The Stories of Richard Bausch

by Richard Bausch

  “Explain,” she said.

  I might have shrugged, I don’t know.

  “Is there something about all this that bothers you?”

  I could see what she was thinking: what sort of lazy, ignorant type I am, maybe the sort who beats up on his children or his wife or both, a sullen, inexpressive man with dirt under his fingernails and a collection of destructive habits.

  “Well?” she said. There was something wrong with the way she said this, like she could demand an answer right now.

  “I want to do the work,” I said. “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do.” But I wasn’t able to get the sullenness out of my voice.

  “You don’t sound like you really want anything.”

  “What do you expect me to do,” I said, “jump up and down for you?” I couldn’t help myself. It was out of me before I could stop it. This woman who was so comfortable having my mother running a vacuum in her upstairs hallway. She looked at me for a minute, then led the way out to the front porch. Ruth was at the top of the stairs as we came through the foyer. “He’ll do a real good job,” she called down to us.

  Out on the porch, Mrs. Wilton said, “There are one or two other carpenters and contractors I’m talking to, you know. I told your mother I was. I only agreed to let you provide an estimate.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Do you want to continue with this?” she said.

  I said, “What did I do?”

  “You haven’t done anything. You can take some notes down, can’t you?”

  I said, “Whatever you say.”

  “No,” she said. “Well, I guess there isn’t any point.”

  “I’ve got an idea what this will take,” I told her. “I can write up an estimate.” I couldn’t look at her.

  Ruth rattled the sweeper on the stairs, making her way down. Probably we were both trying to think what we would say to her, how we would break it to her.

  “If you’d let me do the work,” I said, “I’ll do a good job.”

  “Well, write me an estimate,” she said.

  But it was clear that everything about me had scared her, and she wasn’t about to go with me. She took a step back and looked me up and down. “The truth is, I’ve already pretty well committed to someone else.”

  Ruth came out then, all smiles. I wished I was dead. She took my hand and faced Mrs. Wilton. “He doesn’t like to brag about himself, you know.”

  “You were both very nice to come out,” Mrs. Wilton said.

  Ruth squeezed my hand. “Yes, so. Next week then?”

  “For cleaning,” Mrs. Wilton said. “Oh, yes. Could you come on Tuesday?”

  “Tuesday’s fine,” Ruth said, and she sounded a little out of breath. “Are you two finished with everything?” She looked at me and then back at Mrs. Wilton.

  “Yes, I’m afraid we are,” Mrs. Wilton said.

  “That was fast. You-all are more efficient than I am.”

  Then we were quiet. It was embarrassing.

  “So,” Ruth said. “We won’t keep you another minute.” And she started down off that porch. I felt like a child being led. Ruth turned and waved. “Bye.”

  Mrs. Wilton waved back.

  In the car, we didn’t talk. I drove back out to the highway and on toward home, and the wind blew into the open windows of the car. Ruth had lighted a cigarette. Finally she said, “Boy, that was quick.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to tell her.

  “What happened?” she said.

  I told her Mrs. Wilton had already taken estimates from contractors I couldn’t begin to compete with; I said I would write up an estimate anyway. I said I spoke up to save the woman a lot of unnecessary inconvenience, that she appreciated my honesty, and that she promised to call me as soon as she knew for certain what she would want done. And there were other jobs, too—other jobs might come up. She’d give my name to her friends. I said, bright as I could, that things were looking up.

  What would you say? I would like to know what you would find to tell her about it. Would you be able to say that hearing her talk about someone else’s floor as if it was her own had set you off? That it had made you angry and sick inside, because you had once felt that you liked people and you had always wanted to be kind and you didn’t have that anymore, and because it reminded you of all this? Reminded you of where you were and where Ruth was, no more real to Mrs. Wilton than that poor Mexican woman with a cut ear had been to you when you were young and fortunate? That it had made you see yourself as you were now, grabbing at anything, any little hope that all this might somehow change for the better? That maybe you can learn to stop being this person you have ended up being—that man who makes his wife think of leaving him and frightens his own son? And if you could find a way to tell her all of this, what would you then say? If you were that man and she had asked you and you had spoken at all, you had found that you could say one thing, anything, anything at all?

  1-900

  If you are calling to talk to one of us hot girls, are using a Touch-Tone phone, and you have your credit information handy, please press I now. We can hardly wait to talk to you.

  …

  Please punch in your credit card number, followed by the pound key.

  …

  Don’t go anywhere because we’re desperate for your hot love.

  …

  This is Marilyn, and I’m soooo hot to give you my—

  Excuse me, Marilyn?

  Oh, yes, baby, let me have your big—

  My name’s John, okay?

  …

  Okay?

  You sound nervous, John. You shouldn’t be. I’m gonna do whatever you want me to, baby, and it’s gonna be so hot.

  Well, I am a little nervous.

