Page 16 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

I stand, brush off my behind, then make a beeline for my fresh laundry. I grab an old Sonny and Cher shirt, my comfiest pair of jeans, and some clean underwear. Ducking into the bathroom, I pile my hair up into a blue velvet scrunchie and shower, dress, then pinch a few slices of bologna from the fridge before I’m pulling on my shoes at the door.

Stella has since abandoned her empty plate on the kitchen floor and is snoozing on the windowsill, under the hanging planter next to my bed. “Okay, pretty girl, try not to stay up too late. You know how cranky you get when you don’t get your twenty-two hours of sleep.”

She lifts her head to look at me, meows, then promptly falls back asleep.

“See you in the morning,” I say, and lock the door behind me.

* * *

The sun is settingas I walk toward the bus stop at the end of my block, its proximity a big part of the reason I snapped up an apartment in such a bad area. Well, besides the cheap rent. One thing’s for sure, my feet are a lot happier with my change in career. I don’t need to wear sky-high heels for hours on end, and with my bad ankle, not having to walk very far is a blessing.

One ten-minute bus ride and three whistles from strangers later, I push through the door of the unassuming building and head up the stairs. The sound of a dozen phones ringing and the quiet chatter of the other workers greet me the moment I step inside. A few people look my way when I come in, but it appears things are busy earlier than usual tonight, and I quickly spot Anita heading toward me, looking frantic.

“Cherry, great, you’re here early. Can you jump on? The lines have been lighting up for the past twenty minutes and we just don’t have the staff on yet.”

“Sure,” I say, stopping at the punch clock. “Let me just grab a glass of water and I’ll get?—”

“No time, I’ll grab you an entire jug of water. Just start taking calls, okay?” she rushes out the moment my time card is punched, ushering me over to my cubicle.

I groan internally but nod anyway, then sit down and pick up the phone, clicking on the first blinking red light I see. There’s a ding through the line, then an automated voice says, “Horny college girls are waiting to speak to you now. They’re excited to hear from you. So excited that we’re going to give you three free minutes on this call. Enter your credit card information now or at any time during this message.”

So this guy’s into college girls, then. Fairly simple request for a first call of the night. After all, working as a phone sex operator? These guys can get off on some weird shit. I hear numbers quickly being punched in on the line. Seems like this one is eager to get things started.

When I hear the ding again, that’s my cue. “Hi, this is Cherry, who do I have the pleasure of speaking with tonight?”

There’s a hint of static and the line connects. “Hello?”

I pitch my voice just a touch higher to sound younger. “Hey baby, what’s your name?”

A deep breath. “You can just call me Baby, I guess.”

His voice is deep. Rough, with a hint of raspiness that digs its way into your bones and grips you tight. This should be fun. Besides, I don’t need his real name. “Baby, I’m so glad you called.”

There’s muffled laughter through the line and I frown. This better not be a prank call from some horny teenager who stole his dad’s credit card.

“Baby?” I ask when he doesn’t reply.

“I . . . sorry,” he says, a smile evident in his tone. “I just—this is stupid, I shouldn’t have called.”

I roll my eyes. “Then why did you?”

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Baby, you called me.”

“But I didn’t have to,” he argues. “I could easily have gone out and taken whichever girl I wanted home with me. Given her the time of her life then sent her packing in the morning.”

Someone thinks highly of himself.I roll my finger through the phone cord. “Then why didn’t you?”

There’s a long stretch of silence. I double check that we’re still connected, and a thought occurs to me.

“Maybe you don’t want that,” I say slowly. “Maybe you want more but want the safety of the phone line between us.”

Another pause. “Maybe.”

“I need that too sometimes. Connection,” I say, “and not just a physical one. When was the last time you felt a connection with a woman?”

“A long time ago,” he admits, his voice softer. “And today . . . today is a hard day.”

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