OCR Text |
Show Joodworth/6l Marty is trying to locate a book on identifying sea shells for a customer when Bernie, her boss, tells her she has a phone call. His look says that he doesn't approve of her receiving personal phone calls. "Just jealous," she thinks. Bernie is thirth-five, and looks like an eight year old. The kind that no one will talk to because his eyes look like saucers behind fish-bowl lenses. Because his tie always seems lumpy, his socks unmatched. "Hello?" Nothing. She notices that Bernie has the phone on hold, and presses the flashing button. "Hello?" "Hi. It's your mother-" Marty feels the tingling sensation crash inside her. "He's married, anyway," she tells herself. "And I picked him up in a bar. Not such a loss, after all." "Oh. Hi," she says. Silence. "What's up?" "I'm here at home alone with the banana bread. And the birds. And my marriage." Marty looks up, trying to find escape. The filing cabinets stare silently as tombstones. The odor of strong coffee comes at her in waves. Bernie's secretary types studiously on the other side of the office, her back to Marty. "What's wrong? What's wrong with your marriage?" "Look. Look, now there's a cardinal in the bird feeder. I think it's a female cardinal. Or maybe it's a -- oh dear -- what are they called? Junkie? Junket?" Marty imagines she can smell bourbon in the telephone receiver. Maybe Bernie has been drinking in here, and using the phone. "Mom? Did you say that there was something wrong with your marriage?" |