3 NOVEMBER Y.D.A.U
Hal could hear the phone console ringing as he dropped his gear bag and took the room key from around his neck. The phone itself had been Orin’s and its plastic case was transparent and you could see the phone’s guts.
‘Mmyellow.’
‘Why do I always get the feeling I’m interrupting you in the middle of some like vigorous self-abuse session?’ It was Orin’s voice. ‘It’s always multiple rings. Then you’re always a little breathless when you do.’
‘Do what.’
‘A certain sweaty urgency to your voice. Are you one of the 99 % of adolescent males, Hallie?’
Hal never liked talking on the phone after he’d gotten high in secret down in the Pump Room. Even if there was water or liquid handy to keep the cotton at bay. He didn’t know why this was so. It just made him uneasy.
‘You’re sounding hale and fit, O.’
‘You can tell me, you know. No shame in it. Let me tell you, boy, I did myself raw for years on end on that hill.’
Hal estimated over 60 % of what he told Orin on the phone since Orin had abruptly started calling again this spring was a lie. He had no idea why he liked lying to Orin on the phone so much. He looked at the clock. ‘Where are you?’
‘Home. Snug and toasty. It’s 90+ out.’
‘That would be Fahrenheit I’m assuming.’
‘This city is made of all glass and light. The windows are like high-beams coming at you. The air has that spilled-fuel shimmer to it.’
‘So to what do we owe.’
‘Sometimes I wear sunglasses even in the house. Sometimes at the stadium I hold my hand up and look at it and I swear I can see right through it. Like that thing with the flashlight and your hand.’
‘Hands seem to be sort of a theme to this call, thus far.’
‘On the way in from the lot off the street here I saw a pedestrian in a pith helmet stagger and like claw at the air and pitch forward onto his face. Another Phoenician felled by the heat I think to myself.’
It occurred to Hal that although he lied about meaningless details to Orin on the phone it had never occurred to him to consider whether Orin was ever doing the same thing. This induced a spell of involuted marijuana-type thinking that led quickly, again, to Hal’s questioning whether or not he was really all that intelligent. ‘SATs are six weeks away and Pemulis is less and less helpful on the math, if you want to know what I’m doing all day.’
‘The man’s face made a sizzling noise when it hit the pavement. Like bacon-caliber sizzling. He’s still lying there, I see out the window. He’s not moving anymore. Everyone’s avoiding him, going around him. He looks too hot to touch. A little Hispanic kid made off with his hat. Have y’all had snow yet? Describe snow for me again, Hallie, I’m begging you.’