On the Line

“Good evening, sir--"
Not her. Call again.
“Hello-”
Nope. Again.
“Hi, how are you?”
Still not her.
I called twelve times before the operator recognized my voice. “Sir, is there something I can help you with?”
“Maybe...I'm looking for someone. I spoke with her Tuesday night, her name was Li- Trixie, her name was Trixie. Can you connect me to her?”
She sighed, annoyance in her tone. “This is strictly prohibited, sir, I can't-”
“I'll keep calling, I'm not giving up.”
She clicked her tongue, sighing deeply. “Trixie's line is currently taken. You'll have to-”
“Put me on hold. I'll wait.”
“Fine,” she replied curtly. “But your time starts when you go on hold, and you could wait for quite awhile.”
“I don't care,” I stated. “I've got all night.”
“Your time starts now,” she sighed, annoyed. The line was silent for a moment, but soon the cliché porno music came through the speakers again.
I was at home tonight, lounged on my couch with the game from earlier today on the television. If I got lucky, I'd be her next, and last, customer of the night. I picked up the guitar next to me and stared down at the phone on the table, daring her to pick up her hold line. It didn't take me long to learn the porno musics chords and I played along until the line went silent. My stomach dropped to my feet and I lunged for the phone, pulling it to my ear.
“Good evening, how may I be of assistance tonight?”
“Hey, Lilly Pad,” I crooned, smiling as she gasped.
“Horany Toad...I didn't think you'd call.”
“Yeah? I promised.”
“Boys promise a lot of things,” she muttered, her mouth full.
“Yeah, they do, but men come through on their promises. Whatcha munching on?”
She laughed. “Do you have super sonic hearing?! Twizzlers, I always eat Twizzlers when I study.”
“Watcha studying?”
“Ugh, I have to deliver a presentation documenting the importance in...some boring author, I forgot his name. He's important, I guess, but frankly, I just don't care. I've been at it for hours. How was your day?”
I plucked a few strings on my guitar and hummed under my breath. “It was okay. We have some time off since our tour just ended, but I haven't gotten back into the swing of real life.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
I plucked some more strings, trying to figure out a way to lay it out for her. “Alright, you know when you go on vacation, and when you come back home, you have to go back to reality...Work, school, pay the bills? It's opposite for me. I don't know what to do with myself, I don't have an itinerary. I have nothing to do, and I can't find anything to do.”
She laughed, a girlish giggle. “Oh, okay. So, what did you do?”
“I slept until noon, ate cereal, watched television, took a nap, ate some more cereal, watched some more television. And then it was time to call you,” I added, surprised to feel myself blushing.
“You didn't have to call me, don't feel obligated or...whatever.”
“I don't feel obligated,” I said. “I wanted to call. I like talking to you.”
“I did enjoy our chat the other night,” she muttered, shyly.
“I did, too,” I agreed. “Honestly, I thought about you yesterday. A few different times.”
“Really?” she asked. She sounded surprised. “That's...wow. I'll admit, I thought of you, too, and not because the girl who sat next to me in class had your face on her notebook.”
I laughed, embarrassed. “Ya know, it's not fair that you know what I look like, and all I know is your real name.”
“I'm sorry, but my face isn't on the front page of every gossip magazine,” she giggled.
“I wish mine wasn't! What do you look like?” I asked, aching to know anything about her.
“This is usually when I have to lie about how big my boobs are,” she laughed.
“I don't care how big your boobs are...Or aren't. I don't even care if you have boobs.”
“That's not true,” she scolded, laughing.
“Yeah,” I admitted, laughing. “Okay, I care a little bit if you have boobs, but they're not super important.”
“A little important?”
“Kind of. Like...They're important, but they're not...Why are you doing this?!” I yelled, my face red, feeling like I got caught with my hand down my pants.
She absolutely roared on the other line, a genuine laugh ringing from her lungs. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll quit, I promise.”
“You're the worst,” I insisted, waiting for her giggles to die out. “What do you look like?”
“I think I'll let that be a secret for awhile...” she muttered. “Really see what you're made of.”
I groaned, but I respected it. “Fine. How was your last call? Am I allowed to ask you that?”
She sighed. “It was the same as usual...I fed him the same bullshit as I do every other customer and then...”
“Fireworks?” I cut in, laughing.
She gasped. “That's...so gross, Niall, oh my God!”
“Gross?!” I wondered aloud. “That's not gross! That's the best part!”
She made a sort of sucking noise, pulling air through her teeth, hesitating. “Okay, I'll give you that. In real life, yeah, it's the best part...But here? It's a relief. That means I can end the call and wash my hands of that mess.”
