They’d had sex for nearly seven hours. At first, slowly,
tentatively, shyly. Then faster, almost violently, flipping
impatiently between every position and permutation,
trying to experience every sensation the union of their
bodies could produce. Then almost in slow motion, taking
the time to appreciate the lingering sensations of every
touch, kiss, bite, friction. All this without a single word
spoken, until, reacting to a loud stomach rumbling, Lauren
said, “I’m so hungry!” Another stomach rumbled — perhaps
the same one? Kyle wasn’t sure whose stomach had made
the noise either time. “Yeah, me, too,” he said. They looked
at each other and laughed.
They’d ordered together, sharing a giant bowl of
fries, three sandwiches, a salad, and The Small Easy
pickle platter — an ever-changing selection of marinated
vegetables prepared by the chef.
“It was on Oprah a couple of days ago,” Lauren said,
crunching on a carrot stick from the salad.
“Holy shit. Am I ever out of it.”
“Actually, I just made that up.”
“What?”
“I mean, it could’ve been on Oprah. I wouldn’t know. I
never watch those shows.”
Kyle was getting annoyed. “Don’t lie to me! None of this
shit is true! You’re making all of this up!” In fact, he was
getting angry, his voice getting louder.
“No, no. I was making a point. You don’t watch those
shows either, right? So how would you know? I mean, I
think it’s one of those things everyone knows, but nobody
talks about.”
“What do you mean! What things? What do you have to
do with this shit? Are you in on it with the guy who called
me? Is this a big joke for you? Making fun of me like this?”
Kyle was shouting now. The grey-haired man was still
looking out the window, ignoring them, but the Asian girl,
the waiter, and the cook all stared at them.
Kyle looked at Lauren, looked directly into her eyes.
They still had a powerful effect on him, as if his insides
were being realigned or something. “Why are you lying to
me? I thought — ”
“That really was your dad, Kyle. He’s dead, and he misses
you.”
“I have to get out of here.” He got up and took some
money out of his pocket. “Here, this should cover my half.”
As Kyle left the café, all he could think about was that
he’d just had the best sex of his life and that Lauren was the
most gorgeous girl in the world. And that he was walking
out on all that. Walking out on Lauren.
Kyle’s mother sounded worried. “Are you sure you’re alright?
It’s not like you to call like this. Not that I mind. You should
call more often. I almost forget I have a son.”
That again. Every time Kyle called her, his mother
reminded him that he should call more often. And she
wondered why he didn’t.
“Well, I’ve got a strange question for you. Hum. Huh.”
“Well, what is it? I’ll be glad to help if I can. What do
you need?”
“No, Mom, it’s not that. Well. Hum. Have you been
getting, like, weird phone calls lately?”
“What do you mean weird phone calls? Perverts?
Pranks? No, I haven’t.”
“No, not really. That’s not what I mean.”
“Well, I can’t guess what you mean, Kyle.”
“Like, someone pretending to be someone else?”
“I’m not sure what — Oh! Wait a minute! There was this
man the other day . . .”
“Yes?” Damn! Whoever this was had been bothering his
mother, too.
“Well, this man, he said he was taking a survey, but,
really, he was trying to sell me insurance.”
“Oh. Nothing else?”
“Kyle, just what is going on?”
“Nothing, Mom, I’m just tired, okay. I — Huh. Look.
This may sound weird, but when’s the last time you spoke
to Dad?”
“That’s okay, I know you miss him. You were always
closer to him than you were to me. I know you were. Don’t
deny it. The last time I spoke with him was at the hospital.
He was on so much medication; I don’t think he even knew
where he was. He was mumbling something about your
Uncle Flip. And then he went to sleep. When I got home,
the hospital called to say that he’d died.”
Kyle had heard all this before. Even after eight years,
it still hurt. He didn’t want to cry with his mom on the
phone.
“Thanks, Mom. Anyway, I should get off the phone. I’ll
be late for work.”
“I love you, Kyle. Don’t work too hard. Maybe you should
take a vacation. I could give you money for a trip. Are you
eating enough? You should go back to school. You could get
a better job then, you know. You should get a girlfriend.
You — ”
“Mom. I gotta go. Love you. Bye.”
