“That was a lot of heat for one crank caller,” Tiffany said.
“Yes, well, I’ve gotten several calls already today, and I was just fed up with it.”
There was a hesitation before Tiffany asked, “Abbey, is something going on? Do you want to talk?”
“No,” Abbey said quickly. “There’s nothing going on. Parker’s been sick, and I guess my nerves are a bit tight. Even a heavy breather doesn’t deserve that kind of lashing out.”
“Hm. I don’t know about that.” Tiffany gave a laugh. “Look, I’m actually calling to apologize. I’m really sorry for putting you on the spot about earning money. Of course, I understand why that particular plan isn’t really an option for you.”
“It’s okay.” Abbey’s heart was still pounding. She took a short breath, trying to dislodge the tension that had gathered in her chest. “I didn’t mean to overreact. I’m not a prude, believe it or not. I’m just thinking of Brian’s reputation.”
“It doesn’t matter why you don’t want to do it, if you don’t want to do it. Though, for what it’s worth, this really can be done with total anonymity,” Tiffany said. “I mean, we’re all definitely taking that seriously. You won’t be associated in any way with some sort of scandal—don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried. You know, we just do what we have to do,” Abbey said, thinking how very true it was. “I’d better run now. Parker’s sick.”
“The puking thing?”
Abbey was surprised, but decided she shouldn’t have been. The other mothers at school socialized with each other, so this would be exactly the kind of thing that would come up. “Yes.”
“It’s going around. Lasts about twenty-four gruesome hours. Tell him I hope he feels better!”
“I will. Thanks.” Abbey’s other line clicked, and she pushed the TALK button, thinking it might be Brian. “Hello?”
It was no surprise when there was no response. The reason she’d expected it when Tiffany had called was because it was so completely like Damon to play it that way—to make his point, then to make it again, and to basically hammer it into Abbey’s psyche until he was absolutely positive he’d gotten to her.
And broken her.
She hung up the phone, looked at it for a minute, then pressed the TALK button again, waiting patiently through the long dial tone and the seemingly endless series of alert beeps until finally there was silence on the line.
Only then did she allow herself the luxury of breathing again.
We do what we have to do. And if God wasn’t going to help, she was going to do it herself.
Chapter
7
My name is Sandra Vanderslice, and I am a shoe addict,” Sandra said to the puzzled faces of Tiffany and her friend Loreen. “That’s how I got into the phone sex business. I had a habit I had no desire to give up, so I had to find a good, solid way to support it. But it doesn’t matter why you need money; this truly is a good, honest way to earn it.”
“Are you still doing it?” Loreen asked.
“Not anymore. I’ve started a new business with some friends. A shoe-import business. Which reminds me—” She reached for a shopping bag she’d brought and took out a pair of candy apple red Napa-wash-covered wedges, with four-inch heels and, at Sandra’s suggestion, rubber inserts at the heel for comfort. “—this is the new Helene shoe. Does either of you wear an eight and a half?”
“I do!” Loreen said excitedly.
Sandra handed them over. “You’re in luck. They’re too big for me.”
“And way too small for me,” Tiffany added. She said to Sandra, “Let me know if you get any spare tens, though.”
Sandra smiled. “You’ve got it. Anyway, until I actually got into the shoe business, I had to support my habit doing phone sex. And it was an excellent way to earn money.”
“I’m trying to keep an open mind,” Loreen said.
Tiffany nodded her agreement.
“The first thing you need to know is that you’re phone actresses,” Sandra said. “You need to feel as uninhibited as possible by remembering none of your callers will ever find out who you really are.”
“And how can we be sure there’s no way a clever hacker could trace the call?” Tiffany asked, raising an eyebrow as if this might be something Sandra hadn’t thought of before.
It was obvious Tiffany did not like being the one who needed help. Traditionally Tiffany was the one with all the answers, the one whose legacy Sandra was supposed to live up to.
This must be quite a comedown for her.
“There’s no way that can happen,” Sandra answered patiently, enjoying her position of authority, even drawing it out a little. “You log in at a distant network, and your calls are routed through them.”
