Call Me

by Gillian Jones

  I owe Ace the truth. I have to be honest and tell him about Chanel, this job, even if it is my last shift. He deserves to know.

  And maybe he’ll want my input for his documentary? Yeah, if he still even wants to be with you after he hears what you’ve been doing for the last eight months…time will tell, I guess.

  I can’t believe I’ve been working here for eight months; I’m going to be a graduate next week! Giving my notice felt incredible. Ever since that call, I’ve barely picked up any shifts anyway. Greta’s words rang true: “When the job starts taking more from you than you’re getting from it, it’s time to reevaluate what’s important.”

  I decided I didn’t need to put myself through the stress anymore, that I no longer felt safe, and that it just wasn’t worth it anymore. It’s not like I needed more money; school would be done soon enough. I’ve managed to save a fairly large nest egg, one that can sustain me for a few months while I pound the pavement with my bad knee again in search of a job. Only this time, I’ll be looking for a full-time job in the film industry!

  I’ve already sent out a ton of resumes. Having pulled off an A on my thesis will be an extra boost to make me stand out. According to Ace, Dr. Mehta told him that I’m one of three finalists competing to have highlights of my thesis featured in The Canadian Journal of Film Studies. How amazing would that be?

  And with all the changes and excitement in my life, I’m happy to say my mom is coming to watch me graduate. I have yet to decide if I’m going to tell her about Chanel. I’d like to think that one day I might, but now probably isn’t the best time. As for the sperm donor, unfortunately, my mom’s lawyers weren’t able to find that loophole to get the money back that he’d stolen. It’s okay, though. I told her that sometimes it’s better to leave the past in the past, and move on. Surprisingly, she agreed. Tom might have something to do with that, too. He proposed to her, and I haven’t heard my mom this happy in forever. I’m excited for them to meet Ace. And as soon as that diploma hits my hand, I will proudly introduce him as my boyfriend. I can hardly wait until we can go public with our relationship.

  “Chanel? You still there? I didn’t scare you away, did I? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked to meet you.” Jake’s apologetic voice brings me back to the here and now.

  “A journalist? Wow, I wasn’t expecting that. I’m sorry, Jake. I’m just processing everything.”

  “How much would it cost to meet you?” he had asked minutes ago, barely above a whisper. Despite knowing there’s a huge possibility that he’s some pasty, basement-dwelling creeper who sits in front of his computer masturbating to anything deemed erotic while smoking cigarettes and pounding back two-litre bottles of Pepsi, I considered it.

  Because it’s Jake.

  My friend.

  My regular.

  My safety net at this job. The one caller who’s been consistently kind, almost caring, one who sees me as a person, when I’m otherwise surrounded in a sea of piranhas.

  And I have this gut feeling that he’s the complete opposite of Pepsi Guy. I believe him when he says he’s doing an article about the reasons women turn to phone sex lines as a way to make money.

  Similar to Ace’s work in his documentary.

  It’s research I’ve helped Jake with to a point, albeit unknowingly. Knowing that he was role-playing as much as I was makes my liking him seem somewhat less crazy, in my mind. Jake has been the only caller that I felt any connection with. So, I’m tempted, but unfortunately for Jake, I can’t help him with his story. Not when my own boyfriend hasn’t a clue about my job and could probably use my experiences to fill any gaps in his own project. The project he’s finishing up as we speak, working to make as perfect as it can be so he can submit it to TIFF for judging next month.

  Ace is amazing, and I have no doubt that his film will receive all the accolades and attention it deserves. It’s probably the most informative and thought-provoking theme for a documentary I’ve heard of in a long time, from the snippets I’ve seen here and there while he’s been working on it.

  I just hope I’m still around to celebrate his achievements with him. I owe Ace the opportunity to hear the truth.

  And, most importantly, meeting clients is not safe. I know exactly what the Conrads would say. I’d never risk my safety, even if I “think” Jake’s a nice guy. There are just too many crazies out there, and I have no way to know for certain that he’s not one of them.