“You hate this job, don't you?” I asked, feeling a little sorry for her.
“Sort of? I mean, it pays my bills, and then some. If I don't want to work, I don't turn the phone on. I can take a month off if I wanted to, I'm only paid for the time I put in.”
I didn't say anything and we fell into a comfortable silence. I'd occasionally hear her reach into the bag to pull out another Twizzler, but for the most part, all the noise came from the guitar in my hands and the commentary from the sports anchor on the tv. It was quiet, peaceful. It almost felt...normal. This was the sort of thing real people my age did at night. Relaxed, studied, wound down from a busy day with quiet conversation and a cherry flavored gummy snack.
“Whatcha playing?” she whispered.
I shrugged, even though she couldn't see me. “I dunno...Just random strings.”
“It's pretty,” she insisted. “I always wanted to play guitar.”
“Do you play anything?”
“Um..Well, I have a very nice set of pots and pans. Maybe I could play something for you now.”
I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Please do, I'd love to hear it.”
“I'm serious. I'll do it,” she stated, sternly, as if daring me.
“I'm serious, too! Play me a song on your pots and pans!”
She was silent for a minute. “I can't, it's late...My neighbors would kill me.”
I laughed quietly. “It's okay, I understand...You're scared, it's cool.”
She gasped, offended. “I am not scared!”
“Then do it.”
“Fine. I will. I am not scared.”
I could hear her bare feet stomping across the floor as she walked into her kitchen, on a mission to prove herself. She put me on speakerphone, yelling as she continued to talk to me over the clangs and bangs of the pots and pans she pulled from the cabinets. I waited a good ten minutes for her to get set up, instructing that a wooden spoon would give her the best sound quality over a metal spoon.
“Alright...Are you ready?” she yelled across the room.
“I am. Gimme whatcha got, Lilly Pad.”
I heard her take a deep breath and count to three before a noise like no other charged through the speaker, like a full blown high school marching band. I nearly threw the phone down onto the table to get away from it. She pull out all the stops, banging against her kitchen appliances like a heavy metal drummer in their big solo. She continued for a good three minutes, long after my eardrums were begging for a break, and the silence cut through the air like a freshly sharpened knife.
She was breathing heavy when she picked up the phone and, if I knew what she looked like, I could have imagined a smile as big as the sky across her face. “What do you think?”
I raised my hands up, at a loss for words. “Wow. Just wow.”
She laughed loudly before she spoke again. “Did I blow you away?”
“You were...incredible,” I lied, laughing. “Just incredible. I'm impressed! Who knew pots and pans could make such...music.”
“I give the neighbors about five minutes to break down my door and burn me at the stake.”
“I'll be there to roast marshmallows,” I laughed.
She sighed. “Now I have to put all these pans back up. I think I'll just lay in the kitchen floor for a little while longer.”
“Have you swept that floor recently?” I asked, laughing.
“No. And there's a Cheeto under my fridge,” she mumbled, tired.
“Eat it,” I dared. “Do it.”
“No way in hell, Horan. You already talked me into banging pots and pans, I'm not eating a Cheeto off the floor. I don't even like Cheetos...How the hell did a Cheeto get in here?”
“Maybe it's not a Cheeto!” I yelled. “Maybe it's a...very bumpy carrot. Or...a peanut with a very orange mold.”
“Gross!” she squealed, giggling. “After that, I hope it's a Cheeto.”
“I kind of like Cheetos,” I muttered.
“Then you come here and eat it. Come across the city and eat the Cheeto under my fridge.”
“Or,” I replied, “I could put on some real pants, and maybe shower, go to the store, buy a bag of Cheetos, and then I could come over and not eat the Cheeto under your fridge. We can throw that one away.”
“Sounds good to me,” she giggled.
“Give me your address, and I'll do it, I swear.” Though I was kidding, a small part of me wanted her address. I wanted to know her in real life, not just a voice over the telephone.
She laughed. “I've heard that one before. Creepy dudes thinking they can charm their way into real sex with me. It's gross, really. And a litte freaky.”
I relaxed into the couch, feeling a little bad for even joking about it. Of course guys would say things like that to her. They call to get their rocks off, but it's still not quite the same without human contact. “What's the weirdest phone call you've had?”
She thought for a minute before clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Alright, I've narrowed it down...Guys usually want to be called all kinds of weird names, Daddy being the most popular. But, just a few weeks ago, this guy calls and asks if he can call me by his wifes name.”
