Stalled
Mary and Lucy were each using a stall, with only a thin partition wall between them that allowed for talking while they attended to nature’s call. Lucy must have had gallons of water earlier on, and probably something with beans and onions for dinner, because her tinkling was constantly interrupted by some unpleasant sounds. She was still at it when Mary adjusted her underwear, dropped some rolls of paper into the bowl, flushed and walked over to the basins.
‘Lu, are you planning on spending the night in there?’ she cried at the closed stall door. ‘Almost,’ it came back joyfully. ‘I’ll be with you in a sec, darling.’
A little later they were both washing their hands at the basins and exchanging sweet looks in the mirror. ‘You’re behaving decently tonight,’ Lucy remarked. ‘You usually engage in brawls or clog toilets with paper within five minutes of your arrival. Nothing wrong with you, I hope? Is it that time of the month?’
Mary shut off the faucet and drew a paper towel from a dispenser. ‘No, and by the way, that time of the month is the only time when I’m actually pleasant, you know that.’
Lucy nodded and started powdering her nose. ‘But you might do me a favor,’ Mary tried.
‘Anything, peaches.’
‘I’m all out of change, I’d like to make a phone call from the booth down the street.’
Lucy stuffed her compact into her purse and eyed her sadly. ‘So it’s true? You’re seeing someone else, right? I thought you loved only me.’
Mary grew irritable. ‘Of course I only love you, and Tim and I still only pretend to be a couple to preserve Fuller’s name and yours. It’s just that I have a very important State Department issue to deal with right now.’
Lucy despondently fished some quarters from her purse. ‘Here you go. I really don’t see why you shouldn’t let Hawk do it.’
Mary stuffed the change into her own bag and felt tired at Lucy’s ignorance. ‘If I left it to Fuller, Tim would tag along, and he’d ruin everything. Remember that incident with the firecrackers at the M Unit office? If Fuller had not let Tim in on the planning of the coup, it would have been a less violent one.’
‘Fine,’ Lucy said, snapping her purse shut. ‘Break a leg.’
Five minutes later, Mary found herself standing in a phone booth and stuffing quarters into the slot. The little cabin stank of urine and vomit. On the panel over the device someone had written HAWKINZ FULER IS A SLUT. The lettering was profoundly feminine, unlike the manly strokes another artist had made below the words, a drawing of a man with a large nose fornicating with a tall soldier in huge boots.
‘Hello?’ she heard.
‘Good evening, Mrs. Cohn, this is Mary Johnson speaking. I’m a secretary to…yes, to Mr. Fuller…I know it’s late, but…No, no, no football, but I have a message for Mr. Cohn…Gone to bed? This early? But, madam, he’s twenty-eight, he can…Oh well, Roy’s Mama, can I talk to him, please? I’d like to invite him to my place for charades…’