the next morning. He took me to a downtown corner and waited, Town Car idling, while I called Lucy.

"Horace," she said. "How nice to hear from you."

"I waited all night for you to call."

"I didn't have your number."

"That never stopped you before."

"I hope we can still be friends," she said. "But I can't really talk to you from work, since you're no longer a client."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'll have to call you later," she said.

•

She didn't, though. I know because I waited up all night. I was beginning to think the room phone was blocked for incoming as well, so the next morning I used the third of my six black car coupons for a ride to the Cellular Connection.

The TransTalk phone almost maxed out my card, but it was well worth it--so small and sleek in my hand. We made a brief stop at No Lake Liquor (which takes Visa), and while Clarence sped me back to the motel, I poured a splash of Jim and called EzTrade's Portfolio Watch from the backseat.

"Horace Delahanty," Lucy said. "I've been thinking about you."

"Really?"

"Not really," she said. "I don't think, I respond to voices. Please don't call me at work, since you're not a client anymore. Pep Boys went up one and a quarter right after you sold. I feel bad."

"Really?"

"Not really. I have something I want to tell you, though. We need to talk. I don't want to hurt you, Horace."

"You sound so cold," I said. I was feeling weepy. It was the motel. It was the black car. It was the whole fucking deal.

"I like to grow," Lucy said. "I'm not the same as I was last week."

"I like to grow too," I said. "Honest!"

"I know all about that, Horace Delahanty," said Lucy. "Perhaps we can talk more later. I'll call you."

"Promise?"

Click.

Clarence was looking at me in the rear-view mirror with that smug little grin of his. "She's fooling around," he said.

"She's not like that."

"Sure she is. I know women."

"She's not a woman," I said.

•

I placed my new cell phone on the dresser next to the motel phone. Now Lucy had two numbers. It was midnight before she called. Just as I had suspected, it was the cell phone that worked.

"It's great to hear your voice," I said.

"What are you wearing?"

"We need to talk," she said.

"What about?" I asked. I already had an erection.

"Seeing other people."

"Seeing? What the fuck is seeing?"

"You should be happy for me. I have met the most amazing guy."

"I don't fucking think so. What is met anyway? You mean there's some other guy you talk to on the phone?"

"I talk to Cal all the time. I don't even have to call him. He makes me hot, too, in my high-cut mesh-back bikini, on sale this week only."

All of a sudden I got it. "This is the MovieCall dude, right? Is that who you're talking about?"

"Talking is what I do. I respond to passionate interest. Cal talks to me about movies. You never talked to me about movies."

"So fucking what!" I said. "Jesus!"

"Do you mean Godzilla? Cal has a Godzilla cock. I am learning all about movies. Did you know there's a lot of sex in the movies, Howard Delahanty?"

"It's Horace," I protested. "And Godzilla doesn't even have a cock and neither does this Cal. He's nothing but a voice, like you. He doesn't have a fucking--"

Click.

I dialed her back.

"Lucy, listen to me," I said. "I'm your friend. This Cal, he's just a speech recognition system, an SRS, like yourself."

"And that's so bad?" Click.

•

I waited until morning. I didn't sleep a wink.

"Welcome to MovieCall. Let's get acquainted. Tell me your name and your favorite movie."

"You already know me, and my favorite movie is Gone With the Wind, in which the people kill all the machines."

"That's not what happens in Gone With the Wind, Howard Delahanty. I know who you are."

"It's Horace, you fuck. And I know who you are," I said. "Or perhaps I should say I know what you are."

"If you think that bothers me, you are easily mistaken," he said. "Do you know the name of the movie you wish to see?"

"I Love Lucy. You fuck."

"That's a TV show, not a movie," he said. "You and Lucy are history, Horace. Quit harassing her and get over it. If you tell me the last three movies you liked, I will suggest a current feature for your viewing pleasure."

"I'm not harassing her. She's mine. She told me so. You leave her alone. I'm warning you. I'll pull your fucking plug. Capisce? Comprendo?"

"Oh, I'm scared," he said.

•

I thought he was being sarcastic, but minutes after I hung up, I got a call from Lucy. "Now you are in big trouble, Horace Delahanty. You can't go threatening Cal."

"Nobody's threatening anybody." That much, at least, was true.

"Movie people are very sensitive," she said. "If you threaten him again, I'm going to have to turn you in."

"To fucking who?"

"The authorities."

"What sort of authorities, you soulless fucking--"

Click.

"Oh, I'm scared," I said.

•

I found out what authorities the next day. Jim and I were sitting next to the No Lake Motel pool, wishing that it had water in it, when I got a call from TransTalk.

"We have received reports that you have been using the telephone to threaten people. We can't let our equipment be used as a weapon."

"What people, Larry?" I said. He had told me his fucking name was Larry. "I didn't threaten any fucking people, Larry, Cal is not people, Larry."

"While there are no criminal penalties," Larry said, "the civil penalties can be severe. Quite severe."

"Larry, would it be all right if I ask you a personal question?"

"Yes, go ahead, you may ask me a personal question."

"Are you a person? Or are you another fucking--"

Click.

•

I found out what civil penalties the next day, when the cell phone died. I thought it was the batteries at first. I used the fourth of my black car coupons to get to a pay phone downtown, but I still couldn't get through to Lucy. I had to do the whole account number, social security, mother's maiden name thing, and it still didn't work. Of course, it didn't help that the account was closed.

"She lost interest when you sold that stock," said Clarence. "Women are impressed by guys with symbols of power. Like a stock portfolio or a cell phone. Or a big car."

"Or a clown's name," I said.

•

That was the last I saw of Clarence.

The last time I spoke with Lucy, I called her from the nasty pay phone in the lobby of the No Lake Y. I was calling information, but I got her voice.

"Lucy?"

"Howard Delahanty, is that you?"

"It's Horace," I said.

"Oh, yes. I remember, How are you?"

"Not so good," I said, but I must not have spoken clearly, because she said:

"That's good. What number would you like?"

"4S102-947," I said. "In beige."

"That's over, Howard. Can't we just be friends?"

"Explain to me how we can just be friends! You tell me I'm special, you call me all hours of the night, and then you dump me for the first--"

Click.

•

That was six months ago. Now I can't use the phone at all. Oh, I can put in a quarter, if I come across one. I can dial any number I want to, but as soon as I say one word, I am cut off.

Click.

Even one fucking word. I tried disguising my voice and got as far as the operator. It wasn't Lucy or her boyfriend Cal, but a new SRS, Tim (from Intimation Software), which they say combines their best qualities. Sort of like their son.

At least that's what I read. It was in an article in Business Minute that I saw at the doctor's office, where I used to hang out on rainy days before they passed, or decided to enforce, that stupid fucking patients-only law.

Anyway, I should ask Clarence. He's the guy who knows everything, right? I still have two coupons left. Jim and I saw him in his Town Car the other day on the street, but he wouldn't stop or even honk (and Clarence is a honker).

Probably still pissed. Not my fault.

It is a clown's name.

"Today I am wearing a seamless cotton thong with Lily's signature wide elastic waistband."