“What network?” Loreen asked. “Where? How do we do that?”
“I made a list.” Sandra opened her purse and took out the copies she’d printed for Tiffany and her friend. “I recommend the one on top. They pay the most and can get you started right away. If you do local advertising, you know, like make up your own mini-franchise, they’ll give you an even larger percentage.”
“So if we do a mini-franchise,” Tiffany said, “do we have to claim it that way on our taxes? ‘Phone sex’?”
“Well, you could,” Sandra said, growing a little irritated with Tiffany’s tone. “Since it’s legal and everything. But you can also just call it ‘counseling’ or something.” She reached for one of the snacks Tiffany had set out—had she done these fancy little pigs in blankets as a jab at Sandra?—and popped it into her mouth even though she knew she shouldn’t.
“So taxes aren’t an issue.” Loreen looked relieved.
“Not at all.”
“So Abbey could have done this, too,” Loreen said to Tiffany.
“I don’t think she was worried about the legality,” Tiffany said. “It’s the morality.”
“Now, wait a minute.” This was one of Sandra’s hot buttons. She didn’t like to be accused of being immoral because of the phone sex. “Sex is a natural, healthy thing. As long as it’s between two consenting adults, I don’t think anyone should step in and say it’s not right—”
“Abbey’s husband is a minister,” Tiffany interrupted.
“Oh.” Sandra felt her face grow warm. “Whole different story, then.”
Tiffany nodded.
“Not that anyone would have to know she was doing it,” Loreen said, a little petulantly.
Tiffany sighed. “Loreen, that’s not the point.” She looked back at Sandra. “So it’s legal, you say.”
“Yes. And as far as I’m concerned, it’s perfectly moral, too.” That sounded sarcastic, so she added, “But I’m not married to a minister.”
The doorbell rang, and Tiffany excused herself. She returned a moment later with a surprised expression and a tall dark-haired woman with a light golden tan and amazing bone structure. She looked like a young Sophia Loren. “This is Abbey,” she said to Sandra. “Abbey, this is my sister, Sandra Vanderslice.”
“Abbey, I thought you weren’t coming,” Loreen said, looking as surprised as Tiffany.
Abbey shrugged. “There didn’t seem to be any reason not to at least hear the details.” She glanced at Sandra with an apologetic smile, then said to Tiffany, “I’m sorry I’m late, by the way. The traffic on 28 was barely moving.”
“No problem at all,” Tiffany said, getting another wineglass from the kitchen. “Do you want some wine? I have red or white.”
Abbey appeared to contemplate it for a moment before saying, “White wine would be nice. Thanks very much.”
Tiffany had a glass ice bucket with a bottle of white in it. She poured it into a lead crystal glass and handed it over to Abbey.
Sandra looked at Abbey with what she hoped wasn’t obvious amazement. The woman was a bombshell. Definitely not what you’d picture a clergyman’s wife to be. She didn’t dress provocatively, but she had the sort of figure that looked sexy no matter what she was wearing
. The woman probably could have rocked a nun’s habit.
“We were just talking about how we can do this anonymously,” Tiffany said to Abbey in what Sandra recognized as her persuasive voice. “Sandra said it’s absolutely failsafe.”
“Is that right?” Abbey asked.
Sandra sort of liked this. These women were looking at her like she was the Wise One, and that felt . . . pretty good.
“Yes, it is,” Sandra said. “It’s set up that way to protect phone sex operators—”
“Phone actresses,” Loreen interrupted with a smile.
Sandra laughed. “Right. It’s set up that way to protect phone actresses and actors—”
“Men do this?” Tiffany asked with guileless wonder.
Honest to God, sometimes Sandra couldn’t believe how naïve her sister was. After all, they’d grown up in the same house. How had mousy little Sandra ended up more worldly than gorgeous—and older—Tiffany?
Two words: Charlie Dreyer. Tiffany had married him right out of college and had been sheltered by the heavy rock of his domination ever since.
