Confessions of a Call Center Gal: a novel (14 page)

Before I can respond, he scoops up a hefty portion of fried rice, plops it onto a plate and sets it on my desk.

“Thanks, Truong,” I say gratefully and dive right in.

Mmmmm
it pops with flavor and oozes with oomph.

I scarf it down in minutes.

Sighing contentedly, I lean back and my eyes fall on the plate of sushi rolls. I was planning on saving them for later, but the caterpillar rolls beckon me to eat them
now
.

My mind conjures up a bizarre image of the sushi rolls.

They morph into caterpillars, wriggle their bodies and sing in chorus, “Eat me! Eat me! Eat me!” I cave in and plunk a roll in my mouth.

“Truong, can I ask you a personal question?” I ask in between chewing.

“Of course,” he tweets.
 

I hesitate, “Have you ever slept with an uncircumcised man?”

“Why of course,” he says blatantly. “I’m not circumcised myself, you know. I fancy the turtleneck look. Or, as I like to call it—hot dog with a bun.” He shrugs and continues, “I’ve never understood the weird practice of decapitating one’s penis.”

I stifle a laugh. “So have you, or have you not?”

“Yes.” He shoots me a devilish smirk. “And for your info my dear Maddy, uncut cocks are the best.” Then he winks and adds, “There’s more to
chew
on.”

I gag and almost throw up my roll.

 
Sparing no details, he continues frenetically, “Yeah, I was with this uncut guy once and he kept yelling ‘
Bite it! Gnaw it! Chomp it!’
He liked it real rough you know, and with plenty of teeth.”

Ugh. I’m feeling slightly nauseous. Scrambling to my feet, I race to the restroom and regurgitate my sushi roll.

God help me. As I’m bent over the accursed toilet, it flushes!

My entire face is drenched in toilet water.

I really want this day to end.

After my last call for the day, Mika magically materializes at my cubicle. I hope this means he’s snapped out of his funk.

“Hey,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

All my senses are on full alert. “Hey.”

After a pause, he says, “Sorry I’ve been kind of distant lately...”

“You have?” I wrinkle my brows. “Haven’t noticed.”

A flicker of a smile ignites across his lips, and I realize just how much I’ve missed him.

“I…” he struggles for the words, “I just needed some time to myself. To clear my head, figure things out...about
Inge
.”

“Of course.”

“So, I know you usually tutor me on the weekends, but I was wondering if you could tutor me today instead.”

I hoist my bag over my shoulder. “Like right now?” I ask and he nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes, and we start for the elevator. “Let’s hit the library.”

I smile inwardly. I finally find a man I like and all he wants to do is take me to the library.

Ah,
c’est
la vie
.

I try to focus. I really do. But every time I look at Mika, a vivid image of an uncut penis pops into my head. Out of sheer curiosity, I googled an image of an uncircumcised penis.

That image had me reverberating in shock, and I don’t believe I’ve recovered since. It has been irrevocably burned into my retina, and it takes everything in me to block out that disturbing image—the image of a wrinkled anteater ready to suck up its lunch. Eeeps!!!

We’re in the county library, seated on squashy, vinyl covered chairs with worn out padding. And strange as it may seem, our ‘tutoring’ sessions don’t involve much tutoring. More often than not, Mika reads a book and I help edit his papers. I’m convinced that with enough reading, his writing will surely improve.

As I’m correcting one of Mika’s ESL assignments, he plunks his book down with a thud. I jerk my head up.

“I’m done!” he says, exceedingly pleased with himself.

“Good!” I say robustly. “I can start you off on the next one.”

His face glows with anticipation. “What’s it called?”

“The
Pillars of the Earth
. It’s historical fiction at its finest, a towering medieval tale, a ripping thriller, a—”

He cuts in, “Is it action packed?”

“Yes,” I smile reassuringly, “it is.”

“Okay.” He flashes a quick grin. “I’ll read it.”
   

We head for the shelves to locate the book and I tentatively broach the subject, “So…how are things with Ingeborg?”

“We sort of ended things,” he says quietly.

“I’m sorry…”

After a pause, he adds, “It was mutual.”

“Oh.” My eyes linger on him, but his inscrutable expression gives nothing away.

There is a lull in our conversation as we peruse the aisles, tracking the book by the author’s last name: ‘F’, for Follett. First name Ken.
Booya Kasha.
I find it first.

I pluck the book from the shelf and hand it to him. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’ve been better.”

Next, we browse the mags. Mika hovers indecisively over the Cars and Trucks section while I flip through the latest issue of
Cosmo
. He peers over my shoulder. “What are you reading?”

“Some article about soul mates,” I say distractedly.

“You believe in soul mates?” he asks, and his question takes me by surprise.
 

“I do…” I consider. “I think a soul mate can be a friend, a lover, a child. Someone that you connect with, someone that
gets
you, and sometimes even aggravate you.”

He searches my eyes. “Do you have a soul mate?”

“My dad,” I say simply and return the mag to the shelf.

His expression grows thoughtful. After an unreadable minute, he says, “Ingeborg and I had a long talk.”

I shoot him a sidelong glance.

“I’m fond of her and I care
for her, but I think we both realize that we’re better off as
friends.” He presses his lips together as if to stop himself from saying more.

I’m still lamenting the loss of the golden
ex
-couple when Mika catches me off guard. “So, how are things with you and Kars?”

