Back Talk (10 page)

“Yeah, her name is Melissa. Liz and Melissa did end up talking and now they’re out on a date.”

“Really?”

“Is that wicked or what? So I offered to bear-sit. I wanted them to have some quality time.”

“How come Liz didn’t tell me?” Hilton was kind of hurt at being left out of the loop.

“Uh, because you were gone,” Jessie ventured.

“Oh, yeah.”

Shannon whined.

“Okay, I guess you might be hungry. You want an egg sandwich?”

Shannon barked.

“Then come back and show me your new outfits. You look hot.”

Hilton smiled. “Sure.”

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Hilton fixed Shannon an egg sandwich and then went back to the living room to cut tags and organize her purchases. Anne had taken her to this woman’s store where they found the most amazing things. “I mean, look at this,” Hilton said, holding up a coffee-colored short suede jacket with braided trim. She had a ruffled paisley blouse of deep reds and browns to wear under it and a pair of dark brown hipster polyester pants.

“Wow, that is beautiful. This is not your regular department store stuff.” Jessie put the blouse on over her T-shirt. “I’m thinking lots of cash.”

“But it’s quality. I don’t know, it’s some kind of rich lady store where they have all this designer stuff and the saleswoman helps you pick it out and you look great when she’s done with you. Anne shops there.”

“Nice suit,” Jessie said, holding it up. It was a black leather suit with a white silk collared shirt. The pants were boot-cut and had sterling silver rivets. “It looks like something Johnny Cash would wear. Go try it on.”

They spent the rest of the evening with the fashion show and then watched the remainder of the
Brother Bear
video.

“Kids’ videos rock sometimes,” Jessie said. She grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it in her mouth.

“Why’s that?” Hilton asked.

“It’s that feel-good stuff.”

Hilton scratched Shannon’s ears. “But there’s no sex.”

Jessie laughed. “Not everything I do has sex in it.”

Hilton scoffed. “Almost everything you do. Come on, Jessie, getting laid makes your world go around.”

“Well, it does play an important role,” Jessie conceded.

Hilton rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’m calling it a night. Are you going to wait up?”

“Of course, I want to get all the details. I’m going to put Amelia Bearhart to bed and then watch the episodes of
the L word
that I taped. As a small bear-child she really shouldn’t be watching smut.”

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Hilton gave her an I-told-you-so look and went off to bed with Shannon. It was a full moon, she noticed as the two of them made their way across the lawn. The lawn was slowly turning a brownish yellow and the dogwood trees were still littering the flower beds with their dark burgundy leaves. The fall had been a pretty one, full of sunshine and cool mornings. When the drier weather came it would do wonders for her hair and she’d be able to get away with brushing it once in the morning and once before bed.

Over the back fence she could see little hanging pumpkin lights on her neighbor’s veranda. They were always decorating for the holidays. It would be Halloween in two weeks and she was kind of glad Nat wasn’t around because the big Halloween party wouldn’t be taking place this year. Hilton had already declined the Queer Nation people’s request to host the party. She, Jessie and Liz had tentatively made plans to hang out together and watch cheesy black-and-white horror films and carve pumpkins. Hilton was kind of hoping she could convince Anne to come over, if she wasn’t busy.

She opened the door to the cottage and Shannon jumped on the bed, letting out a heavy sigh. “I know, girl. I’m pretty beat myself.”

Hilton disrobed and carefully hung up her new clothes. Anne had mentioned something about dry cleaning. She eyed her new clothes with suspicion. They were starting to resemble a commitment.

On Monday morning, Veronica fawned over her, admiring Hilton’s new look. She had brought her a second cup of coffee and wanted to know what she was doing for lunch. The control room always seemed a little crowded when Veronica was in there fussing around. Hilton could tell Dave was as uncomfortable as she was.

He kept moving his elbows in a funny way like he needed more room.

“I’ve got to take Shannon to the vet for her annual shots.”

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Shannon’s ears perked up a bit.

“Some other time then,” Veronica said as she floated off.

Anne had apparently seen the whole thing. “Well, well, well, aren’t we suddenly popular.” She stood in the doorway of the control room.

“A little too popular,” Hilton grumbled. She had spent more than her usual amount of time getting ready because now she had to make choices. She had finally decided on a turquoise, big, collared blouse and black hipster trousers. She felt kind of funny getting dressed up but this was what businesswomen did, and she was a grownup now.

“I told you blue looked good on you,” Anne said, coming in the room and straightening out the back of Hilton’s collar.

“And you should have mentioned La Femme Nikita would be after me if I wore it.”

“It slipped my mind.”

“Dude, you really look hot,” Dave chimed in.

“Thanks,” Hilton said, pointedly turning to her computer and checking out the Web site.

“Did you notice the footwear?” Anne said.

“Expensive,” Dave said, indicating Hilton’s leather boots.

“Does she have new socks too?”

“As a matter of fact, she does. Say bye-bye to cheap white gym socks.”

“Off white,” Hilton corrected.

“We do have to work on your laundry skills. It’s called bleach.”

“I’m the sniff-and-toss girl, remember? But enough about me,”

Hilton said.

Lillian came in the office wearing a pink brocade skirt and jacket outfit with a dazzling white hat that was the size of a turkey platter.

“Good morning, Lillian,” Anne said.

“Who’s the new girl? I was just getting used to GI Jane and now you’ve gone and changed everything.”

“No, Lillian, it’s still Hilton,” Anne said cheerfully.

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Lillian leaned down and peered at her. “Good God, you’re right. You almost look like a girl.”

Lillian’s faded blue eyes looked like the size of tea saucers behind her Coke bottle lenses. She backed away and went to her desk on the opposite side of the control room, obviously satisfied that Hilton was still Hilton.

Veronica brought Hilton another cup of coffee.

“Thank you, Veronica, but I really can’t. I don’t have anything in my stomach and it’s starting to hurt.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I’ll go and get you a Smoothie at the shop downstairs.” Shoving the coffee at Anne, she darted off before Hilton had a chance to stop her.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Anne said, taking a sip.

“She never brings me coffee,” Dave whined.

Hilton laughed. “Next time she comes by I’ll mention it.”

Lillian sat at her desk and then read the day’s agenda, or attempted to as she adjusted and readjusted her glasses. “Great guns! We’re starting the day off with a glaring typo,” she shouted.

“Excuse me?” Anne said. She was staring over Hilton’s shoulder at the Web site.

“It says here we’re going to talk about God’s place in our society. You mean dogs, right? Like leash laws and picking up dog crap on the city streets. Did I ever tell you the time when my sister and I went to Paris with a bunch of old biddies from her Methodist church? I never met a more boring, uptight, nervous group of Ex-Laxers in my whole life. I swore that if I saw one more crochet hook I’d scream. What! The afghan can’t wait? Who knits her way across Europe? Anyway, I saw the Eiffel Tower—looks like an overblown Erector set—but the most amazing thing was the motorcycle with a big tank on the back. They vacuumed up the dog poop. Those French people—ingenious bunch. Well, and we’ve always known how squeamish they are—wouldn’t want a little doo-doo on their freshly perfumed hands.”

Hilton was staring at Lillian in awe. Anne was obviously used to these tangential diatribes because she didn’t appear to be the least bit bothered by it.

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“I’m thinking we should get Lillian her own show. We wouldn’t even need callers. We could do the whole show by word association. It would rock,” Dave said, running his fingers though his messy brown hair.

Anne scowled at him. “Where’s your loyalty?”

“It’s radio, we’re always looking for the next best thing. Man, I got to move up if I’m going to support the Gucci habit my new girl has.”

Anne glared at him and then said, “No, Lillian, it’s about God, G-O-D. You know how God is slowly being removed from the schools, from holidays, from court buildings and finally the Pledge of Allegiance. We can’t teach the Declaration of Independence because it mentions God too many times. Come on, if I was God, I’d be pissed off. I just don’t get it.”

Lillian frowned. “Next thing you know you’ll be getting the crochet needles out just like those old biddy Methodists my sister is so fond of.”

“Just take calls from people who want to talk about God and politics.”

“Next you’ll be having prayer services before the show and we’ll all be going on retreat together,” Lillian muttered.

Anne rolled her eyes and left for her own booth. The intro music started. Today, Dave chose an old show tune by Frank Sinatra. Anne smiled as Sinatra belted out the last line of, “My Way.”

Anne laughed. She switched on the mike. “How appropriate.”

Dave gave her the thumbs-up. He switched on station identification KCOM-FM and the promo part of Anne’s show. Hilton zoomed in on Anne’s face and did some last-minute adjustments.

Lillian put her headphones on and Veronica peeked in to ensure all was well. Hilton loved this moment. It was showtime.

Anne studied her notes and then started her monologue.

“Today, we’re going to begin the show with a hypothetical situation. Now, say you design, implement and fund your very own corporation. You get it up and running, put people in charge—make everything all fine and nice. You own one hundred percent of the 73

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stock. It’s all going so well until one day something starts to change. It’s undermining. Say it starts in the mailroom with the clerks. They start reinterpreting the incoming mail. They start translating your words into their own language—a language you don’t speak. They tell you it’s just a form of corporate shorthand, a better way to communicate with the rest of the group. You, as head honcho, get a little nervous, feel a little unease in your gut, but the workers and middle management seem to be running smoothly.

You take a trip and you come back to find upper management has changed the credo. There’s a hostile takeover. They set you up and bam! You’re out the door of your corporation. The boxes are packed, your last check is cut and you’re history. You’re so shocked and dismayed that you forget to protest. It’s not until later that it all becomes apparent what they’ve done. They’ve rewritten, rein-vented and reconstituted you, and then to add insult to injury they slowly begin to remove you from society. That’s what really sucks.

Now, you’re expendable. Every holiday, every word, every mention of you is to be eradicated as if you never existed. What would you do? How would you feel? Now, you might be thinking this is some big guy that has it all and he just got the shaft. So who cares?

And you’d be correct. But what if the big corporate executive is God? I’m thinking we all better watch out because if the one in charge decides to exact a little retribution we’re in big trouble.”

Hilton watched the computer monitor. Anne was totally brilliant. At the moment she looked like a television evangelist getting really serious just before he asks for your wallet. She looked stunning in her dark green gabardine tailored suit with a black silk shirt. The combination of green and black set off her green eyes and seemed to accent her dark curls. Her hair was cut just above her chin and hung loosely around her face. Hilton swore she must get her hair trimmed every other week because it always looked perfect, unlike her own snarled mess. It was drizzling outside and her hair was a disaster. She tied it up in disgust. She’d come up with various methods for twisting it around and sort of tucking it 74

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back into itself. If she didn’t move around a lot it would stay that way for a while.

Break came and Anne clicked on her mike. “How was that?”

“Beautiful, for a minute there I thought you’d morphed into Dr. Jerry Falwell. It kind of scared me,” Hilton said. “Come take a look at it.”

“I have better hair than he does,” she said, taking her hand and fluffing up her curls.

Lillian was digging around in her beige purse for her cigarettes.

Hilton had watched this scene for several days in a row, wondering what Lillian could possibly be hauling around in a purse that was the size of a suitcase and why she always lost her cigarettes in its enormous void. When Anne entered the room Lillian said,

“There’s a bunch of kook balls on the line that want to talk this and that.”

“Lillian, could you be a little more specific?” Anne said as she came into the control room.

“Kooks about you-know-who,” Lillian said, pointing upward.

“About G-O-D?”

“Yes, I’ll be surprised if my sister doesn’t pop in with a brief commentary.”

“Maybe we should call her,” Anne said. She sat on the corner of Hilton’s desk and eyed the video stream coming in on the computer monitor. Hilton hit playback so Anne could see the last segment. She felt her presence acutely and for half a second she wondered if Jessie was right. Did she have a thing for her boss? She instantly dismissed it. It was an atypical response to an atypical situation. And it was all typical nonsense. She liked Anne. She thought she was brilliant and funny, but lust and infatuation were just figments of Jessie’s overactive imagination.