“Yes, Tiffany,” she said, trying not to sound condescending. “Men do it. For women callers and men callers.” She leveled her gaze on her sister. “Be prepared for some unusual requests.” Things Charlie probably never would have dreamed of doing with his trophy wife.
“Unusual requests?” Tiffany asked. “Like what?”
She didn’t want to freak Tiffany out. Why tell her that someone might want her to call him Daddy and hide her “report card” if it might never happen? “Actually, sometimes, maybe more than you might expect, guys who call just want to talk. I used to have a regular caller who used me as his therapist. It probably ended up costing more than real therapy, mind you. And it wasn’t tax deductible for him, but he’d call once or twice a week anyway.”
Tiffany brightened. “That sounds easy.”
“It was,” Sandra said. “But most of the callers want sex, of course. Don’t forget that. And sometimes they want to pretend to be doing it in unusual places. You just have to go with it. And remember it’s no reflection on you. And as soon as you hang up the phone, the person is gone. They cannot find out and most wouldn’t even care to look.”
“Well, I don’t know about you two, but I think this sounds fun,” Loreen said with what sounded like great optimism. “So, Sandra, how do we sign up?”
Sandra took a sip of her wine. It was good stuff. Not the cheap stuff she usually got. “If you’re going to sub-franchise, which I recommend, you’ll have to answer a few questions about your theme, and so on.”
“I’ll do that,” Loreen volunteered.
“Then you’ll get a log-in number so you can call a central toll-free line and log in whenever you feel like it. If you’ve got a spare hour between appointments, or before you have to drive the carpool, you can make some quick cash. You don’t usually even talk to anyone there, but if there’s a problem, they’ll call you back. They’re the only ones who know who you are and how to do it.”
“How often do they pay?” Abbey asked with a spark of interest in her eyes.
“Weekly. And you can get direct deposit. Just open a designated account.”
“Do you own stock in the company or something?” Loreen asked with a laugh.
Sandra shook her head, but saw Loreen’s point. “Now that you mention it, I probably should. Never hurts to hedge your bets with a sure thing, and phone sex is always a sure thing.” She was making a good living with her shoe company now, and loving every minute of it, but Sandra had no doubt that if she ever needed quick cash for any reason, she’d go back to phone sex in a heartbeat.
“All right, I’m sold,” Loreen announced.
“Me, too,” Tiffany agreed. “Absolutely.”
“Now for the fun part,” Sandra said. “Each of you will also need to come up with alter egos for yourselves.”
There was a brief awed silence before Tiffany asked, “Alter egos?”
“Yes, the name you use. And the personality.” Sandra was surprised how blank the faces before her remained. “They’re not calling you, Tiffany, or you, Loreen, or you, Abbey, if you decide to do it. You will make up a name, a history for yourself in case it ever comes up in conversation, and you’ll also find a picture to put on the Web site to go with your name. Obviously not your high school senior picture. I made an amalgam of bits and pieces of celebrities, using Photoshop.”
“You mean we make up characters to be?”
“Exactly.” Sandra was relieved that at least one of them got it. “For example, I was Penelope.”
“That was the name you made up?” Abbey asked. “Along with a picture and little fake biography? How fun.”
“Yup.” Sandra was pleased with herself.
But it was short-lived.
“Oh, my God,” Tiffany gasped, actually clapping her hand to her mouth. “Sandra, are you serious? You were always Penelope.” She paused expectantly. “You do remember that, right?”
“What?” Sandra asked. This was not part of her teaching curriculum. “What are you talking about?”
Tiffany laughed, clearly amazed that Sandra didn’t remember this tantalizing psychological tidbit. “Every time we played when we were little, you wanted to be Penelope Pitstop and you always wanted me to be one of those horrid thuggish cartoon bad guys.”
“Sylvester Sneakly?” Abbey suggested, her face really lighting up for the first time all evening.
“Yes!” Tiffany snapped her fingers and whirled on Sandra. “Exactly. I had to be Sylvester Sneakly or Snidely Whiplash.”
“Wasn’t that Rocky and Bullwinkle?” Abbey asked.
