You Rang?
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Manny Silver was in the intersection when the cell phone rang. Sometimes it rang, “O say can you see—.” Sometimes it rang, “Somewhere, over the rainbow—” or “You must remember this—.” Manny was always fiddling with the tune. He had dozens of tunes in the phone. When he got bored with one tune, he changed to another. This time the phone rang, “Tea for two and two for tea—.”
“Hello,” Manny said.
“Hey,” the voice said, “are you sitting down? Go sit down, Manny.”
It was Ted Leeson. Ted always said, “Hey.”
“I’m in the middle of the goddamn street between 75th and 76th, Ted. You want me to sit down in the street?”
“Well, get across, then. But find a building and lean against it.”
“What are you, nuts? What’s up?”
“Just do it, Manny. Tell me when you’re ready.”
“You are nuts.”
Manny liked kidding on the phone. He liked kidding with Ted Leeson or Bill Higgins or Gary Barrett or whoever called. He liked it that the voice in his hand was the voice in his head, no matter where he was. Someone spoke. Manny spoke too. The world was so apart that it depressed him. But two voices, speaking anywhere, anytime, was magic. The world disappeared.
“Are you there?” Ted asked.
“I’m here. Where else would I be? All right, what’s the joke this time?”
“No joke, Pal. Bill Higgins just dropped dead at his office.” [End Page 1]
Manny put his hand against the Fordham Building.
The light changed. Traffic hurtled through the intersection. People jammed the walks, hundreds of people. They ran when the light changed. They ran for buses. They ran for cabs. They dodged. They pushed. They fringed the stumps of enormous, gray buildings that rose and rose to make, far above, grotesque geometries of blue light. Through the din Manny heard the shout of other voices against other phones. He turned his face to the wall.
“Ted, this isn’t funny.”
“You’re telling me this isn’t funny. I just got the call from his secretary. He collapsed at the office fifteen minutes ago.”
Manny looked at his watch.
“Rose told you this?”
“Yeah, Rose told me. For chrissake, Manny.”
“Rose wouldn’t kid about this.”
“Manny, Rose wouldn’t kid about anything. Rose is as serious as a hernia.”
“How about Bill? Couldn’t Bill put her up to this? You know Bill.”
“Manny, Rose was bawling.”
After a moment, Manny said, “Jesus. Bill Higgins.”
“Heart attack. Flopped right there. Rose was taking dictation. She called me after she called 9-1-1. So I’m calling you.”
Manny said nothing.
“Hey, what do you make of it?”
“Make of it? What do you mean, make of it?”
“Listen, I don’t know. What do we do? What do we say?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m coming out of Dante’s. Business lunch with a couple of clients. Where are you?”
“I said I’m between 75th and 76th.” He faced the crowd. Bill Higgins was forty-five years old. Ted was forty-five. Gary was forty-six. He himself was forty-four. And Ed McPheeters was only forty-three. “I’ll meet you at The Hungry Eye. Call Gary. I’ll call Ed.” [End Page 2]
“Ed already knows. Rose said she called Ed. I’ll call Gary. Give me twenty minutes.”
Manny’s friends were programmed into his phone. He was programmed into theirs.
“All right,” Manny said. He tapped Ed’s name in the address book and raised the phone to hail a cab.
At The Hungry Eye they sat at the booth in the corner where they always sat. Manny had a gin and tonic. Gary had a vodka Collins. Ted had a martini. Ed McPheeters had a rum and Coke. Ed never drank anything but rum and Coke. They watched each other. Ed turned his glass. