stretch comes along, they usually cave in and call Sears, only to find they’re sold out. And then the heat breaks and they completely forget about air-conditioning for another year.
And so now, Fern tries to lie absolutely still waiting for the phone. When it rings, she husbands her limited psychic energies, cuts to the chase by almost immediately telling the caller she sees a reunion with a loved one. “Someone who has gone away. There’s a long journey involved. By sea.”
“Where do you see me?” the caller asks. “What sea?”
Fern thinks he might be an exception to the rule, a straight guy, older. He has an affected accent. She imagines him wearing an ascot, his hair in a comb-over.
“I can’t tell exactly,” she says, treading until she sees what direction this call will take. “Someplace you’ve always wanted to go.”
“Greece?”
“Yes.” Without even trying, she can feel the Greek sun beating down on ancient temples. No, too hot. She moves toward the cool water. “I see small islands with white houses. Silvery fish pulled from the sea in heavy nets.” Fern tries to fill in the blanks with whatever she can remember from Jeanne’s travel magazines and the few times she has eaten down in Greek Town. She decides against bringing flaming cheese into the picture.
“And this is going to be soon?”
“Within the year, yes,” Fern says, her voice vibrant with confidence. It is this tone, she is sure, that makes her so successful, brings so many repeat callers to ask the Star Scanners operator for Adriana.
“Are you Greek yourself?” the caller asks. She’s not crazy about dealing with a straight guy. Women and gay men are truly interested in the future. With straight guys, sometimes their interest slides off the future, onto Adriana. Fern listens carefully to his breathing, tries to determine if this one is whacking off. Sometimes there’s confusion along these lines. They think “900 number” and “woman” and put them together in a faulty way. She suspects this caller falls between the rows, neither interested in his Greek odyssey nor in something sexual with her. He is probably just lonely.
“Actually, I am,” she says. “Greek. I was born in Athens.” She adds, “In the shadow of the Acropolis,” her mind racing through high school geography, hoping the Acropolis wasn’t in Sparta, hoping his next question isn’t about her pantyhose.
“I’m calling Sears!” Nora says as she comes in through the back door.
“I already tried,” Fern says from the bed, where she is being very still, waiting for her next call. “They’re out of everything except one that’s mainly for factory use. A million BTUs or something. We’d have to get special wiring.”
“Man, it’s weird out there. Lights off everywhere. Hydrants popped all the way up Damen. At least we haven’t lost
our
electricity. Oh.” Nora stops as she sticks her head in Fern’s room. “Are you ...
working
?” She puts a tiny spin on the word.
“I can’t go to Harold’s. His power has been down for hours. He’s in a foul mood. His canapés are melting. So I need to do this here, if that’s going to be okay.”
“Why ask me?” Nora says, but just because she has to be a little bitchy about Fern’s job. Something—the heat probably—has knocked the usual fight out of her. She seems dreamy and preoccupied. She disappears for the next couple of calls, but then, while Fern is in the midst of consoling a client who has been dumped—dumped terribly, from the details—Nora drifts past the doorway, miming “boo-hoo-hoo,” fingertips tracing imaginary tears down her cheeks. She’s having her little bit of fun. Fern calls the Star Scanners number and logs out early.
“I didn’t mean for you to stop,” Nora says.
“I can’t do this in an environment of sarcasm. You totally don’t take my work seriously.”
“Well, there
is
a serious side to it. My sympathies do genuinely go out to your
And so now, Fern tries to lie absolutely still waiting for the phone. When it rings, she husbands her limited psychic energies, cuts to the chase by almost immediately telling the caller she sees a reunion with a loved one. “Someone who has gone away. There’s a long journey involved. By sea.”
“Where do you see me?” the caller asks. “What sea?”
Fern thinks he might be an exception to the rule, a straight guy, older. He has an affected accent. She imagines him wearing an ascot, his hair in a comb-over.
“I can’t tell exactly,” she says, treading until she sees what direction this call will take. “Someplace you’ve always wanted to go.”
“Greece?”
“Yes.” Without even trying, she can feel the Greek sun beating down on ancient temples. No, too hot. She moves toward the cool water. “I see small islands with white houses. Silvery fish pulled from the sea in heavy nets.” Fern tries to fill in the blanks with whatever she can remember from Jeanne’s travel magazines and the few times she has eaten down in Greek Town. She decides against bringing flaming cheese into the picture.
“And this is going to be soon?”
“Within the year, yes,” Fern says, her voice vibrant with confidence. It is this tone, she is sure, that makes her so successful, brings so many repeat callers to ask the Star Scanners operator for Adriana.
“Are you Greek yourself?” the caller asks. She’s not crazy about dealing with a straight guy. Women and gay men are truly interested in the future. With straight guys, sometimes their interest slides off the future, onto Adriana. Fern listens carefully to his breathing, tries to determine if this one is whacking off. Sometimes there’s confusion along these lines. They think “900 number” and “woman” and put them together in a faulty way. She suspects this caller falls between the rows, neither interested in his Greek odyssey nor in something sexual with her. He is probably just lonely.
“Actually, I am,” she says. “Greek. I was born in Athens.” She adds, “In the shadow of the Acropolis,” her mind racing through high school geography, hoping the Acropolis wasn’t in Sparta, hoping his next question isn’t about her pantyhose.
“I’m calling Sears!” Nora says as she comes in through the back door.
“I already tried,” Fern says from the bed, where she is being very still, waiting for her next call. “They’re out of everything except one that’s mainly for factory use. A million BTUs or something. We’d have to get special wiring.”
“Man, it’s weird out there. Lights off everywhere. Hydrants popped all the way up Damen. At least we haven’t lost
our
electricity. Oh.” Nora stops as she sticks her head in Fern’s room. “Are you ...
working
?” She puts a tiny spin on the word.
“I can’t go to Harold’s. His power has been down for hours. He’s in a foul mood. His canapés are melting. So I need to do this here, if that’s going to be okay.”
“Why ask me?” Nora says, but just because she has to be a little bitchy about Fern’s job. Something—the heat probably—has knocked the usual fight out of her. She seems dreamy and preoccupied. She disappears for the next couple of calls, but then, while Fern is in the midst of consoling a client who has been dumped—dumped terribly, from the details—Nora drifts past the doorway, miming “boo-hoo-hoo,” fingertips tracing imaginary tears down her cheeks. She’s having her little bit of fun. Fern calls the Star Scanners number and logs out early.
“I didn’t mean for you to stop,” Nora says.
“I can’t do this in an environment of sarcasm. You totally don’t take my work seriously.”
“Well, there
is
a serious side to it. My sympathies do genuinely go out to your
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