  “I’m sorry, Jake, but I can’t meet you in person. I’ll gladly answer any questions you have, but I’m not willing to meet you for a live interview. I hope you understand.”

  “I understand. Of course I do. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, because you’re the perfect candidate for my piece, but I get it. No hard feelings, I hope? Anything I can do to make up for lying to you?” he asks.

  “No, I’m okay. Thank you for understanding, and for helping me out along the way, too. I wasn’t sure I could do this job at first, but your calls always helped to build my confidence, so thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome. It was my pleasure. Wow, it looks like this will be my last call. Thank you for the help you’ve given. You’re excellent at your job, Chanel. I wish you all the best,” he says. And then I get an idea.

  “Hey, Jake? Before you go, I have a request. Will you do me a favour?” I ask, excited at the prospect of putting the shoe on the other foot, as the saying goes.

  Laughing, he agrees. “Sure. What can I do for you?”

  Chapter 48

  Jake

  I have to admit, I’m disappointed she won’t agree to meet me. Maybe I should have told her the truth? Maybe she’d be more inclined to come in for an interview if I had?

  But I honestly can’t blame her. It’s not like she knows me. Other than the few superficial things we’ve talked about, I could be some serial killer for all she knows. Funny, though, I always told her the truth when we talked. There was an easiness that came over me whenever we spoke. As if I knew her, as if we were already friends. Part of me is proud and relieved that she said no. It showed me she’s aware of her boundaries and that safety is important to her.

  Luckily for me, I managed to get interviews with two other phone sex operators I had spoken to a few times, although they weren’t as talented as her.

  Crazy how after seven months of talking, I see her as a friend, one whom I would like to see move on to bigger and better things. If things were different, if I weren’t already serious about someone else, I might have even offered to help her if she needed it. But I would never jeopardize what I have with my girl, especially for someone I’ve never actually met. Don’t get me wrong, she’s absolutely been the best phone sex operator that I’ve talked to and I would have loved to have her showcased in my project, to know her motivation for working the line, her life plans, her perspective on the job itself since she’s so articulate about it. But it is what it is.

  Thankfully, she’s at least agreed to let me include some of our recorded conversations, since I won’t be identifying her. Out of all the contacts I had, I spoke to her the most, a part of that instant connection. My calls may have been a bit unorthodox, but she was flexible and adapted to my moods, scenarios, and managed to get me to easily become a regular, continuing to call long after I’d needed to.

  “…how about you tell me a story for a change tonight? Let me be the caller?” she asks, and I agree. “You could add your own perspective into your story, what the job feels like, the thought process, how quickly it all moves, and whether or not it’s easy to pull off?”

  Looking at it like that, I think that might be a great addition. I could speak a bit more honestly about what it feels like to be the one trying to maintain a caller’s interest, adding another layer, and share how I performed in that role. As this was our last call, I figured I could do that. I’m not going to be getting myself off, and this is a great opportunity. One I’m sure my girl might find amusing, me being on the other side, seeing what it’s lik
e. Hey, maybe she’ll let me practice my newfound skills on her sometime soon? I can’t wait for her to sit down with me to watch the whole documentary from start to finish, to get her take on my hard work. It’s always been about her for me, anyway, when I was talking to Chanel, and the other places I called, too. I can never get her off my mind.

  Only once did I allow myself to jerk off while conducting my research, and it was while I was talking to Chanel, before my girl and I were serious. I had called in and tried to trip her up, testing her to see if I could get her flustered with my scenario and questions, but instead she guided me through how she masturbated.

  But all I could picture was Ellie. I was done. That girl had me wound up so tight that I couldn’t breathe. So completely fucked right up that I couldn’t help picturing Ellie during Chanel’s descriptions while I got myself off. All the other times, I simply sat back and listened to my personal Scheherazade tell me stories that all featured Ellie in my mind.

  “What should I talk to you about? Any last requests?” I put out there, not having a clue what she might want to hear.

