A Lover's Call (2 page)

Two minutes past ten. The jangle of the ringer startled her and Rachel jumped. She grabbed the receiver and said a little more breathlessly than she meant to, “This is Velvet. I’m here for your pleasure.”

“Good evening. I’ve been thinking about you.”

It was Richard—no question about it. Rachel sucked in her breath and let it out slowly. Why was she acting like a kid? She was Velvet, “sex goddess”! Smiling, she said in a tone she hoped was confident but still sexy, “Good evening to you, Richard. What can I do for you tonight?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve decided there’s no reason for you to level with
me
if I’m not willing to level with you.”

Rachel nodded as if he could see her. She was listening intently, wondering where this was going. No matter where it went, the practical side of her silently reasoned, she was getting time and a half for a special request phone call so the least she could do was keep the guy on the line!

“That makes sense,” she said, hoping to draw him out.

“I thought you’d agree. As I told you, my name is Richard. That’s my real name. Richard Morris. I haven’t ever called a phone sex line, though you may not believe that. I called this one just for fun, to see what it was like. I got you the first time around. It wasn’t
what
you said that attracted me. It was how you said it. It was your voice, and something else. Something,” he paused, as if thinking how best to put it.
“Something vulnerable.

“I know I let you go on a while with your masturbatory script and I apologize that I wasn’t as, uh, responsive as you are perhaps used to. To tell you the truth, I just wanted to hear you talk. I fell in love with your voice. It’s your voice that’s gotten under my skin. I wish I had a name to go with it.”

“It’s Rachel,” she whispered before she even realized the words had slipped from her lips.

“Rachel.” He seemed to savor the word, as if he
were tasting
it on his tongue. “Rachel,” he said again. “Thank you. Thank you for trusting me with your name. I mean that.”

Rachel smiled, feeling pleased but confused. Who the hell was this guy who called sex lines on a whim just to hear someone’s voice? “Well, um, Richard. I feel kind of funny about this. I’ve never told a guy on this phone service my name. It’s probably, like, against the rules or something. I don’t know.”

“Oh don’t worry about it. They’re happy as long as they’re billing my MasterCard, I’m sure.” He laughed easily and Rachel was suddenly certain the money didn’t matter at all to him. Unlike most of the men who called, eager to maximize their dollar by coming as quickly as possible, Richard seemed to have all the time in the world.

Rachel didn’t want him to hang up but she honestly didn’t know what to say. Richard continued. “Did you know some Native American tribes believed if someone told you their real name, you belonged to them? They wouldn’t share their real names with anyone but their closest family.” Rachel shifted, not sure if this knowledge made her comfortable or nervous.

As if sensing her mood, Richard added with a chuckle, “Relax, Rachel. I won’t steal your soul. I just want to talk. Why don’t you tell me about yourself? How did you get into this line of work?”

Rachel paused and then decided what the hell, if he just wanted to talk, no sex play, why shouldn’t she oblige? This was an easy buck, no question about it. Settling back in her chair she answered, “Well, I saw an ad. It seemed like a good way to make a few extra dollars. There’s no risk and it’s legal. I can do it from home.”

“What do you do during the day?”

“I’m a librarian.” The truth slipped out before she thought of a lie. But why lie? She would never meet this guy. He would never come to her library and stalk her.

“Wow,” Richard enthused. “That’s great!
A librarian.
I can see you as that.
Shy and modest by day, hair pulled back, face prim behind glasses.
But at night,” he paused, as if visualizing it. “At night, you transform into the phone sex goddess, hair wild, bare breasts spilling from black lace, lips stained red with lipstick, eyes bright with lust.” He laughed softly.

Rachel gasped slightly. His words were so evocative! She wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of someone else’s sexy words. And he had described her day persona to a T, she thought with some chagrin.

He went on. “I guess you aren’t used to hearing much more than grunts and groans from the guy on the other end, huh?”

“Well,” she began.

“They’re interested in
Velvet
. Not even really in Velvet but in what Velvet can do for them. They want Velvet to help them jerk off so they can go to sleep or whatever they do after they hang up with you.

“You’re not used to someone who actually wants to know about
you
, Rachel. About what moves you—what excites you. What you’re willing to do for a strange man who thinks your voice is so fuckable.”

Rachel found herself suddenly short of breath. Who was this guy? Yet she couldn’t deny what he was saying was curiously exciting. She liked being told her voice was fuckable, though she would have blushed ten shades of red if someone had actually said that to her face. She would have turned away, her expression pinched and prim. She was, she suddenly felt, twenty-six going on sixty-five. She acted like an old spinster at work and not much different at home alone tucked into her red recliner, wrapped in flannel, her head buried in her novels.

In her defense, it was easy to do. She worked mostly with older women and their work was by its nature quiet and introspective. Shelving books, helping the occasional patron find a reference book, checking the books back in that had been returned, cataloging the new books and finding space for them. It was peaceful work, but
face
it, she told herself, it was old lady’s work. And while her fantasy life was rich, her real life was as dry and dull as old parchment, with little of her own experience to fill the page.

Richard shook her out of her reverie. “I want to know about you, Rachel. I promised you the whole two hours.
But only if you agree to be honest.
And open. Will you share with me, Rachel?”

Rachel bit her lip. Part of her was tempted to hang up on him again. Why should he want to get to know a woman who worked for a phone sex service? Couldn’t the guy get a date? Did he weigh four hundred pounds and look like Frankenstein’s monster?

But another part of her, the lonely part, didn’t want to hang up. Whoever this was, for whatever reason, he wanted to connect with her!
With her, Rachel, the real person.
And maybe precisely because she
was
a stranger on the phone, she felt free enough to open up to this man. “Well, I guess
it’s
okay,” she said aloud. “What do you want to know?”