  There’s nothing to be nervous about, honey. I’m lying here naked, just thinking of you, John. That’s what I’m doing right now. And I’m thinking of taking your—

  Uh, listen, um, Marilyn—wait. Wait. Please. Do you think we—could we—is there any way we could talk about some other things first? I mean, I wonder if we could kind of get to know each other a little. Or anyway seem to get to know each other. Like, can we—talk around a little? You know, just generally? I’ve come to the conclusion that I need something a little less blunt right-away-into-it kind of thing, you know, and as long as I’m paying for the minutes, I’d think that would be all right. That is all right—right? Is that all right?

  John, are you gonna talk, honey, or do you want me to?

  I thought we’d both talk. You know, have a—have a conversation about things in general kind of thing, and, um, lead up to it. That appears to be what I require right now.

  Oh, but I’m all ready for you, honey—

  I know but I’m not ready yet. I need to talk a little.

  …

  Is your real name Marilyn?

  …

  Hello?

  …

  I mean, you know my real name.

  Is this a crank call?

  No, please. Don’t hang up. I’d really like to talk to you. I’m not ugly or anything, or weird. I’m five feet eleven inches tall and I weigh a hundred sixty pounds in my stocking feet, as my father used to say, and I have dark blond hair—dishwater blond, I believe they call it. And I’m not saving newspaper articles about assassinations, or collecting body parts, you know. None of that, and I don’t keep files on famous people and I’m not a disgruntled postal worker or anything at all like that—

  Whoa, honey, slow down.

  —I’m thirty-two and married, though my wife and I are separated. We have two kids, a boy and a girl, twelve and nine—

  Let me get a word in, baby. Don’t you want me to talk? Is this your idea of conversation?

  I’m sorry.

  Honey, I want to tell you what I’m doing right now while I think of you, and listen to your sexy sweet voice—

  Right, but I wanted to talk a little first. Converse a little.

  Really.
r />   Do you—do you have any children?

  I’m sorry, baby, I can’t answer that. Ask me about what I’m doing right now.

  Well—first. I was only—I’m curious. I mean I wondered how this works.

  But I want to get it on with you, baby. Come on, don’t make me wait. I’m touching something right now, thinking of you.

  Look, I really would like it if we just talk a little before we get intimate. Intimate. You’re kidding, right? Well, you know what I mean.

  …

  I’m still paying for it, right?

  Sure, that’s right—it’s your dime, baby.

  So, Marilyn—where’d you go to school?

  …

  Hello?

  You’re kidding.

  Can you tell me where you went to school? Um, around.

  More than one school? College?

  …

  Hello? Was it college?

  John, I really can’t get that personal.

  A second ago you were telling me about touching yourself. I just want to know if you went to college.

  Okay, it’s been nice talking to you, sexy—

  Oh, don’t hang up. Really. I’m paying for the call. I just asked if you went to college. I have to feel like I know you at least a little bit before we get to the other stuff.

  Look, sweetie, this isn’t a date or anything.

  But I’d like to feel that it’s something close to it. Isn’t this supposed to be about what I need, and am willing to pay for? What’s the difference if it’s all just talking, right? I mean that’s not too much to ask for a dollar a minute, is it?

  It’s ninety-nine cents a minute.

  Well, but that’s a dollar. That’s a thing my wife and I used to fight about. She’d look at something in the store and see eight dollars and ninety-nine cents and she’d think it was eight dollars. I had to remind her about it a lot. My wife and money, that was like a land-war-in-Asia kind of thing.

  Excuse me?

  We kept throwing more money at everything because we couldn’t believe what we’d already wasted was wasted. That had a lot to do with why we kept on going in Vietnam. We couldn’t believe we’d wasted so much life. We couldn’t let it mean nothing. You—you get the point of that?

  You want to talk about fucking Vietnam? Are you a vet or something?

  I’m too young to be a vet. I’m interested in history, kind of thing. You like history, Marilyn?

  Uh, no. I’m not into that.

  My wife is, big time. As in the history of men keeping women down. The whole oppressive history of women-getting-screwed-by-men kind of thing. That’s my wife.

  Is that why you’re separated?

  We’re separated because she decided I wasn’t with the program anymore. Which was true, I guess. The program was basically about the improvement of John T. Bailey, E-S-Q. The perfection of that item, you might say, by a series of continual reminders of everything wrong with him.

  It’s kind of pushy, isn’t it, reminding somebody about their faults.

  I wouldn’t call it pushy, no. Not exactly. The fact was, there is what you might call a lot of area for improvement. But it used to irritate me, I’ll admit that.

  And you want to talk about it?

  Well, we could, I suppose.

  Like I said, it’s your dime.

  Are you married?

  No.

  How old are you?

  Look, honey, what did you call us for? This is phone sex.

  But couldn’t it be, like, phone friendship for a little while? Just a minute or two?

  Man, I keep thinking this is some sort of prank or something.

  It’s not. I promise it’s not. I’m not the type who plays pranks. I don’t even think it’s funny when other people do it.

  Well.

  I went to college. I went to West Texas State and majored in history. I didn’t learn much. Don’t get involved in a land war in Asia. Where did you go?

