Read Online Crack-Up by Eric Christopherson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eric Christopherson
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Nicholson?”
“Never mind about that, Keisha. Let me ask you a question. Did we . . . this’ll sound strange, but did we talk on the phone earlier this evening? About
six PM
?”
“What? What kind of question is that? No, we didn’t talk. Or else I’d already have all my questions answered concerning the Bangkok trip. I’ve got to do the staffing soon and—”
“Spare me, Keisha, spare me. Like I said, I’ve got a personal problem. I’m going to be . . . I'm going to be incommunicado for the rest of the week.”
“Rest of the week!”
“Maybe longer.”
“Argus, you can’t! Not now!”
“Spread the word around. Have Frannie reschedule my appointments. I’ll try to be back in the office by Monday.”
“Hey, Argus,” she said after a long pause, her voice suddenly low and mellow. “You okay?”
“I don’t know, Keisha. I honestly don’t know.”
“You want to talk about it? Over a drink?”
“Sorry, can’t.”
“You worry me, Argus. You don’t sound like yourself.”
“Bye, Keisha.” I hung up.
Moments later, I realized it could’ve been any one of a number of people who’d called me besides Keisha. I really hadn’t learned a thing. I started back toward my hotel room.
At the entrance to the lobby I halted briefly to allow a crowd of people in formal dress to pass by me on their way out. One in this group, or at least straggling behind it, was a matronly, cigarette swinging lady in a gold evening gown, who whispered in my ear as she passed by.
“Don’t call Doctor Shields, honey, he’ll lock you up.”
I froze. Then I swiveled around. She was walking away as if she hadn’t said a thing to me. “Ma’am!” I said. “Ma’am!”
Her high heels came to a sudden stop. She peered coldly over her shoulder. “Do I know you?”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life. But you whispered to me just now . . .”
“I did?” Amused, she faced me. “What did I say?”
“Something . . . something you couldn’t possibly have said.”
“Sounds like me, all right!” She cackled a few times, like she was drowning in phlegm. “But you’ve got me mixed up with someone else, honey.” She winked, turned, and strode away.
I watched her go, puffing warped circles of smoke into the night air. I saw her veer off from the large group, heading toward Mount Vernon Avenue alone. The woman certainly showed a lot of bare back for a sixty year-old.
I found myself spurred by this strange encounter to proceed directly to the hotel piano bar. On my way, I ran through the entire incident with that woman, from the beginning . . .
I didn’t mix her up with anyone else, did I? No. That voice! I can still hear her throaty whisper in my ear . “Don’t call Doctor Shields, honey, he’ll lock you up.” How could she have said that to me? How in the world ?
I decided I must’ve misinterpreted some words. Yeah, that’s it. The ear can play tricks. That woman, who’d seemed a little tipsy, come to think of it, had probably let something slip out in a whisper—something risqué, no doubt, something that, on second thought, she had not wished to repeat, especially not aloud. And whatever it was, I’d heard it wrong. I’d heard it all wrong. The ear can play tricks .
Sitting down on a barstool near the piano, I recalled being in Shanghai , China on a business trip three years earlier and overhearing a short gentleman on a cell phone speaking loudly in Chinese. I don’t know a word of that language, it all sounds like gibberish to me, but suddenly and inexplicably a string of his Chinese words struck my ear as English words. I thought I heard the man say: “You have to see my hot ass!”
It’d been kind of difficult explaining to my Chinese hosts why I’d begun laughing so hard. This I recollected with a new laugh as a barn door-size
“Never mind about that, Keisha. Let me ask you a question. Did we . . . this’ll sound strange, but did we talk on the phone earlier this evening? About
six PM
?”
“What? What kind of question is that? No, we didn’t talk. Or else I’d already have all my questions answered concerning the Bangkok trip. I’ve got to do the staffing soon and—”
“Spare me, Keisha, spare me. Like I said, I’ve got a personal problem. I’m going to be . . . I'm going to be incommunicado for the rest of the week.”
“Rest of the week!”
“Maybe longer.”
“Argus, you can’t! Not now!”
“Spread the word around. Have Frannie reschedule my appointments. I’ll try to be back in the office by Monday.”
“Hey, Argus,” she said after a long pause, her voice suddenly low and mellow. “You okay?”
“I don’t know, Keisha. I honestly don’t know.”
“You want to talk about it? Over a drink?”
“Sorry, can’t.”
“You worry me, Argus. You don’t sound like yourself.”
“Bye, Keisha.” I hung up.
Moments later, I realized it could’ve been any one of a number of people who’d called me besides Keisha. I really hadn’t learned a thing. I started back toward my hotel room.
At the entrance to the lobby I halted briefly to allow a crowd of people in formal dress to pass by me on their way out. One in this group, or at least straggling behind it, was a matronly, cigarette swinging lady in a gold evening gown, who whispered in my ear as she passed by.
“Don’t call Doctor Shields, honey, he’ll lock you up.”
I froze. Then I swiveled around. She was walking away as if she hadn’t said a thing to me. “Ma’am!” I said. “Ma’am!”
Her high heels came to a sudden stop. She peered coldly over her shoulder. “Do I know you?”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life. But you whispered to me just now . . .”
“I did?” Amused, she faced me. “What did I say?”
“Something . . . something you couldn’t possibly have said.”
“Sounds like me, all right!” She cackled a few times, like she was drowning in phlegm. “But you’ve got me mixed up with someone else, honey.” She winked, turned, and strode away.
I watched her go, puffing warped circles of smoke into the night air. I saw her veer off from the large group, heading toward Mount Vernon Avenue alone. The woman certainly showed a lot of bare back for a sixty year-old.
I found myself spurred by this strange encounter to proceed directly to the hotel piano bar. On my way, I ran through the entire incident with that woman, from the beginning . . .
I didn’t mix her up with anyone else, did I? No. That voice! I can still hear her throaty whisper in my ear . “Don’t call Doctor Shields, honey, he’ll lock you up.” How could she have said that to me? How in the world ?
I decided I must’ve misinterpreted some words. Yeah, that’s it. The ear can play tricks. That woman, who’d seemed a little tipsy, come to think of it, had probably let something slip out in a whisper—something risqué, no doubt, something that, on second thought, she had not wished to repeat, especially not aloud. And whatever it was, I’d heard it wrong. I’d heard it all wrong. The ear can play tricks .
Sitting down on a barstool near the piano, I recalled being in Shanghai , China on a business trip three years earlier and overhearing a short gentleman on a cell phone speaking loudly in Chinese. I don’t know a word of that language, it all sounds like gibberish to me, but suddenly and inexplicably a string of his Chinese words struck my ear as English words. I thought I heard the man say: “You have to see my hot ass!”
It’d been kind of difficult explaining to my Chinese hosts why I’d begun laughing so hard. This I recollected with a new laugh as a barn door-size
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