He asked her simple things that first night. What she liked to eat, what movies she enjoyed, what books she read. He asked her if she had a pet, if she liked her work, what she did for fun. He listened attentively to all her replies, asking further questions that made it clear he was paying attention and for some reason interested. Instead of denigrating her love of romance novels, he seemed to delight in her amusing, evocative plot descriptions. He even asked her to recommend a few of her favorite tales so he could read them too.

Eventually she found herself telling him about her lonely childhood, her mother’s death when Rachel was only nine, her reserved and withdrawn father, her own feelings of isolation and loneliness in school. He was so easy to talk to—she realized later she’d said more to him in two hours than she had in a week. He offered stories of his own, snippets about his life that made her want to know more.

When they hung up it was actually a few minutes
after
midnight
! Rachel found she didn’t mind having gone over the allotted time. It had been fun! Instead of the usual drudge of listening to men grunt and breathe while she talked them to orgasm, she had just spent a very pleasant two hours telling someone who really seemed to care all about herself!

Rachel lay in bed that night, her hand in her panties, thinking about the man who called himself Richard. She had no idea what he looked like or how old he was, but because of the careful and friendly attention he’d paid to her all night, she felt a strange connection to him. Letting her eyes close, she imagined someone tall and handsome leaning down to kiss her as she stroked her pussy, feeling the sweet heat of pleasure her fingers brought her. “Richard,” she whispered, her fingers now swirling rapidly over her spread pussy. She felt the impending tremble of orgasm, the little shudder as she arched toward her hand, her hips thrusting forward. “Richard,” she sighed as she drifted off to a contented sleep.

Chapter Two

Rachel couldn’t seem to sit still. Jean Marie, who worked alongside her behind the desk during the mornings, remarked disapprovingly, “Young lady, you’re acting like you have ants in your pants! What has gotten into you lately?”

Rachel flushed. “I guess maybe I’m a little restless because it’s spring outside and we’re cooped up in here.” That was true enough. The sun was sparkling through the thick plate glass windows of the old building and the sky looked as blue as robin eggs. It was April in
Houston
. A brief window of spring had opened before the onset of endless muggy summer heat.

“Well, it isn’t like you. I’ve always admired how still you are for a young woman. Not so flighty and full of
yourself
like most girls today. And what in the world have you gone and done to your face?”

Rachel didn’t reply as she self-consciously touched her rouged cheek. During their talks, after Rachel had confided that she did in fact wear her hair back at work and didn’t bother with her face, Richard had suggested she might try some makeup as an experiment.

“
Just a little blusher
,
a little lipstick
.
And maybe even wear your hair down sometimes
.
Just for fun
—
to be different
.”

She’d thought about it and decided he was right! Why shouldn’t she make herself look prettier? Even if no one noticed, it might be fun, as he said. And, she told herself, she would do it for him. That thought gave her a warm feeling.

Then the practical Rachel returned. Silly girl, she’d chided herself. Richard was just a voice, a long-distance voice
who
paid for her services. She was Rachel, the boring, frumpy librarian no guy would look twice at unless he needed directions through the stacks. Why had she bothered with that makeup? Her glasses would hide it anyway. Who was she fooling?

She busied herself sorting books on her cart as she thought about what Jean Marie had said. Not only the fact that she was fidgety today, which she was, but how she was “still” compared to other young women. Maybe that’s what was wrong with her! She sat still and quiet while the world passed her by!

After a moment she smiled to herself, she had a secret! She had a man at home! Well, okay, so he wasn’t at home, but he was on the phone for two hours Monday and another two on Wednesday. He’d shared a number of things about his own life. He was thirty-two and worked in investment banking in
Los Angeles
. He lived alone, except for his dog Molly. He had lived with a woman for six years but they’d drifted apart. He wasn’t dating anyone at present. She gained the impression he was a loner, like she was.
This made her warm toward him and trust
him more. She felt at ease with him but also excited by him.

And he was calling again tonight! She wished she didn’t have to wait for his calls.
That they weren’t limited to her work schedule.
It suddenly occurred to her and she wondered why it hadn’t sooner, that she could give him her real number. Her home
number instead of having him call
through the service. It would save him a bundle! Then they could talk more often. And he wouldn’t be buying her time—buying
her
, so to speak.

Suddenly she
stopped,
her arms full of books, hidden in the tall stacks of the nonfiction section. What if he didn’t want to call her home number? What if it was part of whatever weird game he played, that he liked to pay to hear some poor girl talk about her dreary life?

No. Not her Richard.
Her Richard
.
Silly girl! She’d only spent a few hours on the phone with the man and here she was thinking of him as “her Richard”. She laughed and then realized she’d laughed aloud. A man standing down the row looked up at her and she blushed, turning away.

* * * * *

Friday,
ten o’clock
came at last. Rachel was ready, her chestnut hair shiny, falling in freshly washed waves around her face. She was in a pretty new nightie she had bought earlier that
week,
not admitting to herself it was for Richard. She wore fresh makeup, just a little, because it made her feel sexy. She knew it was stupid since they each sat in their homes, separated by thousands of miles. But she felt special this way. She would admit it—she felt sexy.

It was only one minute past ten when the phone rang and Rachel grabbed it, her heart thrilling as she said, “Hello? Richard?”

“What? Um, isn’t this, um, Sex Goddesses?” A different man altogether, his voice high-pitched with confusion, was on the line. With a sinking feeling Rachel realized a regular caller had gotten through instead of Richard! In a move that might get her fired, Rachel gently cradled the phone, cutting the poor fellow off mid-stammer.