After he hung up, his phone flashed to indicate there
were some messages. He checked: five hang-ups. He was
pretty sure what those were. That psycho again.
Kyle wasn’t surprised that his mom had desperately
squeezed in most of her usual litany at the end of their
conversation. Not for nothing had Kyle moved to another
city. After his dad died — when Kyle was fifteen — his
mom had tried to compensate for their mutual loss by
micromanaging Kyle’s life. She meant well, but he had
ended up not knowing what he wanted, with his life, his
education, or anything. Faced with the seemingly limitless
options of school, he had chosen to drop out and move out
on his own; maybe that way he’d eventually sort out what
his own ideas were. It didn’t work. He was twenty-three,
and he still had no clue.
He sighed, because he was exhausted and because
he dreaded going to work. Lauren would be there. He’d
feared things would turn out awkward. He should never
have asked her out. He should have let her stay a pleasant
fantasy. Someone to masturbate to before going to sleep.
But, he corrected himself, she had asked him out, not
the other way around. She had brought him flowers. She
had sat on his lap, taken her clothes off, kissed him.
As usual, he didn’t know what to think, what to feel.
Half an hour after he got to work, the sky suddenly
darkened and rain came down like divine wrath. And
kept on going all day. Business was dead, and Kyle spent
a lot of time dusting shelves, pointedly avoiding Lauren.
Despite himself, he couldn’t help looking at her whenever
he thought she wouldn’t notice. He should just confront her
and ask her what the hell all that phone business was really
about. And then tell her to fuck off, get another job, get out
of his life, and just stop being so sexy in front of him all
the time.
Or maybe he should just quit. Get away. Travel. Like his
mom had said.
Then again, he could just sulk and ignore everything
until it went away. Unplug his phone for a while and not pay
attention to everything inside himself that was screaming
to him to be with Lauren.
There hadn’t been anyone in the store for hours. He saw
Lauren talking to Cass, in hushed tones so he couldn’t hear.
Then Lauren came straight at him.
“Let’s go,” she said.
“Huh? Where? I mean, I don’t have anything to say to
you.”
“Stop being stupid.” She grabbed his hand and walked
him toward the door.
“What are you doing? My shift doesn’t end for another
two hours.”
“It’s okay, I cleared it with Cass. It’s so quiet. She can
handle the store by herself.”
Kyle took his hand back. “We can’t go out there. Look at
that rain.”
“So we’ll get wet.”
The sex was even better the second time. She teased him
and teased him until it felt as though his cock would burst.
Then she slid on him at just the right moment, and he had
the longest orgasm ever. When she came on top of him, she
cooed in the sexiest way, squirming sinuously, her whole
body exuding heaven.
Fuck
, Kyle thought.
I don’t care about that phone shit
anymore.
They’d come in from the rain soaking wet. One look
at each other, and they exploded in laughter so hard their
stomachs cramped; they could hardly breathe.
Kyle didn’t remember who started taking whose clothes
off first, but in no time they were naked and fucking their
way to Kyle’s bedroom.
Afterward, they lay in bed not talking, sometimes
grunting, sometimes nibbling, sometimes sniffing each
other’s skin, sometimes slowly — almost absent-mindedly —
rubbing against each other, until Lauren said, “Okay, we
have to talk. About your dad. And I don’t care how funny
you are, or how good the sex is, you better not walk out on
me this time. Or we’re through.”
“But this is my bed. My apartment.” And he thought,
I’m
funny? Cool. No-one’s ever told me that before.
“Pretty clever of me, eh?”
In the end, she had just given him a number. His dad’s
phone number, she claimed. He’d given it to her that time
she’d answered the phone for Kyle. Call him, she’d said, let
him tell you. And then call me. Call me. And he could hear
in her voice: I know you’re hurting, but don’t fuck this up
between us.
After she left, he stared at the number. The area code
was 666. What the hell? And what was with the thirteen-digit extension?
Why am I believing any of this?
Because the world’s greatest girl thought he was funny
and liked to fuck him, fuck him better than anyone else
ever had.
He picked up the phone: a dozen more hang-ups in his
voicemail. Shit. He put the phone back down again.
