Page 25 of Dead Rockstar

I didn’t want to think about Mom right now.

I didn't care to think about either of my parents. I preferred to think about Phillip Deville, a vision in black, sitting on my couch, just waiting for me to come home. I banished thoughts of my parents and with a dreamy smile, resumed working.

In a wistful haze, I sent off a few emails to patrons with overdue books, warning them of late fees and fines, threw away a bunch of old magazines to make way for the newly donated pile, and helped an elderly customer use Google. When I returned to my desk, my phone was buzzing. When I saw “unknown caller,” my heart skipped a beat. I wasn't supposed to use my cell phone for calls at work, but just this once...

“Hello?”

“Fucking motherfucker.”

“Huh?”

“Stormy?”

“Phillip?”

“How in the Christ you people make phone calls by tapping a little screen I will never know.” His voice was loud in my ear; he was yelling. “I have been trying to call you for thirty minutes.” I heard a loud thump and another, “Fuck! Please don't be cracked, please don't be cracked-”

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I'm ok!” he boomed.

“Stop yelling, Phillip,” I said, stifling my laughter. “You don't have be so loud. Jesus, didn't you talk on the phone back in the dark ages?”

“Yeah, real phones, the kind where you press a button, and-” I heard a thunk and a stream of loud cuss words. “Goddamit. You there?”

“I'm here.” I giggled. “All thumbs today?”

“It's just a damn glass rectangle, there's no receiver. I keep dropping it-” There was a rustling, then he was back. “Every time I tried to call, the phone would shut off. I rebooted it like you showed me, then I'd try again, I'd dial, and it would happen again.”

“Perhaps I should get you a phone more suited to your generation,” I said, suppressing a guffaw. “Like a rotary phone, or better yet, one that dials in to an operator who can connect you to Aunt Bea?”

“Well, that's just mean,” he said coolly, then I heard another thunk, followed by a stream of expletives.

“What's going on?” I asked, still holding back laughter. “I mean, why did you call? Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said, still talking too loudly. “I just wanted to say hi. You know, check in. I guess I missed your voice. And I wanted to try out this cell phone. Now that I have, I kind of want to stomp it with my sixteens.”

“Don't stomp the phone, Phillip.” My heart soared. He wanted to hear my voice. I looked over at the lone library patron to make sure they weren't listening in. “Did you write the song?”

“I got the melody down. You're out of paper though. What kind of librarian doesn't have any paper?” he said. “I thought I'd use your computer but every time I turned it on it just turned off. It's broken, I guess?”

“No,” I said. That was weird. “It was working fine yesterday. And anyway, I do have paper. Second drawer in the nightstand by my bed. You can go grab some if you want.”

“I'll do it while I've got you on the phone.” I could hear him walking through the house. “Ok, first drawer of the nightstand...” I heard a drawer slide open.

“No, Phillip, the SECOND drawer! Don't open the first-”

It was too late. I heard muffled laughter and bit down hard on my lower lip. “Oh. Sorry.” A quiet laugh, then, “I found the paper.”

Fuck.

“We will never speak of what is in the top drawer, okay? If you mention it to me, I'll kill you all over again.”

“Yes, ma'am. Or should I say, 'yes boss', judging from what I-”

“Phillip!” I yelled, and the person on the computer looked up at me, alarmed. “Sorry,” I mouthed before speaking again to Phillip in a hot whisper. “Get out of my room.”

“No need to get bitchy,” he said. “We all gotta get off, don't we?”

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