“His wifes name?!” I interjected, amused. “Why couldn't he just have real sex with his actual wife?!”
“I'm getting to that part!” she scolded, so I shut my mouth. “Anyway, after he...um...well...”
“Fireworks,” I cut in, laughing.
She sighed. “Gross. Yeah, after the fireworks, he starts crying. Like, seriously crying, and he tells me that he buried his wife that afternoon. She died from complications of some surgery, and he buried her, came home from the funeral, and called the hotline.”
We were both quiet for a moment, but I was the first to break the silence.
“That is sad...And really fucked up.”
She giggled. “Yeah, it is...It's mostly fucked up.”
To my amazement, and embarrassment, my pants tightened at the sound of her girly voice saying such an ugly word. I cleared my throat and put pressure on the tent growing in my pants, pushing it away.
“Ladies shouldn't speak that way,” I teased.
She snorted back a laugh. “I'm no lady. I'm a woman, but I'm no lady.”
“You're one of the rare few. Those are always the best ones! They're fun, they have no limits.”
She giggled, but didn't say anything in return for awhile. She groaned as she sat up a few moments later, grumbling about how cold and uncomfortable her kitchen floor was. I plucked away at the guitar as she put away her pots and pans. She didn't speak until she was done.
“What are you doing?”
“Lounging on the couch, game highlights on the telly. And you?”
“Dragging my feet down the hall to bed, even though I'd really like to take a bubble bath.”
“Mmm,” I hummed. “That sounds nice.”
“No lights, just a candle or two.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And no sound, no music. Just silence.”
She sighed. “That sounds so nice. Wish I could.”
“Why can't you?”
“Because I'm working,” she laughed.
I winced. “I hope you don't consider me work. I'm not trying to get anything out of you, I just like talking to you. I thought this would be better than taking phone calls from multiple men.”
“I don't consider you work, Niall, but...This can't go on forever. You've got concerts to sing at and fans to sign autographs for. You won't be calling me every night.”
“Maybe not every night,” I protested, “And the band is taking a little break, anyway! A couple weddings, Zayn’s having a baby…But I'd like to talk to you sometimes. Maybe, if you want, you could give me your real number sometime. We could...I don't know...get dinner. Besides, the band is taking a little break.”
“Like real friends?” she asked, whispering.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Or, like, more than friends,” I added.
“Are you asking me on a date?” she asked.
“No,” I muttered, blushing. “Well, maybe. I don't know. Not right now, at least.”
She never replied, the line was silent, but I interrupted the peace. “Would you go? If I asked you, would you go?”
“I hardly know you, Niall.”
“I know,” I agreed. “I don't know you, either, and that's why I'm not asking you on a date. I just want to know if you'd go.”
“Huh?” she laughed. “Okay, you're not asking me on a date, but you want to know if I'll go on a date with you?”
“I mean, like, judging by what you know of me, do you think you'd be interested? Later, of course.”
“Niall, I-”
“I'd go on a date with you,” I interrupted. “I don't know you well, but I'd go with you.”
“Why?” she asked, frustrated.
“Because what I do know, I like.”
“What do you think you know?”
“It's not what I think I know!” I argued. “It's what I do know!”
“Which is?”
“You're spontaneous,” I started. “And you're really funny. You have a great laugh, and you're smart. You're independent and you have a big personality. I'd go on a date with you, no hesitation. You're a fun girl, no doubt about that. Any guy would go on a date with you.”
“Take a bath with me,” was her reply.
“What?” I asked, a little lost.
“Take a bath with me. Turn off the telly, put the guitar away. No lights, a couple of candles, and bubbles. Strip down, get in the tub, and take a bath with me.”
“I already took a shower,” I protested, but she interrupted.
“Look, I really want to take a bubble bath with a handsome man. Take a bath with me.”
“Can I bring a beer?”
“I'm bringing wine.”
I smiled, powering off the television. “Okay, give me ten minutes.”
She changed the subject quickly as she retrieved a bottle of wine from the fridge, squealing as the cork flew to the ceiling when she broke the seal.
“I have a question.”
“I might have an answer,” she replied.
I chose my words carefully as I heard the water begin to fill up her tub. “Is this a romantic bath?”
“Umm...”
“You said you wanted to take a bath with a handsome man. I don't regularly call up a pretty girl for a bath unless I'm looking for some sort of romance. Do you?”
“No,” she mumbled.
“Is this a romantic bath?”
“I hadn't thought about it,” she answered truthfully.
“How long do you plan on sitting in your bubble bath, in the dark? Until the water runs cold?”