  “You’re supposed to be the professional, Jake,” she teases.

  “Okay, then help me. Give me some idea of what you might like,” I ask, honestly drawing a blank. This shit is hard to think of under pressure.

  “What’s your biggest fantasy?” Chanel asks, and it’s easy. Instantly, I picture my girl and I in my office, me finally taking her on my desk.

  “I’d say having sex in my office would be a big one.”

  “Oh yeah. That’d be hot for sure.”

  “Yeah, it would.” My dick twitches at the image of Ellie spread-eagled for me.

  “I think we should play it out, Jake. For old time’s sake. And, truth be told, tomorrow’s my last shift. I quit. I can’t do this job anymore,” she shares, and I’m happy to hear that she’s quitting. I don’t ask for the whys, because it’s not like I can’t imagine why someone would quit in her line of work. I want more for Chanel, and it makes me feel good knowing that she won’t be subjected any further to the shit I now know goes on at these places. “This would be a perfect good bye, and a thanks for the secret help,” she says, and I hear her smile at the other end of the line.

  “That’s awesome news. I’m excited for you,” I tell her honestly.

  “Thanks. Me too. Glad to finally be done school, and not needing to worry about tuition payments anymore.”

  “Aha! the reason for the job comes out,” I tease.

  “Blah, blah, yeah, yeah. Anyway…are you going to share this fantasy with me or what? I’m an excellent listener. It will let you experience how this crazy job really is, writer-man,” Chanel teases me back, and I feel a flash of guilt for bending the truth, for saying I’m a journalist, but I was worried she would freak out if I told her I was actually a filmmaker and that this was all for a documentary, one I’m hoping will be featured at one of the largest film festivals in North America. For some reason, people clam up when there’s a chance they feel they might be exposed on camera instead of just in the written word. Especially when they hear the word “documentary”. It’s like it’s some sort of exposé out to ruin them, even though I would, of course, disguise each person and their voice upon request.

  “All right. Let’s do this. You ready to hear what I hope to accomplish one day soon? My biggest fantasy?”

  “Hell, yes. I’ve even busted out some popcorn. I’m way too excited to get to listen for a change.”

  “Well, Happy Graduation. Sit back and enjoy.”

  “And action,” she says, and, right away, Ellie saying the exact same thing to me in the coffee shop pops into my mind.

  There’s no way. I mean, her voice doesn’t sound the same, but that’s such an Ellie thing to say…

  Chapter 49

  Ellie

  “And action,” I say, wondering what Jake would say if he knew his fantasy was also one of mine.

  One I plan on fulfilling with Ace, when I surprise him in his office next week. In my fantasy, I finally let him take me on his desk. Hard. Not being his student anymore definitely has some perks. With the fear of consequences gone, I feel it’s time to give Ace and I something we’ve both been waiting for.

  Maybe I’ll get inspired by listening to how Jake’s fantasy plays out.

  “I’m actually a professor, you see. And I’ve had the hots for one of my students. We’d been skirting around our attraction for months. But one night, she shows up to my office and all bets are off,” he says huskily. My heart suddenly accelerates its pace at the irony unfolding as I listen.

  No way. It can’t be.

  “Sounds promising. Please continue,” I whisper, barely audible.

  “At the sound of her soft knock, my cock twitches, knowing she’s on the other side of the door, here to see me. Waiting for me to let her in. I’d been waiting impatiently for what felt like hours. She was late. I was pissed and planned on letting her know it. Planned on showing her how frustrated I was.”

  Holy shit. It can’t be!

  “Okay so far?” Jake asks, stopping midway.

  “Perfect. Keep going, don’t stop. I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”

  “Okay,” he sniggers.

  Little does he know, I’m freaking out big time.