  High school. I’m putting myself through college, now, and I can talk you through a heavenly experience, too. I can make you hot, and bring you off like a rocket.

  Why are you going to college? I mean what do you hope to get out of it?

  An education.

  Is that just to get a better job, or pursue a career, or do you desire to be educated as in somebody who possesses a knowledge of the arts of civilization?

  You talk funny, John.

  Are you in search of knowledge and cultivation of your spirit?

  All that.

  Really.

  Sure, why not?

  You want part of the American Dream.

  Okay.

  But what is the American Dream, anyway? Going to art galleries, or owning-a-big-car-and-having-a-house-with-a-swimming-pool kind of thing? I mean, I think the American Dream is getting on television and being famous.

  Is that what you want, John?

  No, I’m saying that’s the American Dream. I’ve got a little boy who wants to grow up to be famous. That’s what he says he wants. He doesn’t have the slightest idea how or why or what he’ll end up doing, and none of that matters to him. He just wants to be famous. He wants everybody to know his name. That’s his big dream. I think there’s a lot of people out there like my son, only these’re grown people.

  I don’t want to be famous.

  Are you seeing anyone?

  …

  It’s just a harmless question, Marilyn.

  I’m with you now, honey.

  But are you seeing anyone?

  How are you going to get anything out of it if I talk about who I’m seeing, John?

  Well, are you?

  Okay, sure. Yes. I am.

  Does he know you do this?

  Maybe. Look, I think we ought to get down to something soon, baby. I’m so hot for you.

  My wife didn’t play around on me or anything, and I was faithful to her. You’ve probably figured out that I’ve never called one of these 900 lines before. I guess that’s pretty evident. We had a good life, Kate and me. Her name is Kate. She likes sex, too. We both like it. I’m not one of those types who’s never had any loving before, you know? But something got between us. A—a lethargy.

  Lethargy.

  It means—

  I know what it means, honey. Are you telling me you couldn’t get it up?

  Oh, hell no. No, we really didn’t have any trouble that way. Not any. We excited each other. She’s really very adventurous in bed. We were great that way. But she’s a better person than I am, that’s pretty clear. We lived a little selfishly, too. I think that’s what did us in. But we had fun in bed.

  Tell me what she’d say to you, honey. I can make you feel her.

  No, that isn’t it. I’m telling you this to get to know you. You know a little about me. My wife and I hit this—this lethargic place. I should say straight out that I tend to excess, I admit that. I have a habit of getting a little too much to drink now and then, and I used to do some other kinds of substances. She did, too. We had a lot of easy money and we were a pair, let me tell you. She used to keep a big brick of cocaine in her dresser drawer.

  Yikes.

  It’s true. But most of that is over, and we’d mostly got past all that, and I thought we were doing fine—especially, sexually, as I said. We were interested in each other for sex, you see, but there were these other areas—

  What other area is there, when you get down to it, lover?

  Well, just—you know—at the level of talk. I found that her voice irritated me.

  And what was her problem with you?

  Oh, lots of things. Lots of things that it isn’t anybody’s business to know

  …

  I’m sorry, that didn’t sound right. I don’t mean anything by it.

  Man, this is your money.

  You ever find that somebody’s voice gets on your nerves, Marilyn?

  I guess.

  Does my voice irritate you?

  No.

  You have to sa
y that, though, right?

  I don’t have to say anything, lover.

  How old are you?

  Oh, baby, I’m old enough. And young enough. How old are you?

  I’m thirty-two. I already said. So, now, what about you?

  …

  Hello? Tell me—come on, you can do that.

  We’re not allowed to tell our age, lover. I’m of age. I’m old enough for anything you want.

  I do like the sound of your voice. You have a very lovely voice.

  Oh, I haven’t even started, honey. You don’t seem to want to give me a chance.

  Yes, but isn’t it a relief not to have to go through the spiel?

  Excuse me?

  The routine. All that moaning and groaning and sex-detail-talk kind of thing to get some poor lonely stranger off over long distance. I’m in South Carolina, for instance. Where are you?

  Close as your ear.

  But where—really?

  Washington, D.C.

  Are you in a room with other girls talking on phones? I’m picturing you sitting at one of those consoles with all the plugs and the lines, and earphones on, like an operator.

  No, honey—I’m home in bed. I really am. And I’m naked, and I’ve got my hand on my—

  How many calls like this do you handle a day?

  I’ve never handled a call like this. I mean I am new, and maybe these people take calls like this every day, but it hasn’t happened to me yet.

  I really don’t want to cause you any discomfort.

  I’m fine. Are you all right?

  Well, that’s a question, there, Marilyn. That might take a little time to answer.

  Do you want me to listen, honey?

  You said these people a second ago. So there are others there with you, taking the calls?

  I meant the other girls who work for this service. Look, this is a service.

  I’m sorry. Really, I’m—uh, I’m curious. I wanted to talk. I mean I do want to get to the sex, too, you know, but I just—since it can’t matter to you, really, and might even be a bit of a relief from the types you usually get, and you’re still getting paid the going rate.