bullshitting.
"Swapline."
"Well, I'll be goddamned." Another middle-aged broad. "How's
that
for gratitude? She didn't even thank us for helping. Thank us for calling in, for worrying about her. I'm sick, just disgusted. Goodnight."
Ramada stared at his receiver in disbelief. I inflated to my feet. "You stupid…" My eyes were almost shut in hate, my chest felt sixty inches across. "Die!" I whispered.
"Swapline."
It was the girl again. She was sobbing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything! I didn't…"
"Hey, hey, it's okay! It's okay!"
"No no, oh God, I didn't want to… I didn't."
"Hey, don't hang up! Don't…" Click. Buzz of dial tone.
"We had her!" I shook my fists at the TV, slapped my forehead. The noise that came from my throat was not of this planet. I was fucking out there. I sat on the floor in my underwear in front of the TV and dialed the number on the screen.
Busy busy busy busy…
"Please call back," Ramada was pleading into the cameras. "You had one grouch; think of all the people who
care
."
I kept getting busies. I punched the phone, smacked the receiver against the wall and kept dialing.
"Swapline."
A husky male voice. "Stop sucking up to her. She's laughing at us all."
"Swapline."
"I got a pair of Nordica ski boots I want to swap or sell for cross-country skis. My name is Larry and I'm at KI seven, five-six-nine-nine."
"Swapline."
I jerked back. Ramada was talking in my ear. My heart felt like a bee in a bottle. "Hullo?" My voice came at me from the TV along with a barrage of sonic squawks and flutters.
"Move back from your set." Ramada was looking at me through the screen. I nodded okay to him and hopped backward into bed. "Hullo?" Still the interference.
"Move back more."
"Sorry." I dropped to my knees on the other side of the bed and knelt, elbows on the mattress. I felt like a radio advance man in a foxhole. "Hello, Rod?" I couldn't get used to hearing my voice come at me from the television. Ramada wasn't looking at me. All my anger drained out in my confusion. "Hey, you know people have been calling and saying she's bad news, a junkie and such. Rod, could you look at me?" Ramada slowly looked up. "That's not right, because maybe she isn't gonna kill herself but she's lonely, you know? I mean lonely enough to call up a TV swap show in the middle of the night and ask for help. It doesn't mean dick if she's
actually
gonna kill herself, okay? you know what I mean?"
"That's true," Ramada in my ear. I could hear my breathing over the TV.
"Yeah. That's all." Click. Yow. I was sweating. My hand was glued to the receiver. I gripped my chin with my thumb and forefinger. How did all those clowns sound so coherent? I started playing back every word I said.
"Swapline."
"Yeah, Rod, you know that guy that just called?" My heart stopped. "It's assholes like him that make people kill themselves. I have a right to my opinion and no moron is gonna tell me not to."
"That's true."
-1 went into a numb stun. I gawked at the screen, my jaw on the floor. I felt betrayed, knifed. Then I shook the shit out of my head, grabbed the phone and dialed. Three busies, then:
"Swapline."
"You tell that bitch
she's
the goddamn moron and asshole, not me. She don't give a flying fuck if that kid lives or dies.
She
probably hates
her
kids, you know what I mean?" My voice yelled at me from the box. I started butting my head into the air. "Whatever happened to human decency hah?" I slammed the phone down. My kneecaps were chattering with tension. I yawned nervously and my whole body shivered like a loose window in a windstorm.
"Swapline."
"You tell that prick to go fuck himself!"
"Swapline."
"Fuck
you
, you cancer cunt! Fuck
you
!"
That was that The end. I vaulted over the bed and tried to turn off the TV, forgetting the remote control box on the night table. My fingers were too sweaty and I wound up pulling the plug by stomping on the wire. I walked around bumping into furniture, then I walked nose
"Swapline."
"Well, I'll be goddamned." Another middle-aged broad. "How's
that
for gratitude? She didn't even thank us for helping. Thank us for calling in, for worrying about her. I'm sick, just disgusted. Goodnight."
Ramada stared at his receiver in disbelief. I inflated to my feet. "You stupid…" My eyes were almost shut in hate, my chest felt sixty inches across. "Die!" I whispered.
"Swapline."
It was the girl again. She was sobbing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything! I didn't…"
"Hey, hey, it's okay! It's okay!"
"No no, oh God, I didn't want to… I didn't."
"Hey, don't hang up! Don't…" Click. Buzz of dial tone.
"We had her!" I shook my fists at the TV, slapped my forehead. The noise that came from my throat was not of this planet. I was fucking out there. I sat on the floor in my underwear in front of the TV and dialed the number on the screen.
Busy busy busy busy…
"Please call back," Ramada was pleading into the cameras. "You had one grouch; think of all the people who
care
."
I kept getting busies. I punched the phone, smacked the receiver against the wall and kept dialing.
"Swapline."
A husky male voice. "Stop sucking up to her. She's laughing at us all."
"Swapline."
"I got a pair of Nordica ski boots I want to swap or sell for cross-country skis. My name is Larry and I'm at KI seven, five-six-nine-nine."
"Swapline."
I jerked back. Ramada was talking in my ear. My heart felt like a bee in a bottle. "Hullo?" My voice came at me from the TV along with a barrage of sonic squawks and flutters.
"Move back from your set." Ramada was looking at me through the screen. I nodded okay to him and hopped backward into bed. "Hullo?" Still the interference.
"Move back more."
"Sorry." I dropped to my knees on the other side of the bed and knelt, elbows on the mattress. I felt like a radio advance man in a foxhole. "Hello, Rod?" I couldn't get used to hearing my voice come at me from the television. Ramada wasn't looking at me. All my anger drained out in my confusion. "Hey, you know people have been calling and saying she's bad news, a junkie and such. Rod, could you look at me?" Ramada slowly looked up. "That's not right, because maybe she isn't gonna kill herself but she's lonely, you know? I mean lonely enough to call up a TV swap show in the middle of the night and ask for help. It doesn't mean dick if she's
actually
gonna kill herself, okay? you know what I mean?"
"That's true," Ramada in my ear. I could hear my breathing over the TV.
"Yeah. That's all." Click. Yow. I was sweating. My hand was glued to the receiver. I gripped my chin with my thumb and forefinger. How did all those clowns sound so coherent? I started playing back every word I said.
"Swapline."
"Yeah, Rod, you know that guy that just called?" My heart stopped. "It's assholes like him that make people kill themselves. I have a right to my opinion and no moron is gonna tell me not to."
"That's true."
-1 went into a numb stun. I gawked at the screen, my jaw on the floor. I felt betrayed, knifed. Then I shook the shit out of my head, grabbed the phone and dialed. Three busies, then:
"Swapline."
"You tell that bitch
she's
the goddamn moron and asshole, not me. She don't give a flying fuck if that kid lives or dies.
She
probably hates
her
kids, you know what I mean?" My voice yelled at me from the box. I started butting my head into the air. "Whatever happened to human decency hah?" I slammed the phone down. My kneecaps were chattering with tension. I yawned nervously and my whole body shivered like a loose window in a windstorm.
"Swapline."
"You tell that prick to go fuck himself!"
"Swapline."
"Fuck
you
, you cancer cunt! Fuck
you
!"
That was that The end. I vaulted over the bed and tried to turn off the TV, forgetting the remote control box on the night table. My fingers were too sweaty and I wound up pulling the plug by stomping on the wire. I walked around bumping into furniture, then I walked nose
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