“Not so good,” I say quietly. “We’re not really talking.”

“I heard about her and Bob.”

“Yeah, well who hasn’t?” I frown. “He’s
married
you know, and she’ll just get her heart broken. Plus, dating someone you work with is just a
bad
idea.”

He gives me a peculiar look. “And why is that a bad idea?”

“Because it is like dumping on your own doorstep,” I say like it’s a given.

His eyes narrow to slits. “I see...”

After Mika checks out his reading materials, we traipse out the library and trudge through a foot of slushy, gray snow.

His gaze shifts down to my hands.

Aha! They are
sans
a smut novel.

“Hey,” he nudges me in the ribs. “How come you didn’t check out a book tonight?”

I curtly reply, “I’m not done reading the other one.”

His mouth twitches. “Um, you mean
The Scottish Laird and his Virgin Bride
?”

My hand flies up to swat him but he easily evades me.

“Oh shut up!” I cry, half laughing and punch him in the arm.

In one seamless move, he playfully grips my wrists. I squirm and wriggle about, but he doesn’t budge.

He just stares. And stares. The force of his gaze is so intense it nearly knocks me off my feet. I’m crashing against the Pacific surf, beating against the jagged cliffs.

Holding my ground, I stare back, unsmiling,
unblinking.

Gosh. That felt semi-erotic, actually.
   

After a long minute, Mika eases his grip. Then he drops his gaze and we resume walking.

I clear my throat. “So, do you still want to read the book when I’m done?”

Mika laughs jovially. “No thanks. But I’d read a book about a Belgian Laird and his virgin bride.”

“I doubt there’s such a book,” I say with a smirk.

He arches an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“In relationships, especially when it comes time to commit, Belgian men tend to…
waffle
a bit.”

He stares at me blankly.

I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from smiling. “Get it? Belgian Waffle!”

A smile tugs at his lips. Suddenly, he springs forward, but I’m much too quick for him this time. I pull away sharply, eluding his grasp and thwarting his ambush. Laughing and shrieking, I break into a fast run as he chases after me, dashing and splashing through puddles of melted snow.

Nine

B
eep!

“Thanks for calling Lightning Speed Communications, this is Maddy, how can I help? I ask impassively.

“I need some help setting up my surveillance cameras,” says the caller.
 

Part of our job in the DSL department entails assigning ports to surveillance cameras so our customers can view live feed from remote computers. After verifying the caller, I dive right into the technicalities. “Sir, what would you like to name Camera One?”

“Bedroom Cam,” he huffs, sounding like Deep Throat.

“Okay,” I say and type away. “And Camera Two?”

“Bathroom Cam.”

“All right…and Camera Three?”

“Kitchen Cam,” he says hoarsely.

As I’m tapping at the keys, I begin to see a pattern here.

“And Camera Four sir?”

He is quick to respond, “Laundry Room Cam.”

I’m guessing he’ll probably say Garage Cam next. That should just about cover every room in the house.

Wow. This guy sure is serious about his home security.

“This is the last one sir. What you like to name Camera Five?”

“Crotch Cam,” he replies coarsely.

Silence. I’m not typing. Um, what? Did he just say crotch cam?

I blink. Yes. I believe he did. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing at attention.
Ai yi yi
. This caller is giving me the heebie jeebies.

I stammer, “Err, sorry, my computer just shut down on me so I’ll need to reboot. Do you mind holding for just a few minutes?”

Deep Throat grunts, “Hoh-kay.”

With trembling hands, I place him on hold.

Good God. This caller is one sick perv. I wonder if he’s using these cameras on unsuspecting women. Maybe he’s recording his own wife. Even worse, he could be one of those icky pedophiles.

This is serious. I need to report this.

I march imperiously to The
Führer
’s den and relay everything to her. She listens intently and when I’m done, she immediately takes charge. “Get me his info
now
. I need to run a background check on this guy.
Pronto
.”

My heart races as I dart back to my cube. I scrawl down his name and address on a note pad and scurry back to Hillary’s desk. Standing behind her, I can see that she has pulled up the National Sex Offender Registry web site.

“Go ahead,” she fires off. “I’m ready.”

Galvanized into action, I rattle off the caller’s first and last name, followed by his address. Hillary pounds her keyboard with fervor and clicks ‘submit.’

We wait.

Seconds later, we’re staring into the eyes of a sexual offender, convicted for
aggravated sexual abuse of a child and
attempted first degree felony. Okay, now I’m really getting the chills.

Hillary stares at me deadpan, and the reality of the situation begins to sink in.

For the both of us.

“Shut down his service. Transfer the call to me; I’ll handle it from here,” she instructs in a subdued manner.

I’m hightailing it back to my cubicle when I hear Hillary call my name. Halted by her voice, I whirl around.

“Nice work. I’m glad you brought this to my attention. As soon as I’m done with this call, I’m reporting him to the authorities.”

I am still in a daze. Did that really just happen?
A compliment from
The
Führer
?

Stunned and bewildered, I
stumble back to my cubicle and swiftly transfer the call.

Afterward, I slump back in my chair and replay the events. Crapola! I’ve just caught a predator over the phone! And I
know
Kars will be thrilled to hear all about my successful sting op. She lives for stuff like this; she’s a huge Nancy Grace fan.