  “Opening the door, she stumbles into my office, or rather, into my chest. She was about to knock again, but instead fell face-first into me. Looking up at me, her hazel eyes seem to take on a darker shade alongside the flush of her apologetic face, and my anger dissipates. Suddenly, it’s replaced by feelings of hunger, of longing. A hunger to kiss her, to ravage her right there in that moment. Wanting to touch, to hold, to finally feel the silkiness of her skin, her hair, every part of her sexy, lithe body as it moves beneath my own.” He pauses, allowing me to take in all in.

  “Jesus,” I whimper—wetness pooling in my panties—knowing I’m right.

  “‘You’re late,’ I tell her. ‘I’m not happy. I don’t wait for anyone,’ I say, once she’s inside and I’ve closed and locked the door. ‘You need to realize that my time is valuable,’ I say, walking forward while she inches back. I keep seething, walking forward until her back is against my desk. She’s cornered, with nowhere else to move. Taking one more step, I cause her to lean back over the edge of the desk. It’s then that I pounce, like a hunter stalking his prey. I lift her legs simultaneously, wrapping them around my waist and I deposit her on the desk, nudging my way in to stand between her legs, hard against her.”

  “God, that’s hot,” I utter unintentionally, slapping my hand across my mouth, because this is going sideways fast.

  “‘You’re in my head. I can’t stop thinking of you,’ I say, cupping her face with my palms. Inching in closer, I inhale her scent. ‘You always smell so fucking good, baby. Tell me, E, do you taste as good?’ I ask, laying her down, my intentions clear—”

  Oh fuck!

  “E”?

  I knew it!

  “Oh God…Ace?” I blurt, cutting him off.

  “What the fuck? …Ellie, is that…is that…you?”

  I can’t answer him. All I can do is hang up. And I do.

  I’m shaking, my body in shock.

  All this time? How…how can it be? It makes sense. I get the “why”, but how…how didn’t I know?

  I need to get out of here. Moving the cursor to red, I log Chanel out—permanently.

  Looking around Sweet 44, taking in the chaise, the mirror, the desk, and finally the bar fridge in the corner, I nod, and give a small smile before closing the door on this scene of my life.

  I just hope my decisions haven’t ended my story before I get my happily ever after.

  Chapter 50

  Ellie

  Deflated, I step into the elevator, pushing the button for the seventh floor. I lean my head against the back wall, wishing Courtney were home. She and Jax went away for the weekend to celebrate her graduation; they turned into quite the couple after their “non-date” at t
he movies months ago. They’ve been pretty inseparable ever since. Man, could I ever use her advice right now, along with a few shots—or better still—bottles of tequila.

  So, Jake is Ace.

  And Ace is Jake.

  Life is one long movie reel of fucked-up coincidences, and Faith and Karma are a tag team of bitches that no-one can deny.

  Jake is Ace.

  Pulling out my phone, I check it for the billionth time since leaving Breathless Whispers. Still no word from Ace, not that I was holding my breath that he’d reach out to me. Between the two of us, I’m the one who has more explaining to do. If I could muster up the courage to call, I might actually get the answer to the bazillion questions racing through my mind at warp speed.

  God, what if he thinks I’m a horrible person? A cheater? A whore? Will he give me the chance to explain? Believe that I only ever got off that one time, and it turns out it was with him? My mind plays all these questions, and more, on overload, yet I’m too afraid to reach out.

  At the familiar ding, I’m pulled out of my panic zone and step out of the elevator onto my floor. Turning right, my footing falters when my eyes land on the one person I need most right now, the one person who can tell me if we’re going to get the ending we deserve.

  The ending I want us to have, the ending I want—with him.

  Ace.

  Turning towards me at the sound of my feet, our eyes clash—his eyes assessing yet smiling, mine no doubt unsure and reluctant. I freeze mid-step, my body going into some kind of reactive mode from the uncertainty of where things lie between us. Feet suddenly heavy as if encased in cement, unable to inch or step closer if I wanted to, I’m simply stuck. My heart palpitations are so strong, he must be able to see the organ itself trying to break free from the confines of my chest. My hands shake like leaves, my breathing is shallow, my mouth is desert dry.

  But then I see it. I feel it. Hope.