And then he thought:
Every time I don’t decide something
I end up feeling like I made a decision anyway. The wrong one.
Always the wrong one. How had I ever had the guts to move out
from Mom’s? A rare moment, that.
“Well,”
Kyle
said
out
loud,
“here’s
another
rare
moment.”
And he punched the weird number on his phone. He got
the familiar “If you know the extension number of your
party please enter it now.” But it continued, in a snarky: “If
you don’t, hang up now and stop wasting everyone’s time.”
Kyle punched in the thirteen-digit extension. It was
then that he noticed it included both the year his father
was born and the year he died.
He got his dad’s voicemail.
Kyle’s father had been his best friend. When he died the
world got darker, almost too dark for Kyle to handle. If it
hadn’t been for Uncle Flip, Kyle might not have been able
to cope.
Kyle and his dad watched the same stupid TV shows
together, went out to the movies at least once a week,
shopped for CDs, played cards and board games every
night (Kyle’s mom never understood why they liked that so
much), took bike rides, went camping — they did everything
together, they were the best of pals. Unlike his friends with
their parents, Kyle had never been embarrassed by his dad.
Dad was the greatest. Unqualified.
Kyle hadn’t left a message, but his dad — or, rather, the
voice claiming to be his dad — called back in less than five
minutes. “There’s all kinds of fancy features on this phone,
you know. Call display and all that. Even email and internet.
Haven’t figured out how to use those yet, though. You know
I was never into all that computer stuff. But, hey, I’ve got
lots of time now.”
Could Kyle let himself believe that was really his dad on
the phone? Why would anyone go to the trouble of playing
such a cruel prank on him?
“Listen, Da — I mean, how can it be you? How do I know
this is really you?” Kyle was still precariously perched on a
seesaw of rage and tears, but managed to keep it internal.
He had to see this through, one way or another.
“I know this is hard, son. I hate to hurt you or upset you.
But this can be a good thing. We can be pals again, right?
Ask me something. Anything. It’s me. Really me.”
It sounded so much like him. “No. I don’t know. You tell
me something.”
“Well . . . While I think about that, I want to say that’s
one hell of nice girlfriend you’ve got there. She told me to
wait before calling you again, that she’d ease you into the
idea. Meanwhile, she even called me a few times to keep
me company until you were ready. A real sweetheart, she is.
Hang on to her.”
Kyle felt himself blush, remembering the two times he’d
had sex with Lauren. “Yeah, she’s great.”
“Good. She likes you a lot, you know. When you find
someone you love you shouldn’t let them slip away. You
shouldn’t . . .” Kyle’s dad trailed off. There was a long
silence.
“Dad? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Sorry about that. Anyway, I think I remembered
something, something to prove to you who I am. The
summer you were fourteen, at least once a week we played
Risk in the basement, through the whole night, creeping
back to bed just as the sun started to come up. Your mother
would always still be asleep when I slipped in next to her.
She never found out.”
“That was the summer before you died.” It was getting
harder for Kyle to stifle his tears.
“Oh . . . and remember that week-long bike trip in the
country when you were twelve? The first night, when we
pitched camp, a fox cub wandered into our tent, and we fed
it some cheese.”
“It’s really you, isn’t it?”
They reminisced for hours. And then Kyle started asking
questions. Lauren had told him some of it the other night
at The Small Easy, but he had assumed it was all lies, and
he hadn’t really pieced it together then, or even fully paid
attention.
Kyle’s dad explained what he could. “A few weeks ago, Lucifer cut some kind of deal with a telecommunications
company — don’t ask me the details, these demons aren’t
exactly the chatty type — and got enough phones to
distribute to all of the dead. Well, the human dead, anyway.
The animals didn’t get phones.”
Kyle still had trouble with some of this. “So . . . You’re
in Hell. You were a great guy. The best father ever. Why are
you in Hell? And what are animals doing in Hell? I don’t
get it.”
“Hum . . . First off, there’s only Hell.”
“What do you mean, only Hell?”
“No Heaven, no Purgatory, no Nirvana, no Valhalla, nothing else. Just Hell. All the dead come here. It’s not so
bad, really. A bit boring, maybe — and certainly understaffed
and disorganized — but not so bad.”