“Until bed time, I suppose,” she answered.
“And after that?”
“I...um...”
“You're a single girl who's job is getting men off. Isn't that frustrating? They get their rocks off, and you get nothing?”
“Um...”
“Take a romantic bath with me,” I pleaded. “I'll tell you whatever you want to hear. Let the roles reverse for one night.”
“I don't know...”
“C'mon, Lilly. Shouldn't you just relax for once?”
She sighed. “I'm totally immune to listening to guys jack off on the phone, but I'm not comfortable letting you hear me get off-”
“Then you don't have to! Or, you can do it later, after we hang up. But it's not fair that your job is a lot of give, and no take.”
She sighed, silent for a moment. “Can we do it my way?”
“And what is your way?”
“I just want to close my eyes and pretend my back is resting on your chest and lay in the tub and talk to you about...nothing, everything. And I'll turn on the massaging thing on the back of the tub and pretend its your fingers rubbing my shoulders. Just relax and lay in the tub, with you. Nothing to dirty up my water, just you and me, taking a romantic bath after a long day.”
“Will you think about it later? You said you don't have classes on Friday, you don't have to wake up early, you could be up all night thinking about it, it wouldn't hurt...”
She giggled. “Maybe, maybe not. You'll never know.”
“We can do it your way,” I promised. “Maybe someday we can do it my way.”
“Is your tub ready?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, turning off the water. “Just gotta get the lights.”
“Okay, I'm gonna put the phone down and strip down. Be right ba-”
“What are you wearing?”
“Huh?”
“What are you wearing?” I pressed. “I may not know what you look like, but I can imagine, at least. What are you wearing?”
“I-”
“Nothing kinky,” I promised. “I'd just like to imagine what you're stripping off. Tell me as you lose layers.”
“Two can play this game, Horany Toad. You tell me, too,” she giggled.
“Alright, I'll go first. I'm now stripped of a plain white t-shirt.”
The line muffled as she pulled her clothes off. “I'm now stripped of a grey zip-up hoodie.”
“I took my socks off. They're white.”
“I also took my socks off. They were pink.”
I pulled the drawstring of my sweats and they loosened around my waist. I let them fall. “And my grey sweats are on the floor.”
The line muffled again before she spoke. “My black leggings have been peeled off and thrown aside.”
“What do you have left?” I questioned.
“Just my bra.”
“What happened to your underwear?” I laughed.
“I wasn't wearing any,” she said, simply.
Again, my boxers tightened and I hissed it away. “Alright, my white boxers are gone. I'm in my birthday suit.”
“And my bra is gone. I'm also in my birthday suit.”
“What color was your bra?” I asked.
“Green,” she replied. “Bright Ireland green,” she explained.
I smiled. “I thought we agreed on nothing kinky?”
“You asked!” she laughed.
I rolled my eyes. “Alright, my fragrant Lilly, hop in and relax into my chest. Let me rub the stress away.”
After twenty minutes of silence, she spoke again. “I think I could fall asleep in here.”
“I think I could, too. Peaceful.”
I relaxed in the tub until long after the water had turned cold and my beer had turned warm, talking to Lilly about nothing, just like she asked. Even though we were across the city from one another, and perfect strangers, I could swear that I could feel her when I closed my eyes.
As the time dipped closer and closer to four, we pulled our wrinkled toes and fingers from the bathtubs and drained the water, slipping back into pajamas. “Come to bed with me,” she requested, to which I agreed.
I slumped against my pillows and closed my eyes, wanting to sleep, but never wanting this phone call to end. The clock struck four and I cleared my throat. “Shifts' over, Lily Pad.”
“Mmhmm,” she hummed, nearly asleep. “I hate hanging up with you.”
“I do, too.”
She didn't reply, and after a few seconds, I spoke again.
“Can I have your real number? So we can talk whenever we want.”
I thought she had fallen asleep and I almost hung up, but she spoke softly. “Find me one more time. If you find me, I'll give you my real number.”
“Tomorrow night?” I asked.
“Tomorrow,” she muttered, dazed.
“I'll find you,” I promised.
I listened to the sound of her breathing for a few minutes before waking her. “Lily...Lily Pad..”
“Hmm?”
“You can go to sleep now, hang up the phone.”
“Okay,” she whispered, but the line didn't disconnect. I waited another few minutes.
“Lily? I'm gonna hang up, okay? I'll find you tomorrow night.”
“Niall?”
“Yeah?”
“I'd go on a date with you.”
I smiled, closing my eyes. “Goodnight, Lily Pad.”