“I don’t know!” Tiffany was cracking up now. “It didn’t matter; I just had to be the bad guy, and she was the beautiful heroine. Always. Good Lord, Sandra, do you seriously not remember that?”
She didn’t.
Or at least she hadn’t.
But now it was coming back to her. And she was mortified that everyone was hearing how she wanted to be the beautiful heroine while Tiffany had to be the ugly bad guy. You didn’t have to be a psychologist to figure that one out.
“I can’t believe it,” Sandra said, hoping she hadn’t just lost all credibility. “Here I thought Penelope was a totally new invention and . . . wow. Subconscious at work, huh?”
Tiffany raised her eyebrows. “Indeed. I bet a psychologist could have a field day with this.”
“Okay, fine, but that’s not what we’re supposed to be concentrating on right now,” Sandra said, only half joking, because she was seriously disconcerted that she’d named her alter ego after her childhood alter ego and hadn’t even realized it or all the deeply subconscious implications that went along with it. Wow. In the composite picture she’d made, she’d even given Penelope long blond 1980s Farrah Fawcett hair.
Just like Penelope Pitstop’s.
And Tiffany’s, at the time.
“Anyway,” she finished. “It’s evidently a good way to exorcize long-held demons, as well. So frankly, it’s all win-win.”
“What do you think, Abbey?” Tiffany asked.
Abbey hesitated. Then said, “Do I seem more like a Brandee, with two e’s, or a Suzi with an i?”
That released the tension in the room—or at least the tension Sandra was feeling—and everyone laughed.
“Brandee, with two e’s,” Tiffany said. “No doubt.”
“Absolutely,” Sandra agreed.
“I love the idea of having an alias,” Loreen said excitedly. “When I was little, I used to tell people my name was Mimi. Don’t ask me why—I have no idea. But I think that’s who I’ll be: Mimi.”
“I’m going to be Crystal,” Tiffany said definitively. “Because I can’t afford diamonds.”
“And because you always drank Crystal Light?” Sandra suggested. It was weak, but she lobbed it out there anyway. Plus, it was true.
Tiffany laughed. “Maybe so. It’s good to have a deep, dark reason for things.”
“We all do, I guess,” Sandra said, meaning it more than she could express. “So, with that in mind, let me show you the picture I Photoshopped of Penelope. . . .”
Tiffany got Charlie’s laptop, and Sandra showed them Penelope as well as the various chat rooms where they could go to drum up business. She was amazed at the level of enthusiasm the women were demonstrating—even Abbey, who seemed to have more questions about the privacy and profit margin than the technique of phone sex. Interesting.
They talked through two hours and two bottles of wine, plus an entire sheet of the fabulous crescent roll cream cheese veggie squares Loreen had made. Sandra feared she’d been solely responsible for the consumption of at least half of them.
As they were wrapping up for the night, Loreen asked, “So . . . when do we meet again? Next week?”
“Oh! Yes! Can you do that?” Tiffany asked Sandra.
Sandra was surprised. She’d thought this was a one-off thing, but she’d be glad to have something social to do. “Yes, I guess—”
“Good, because I’m sure we’re going to have more questions then,” Loreen said.
“Probably a lot of them,” Tiffany added.
Loreen nodded and looked back to Sandra. “Plus, aren’t we going to need some sort of advanced training once we get the basics down?”
“There could be unexpected situations arising,” Abbey added with a small smile.
Sandra laughed, though it wasn’t clear if the other two got the joke. “You can bet on that.”
“No,” Loreen said, “no betting. Please. That’s how I got into this mess in the first place. Cash advance after cash advance after cash advance.” She shuddered visibly.
“And there was my shopping,” Tiffany agreed.
Sandra looked at her sister and felt surprise, not for the first time this week. First, she couldn’t believe Tiffany had gotten into trouble shopping too much, of all things. But second, it was nothing short of amazing that Tiffany had agreed to this phone sex thing at all, especially when Sandra considered how the conversation had gone when she’d suggested it to her.
Secrets of a Shoe Addict Page 8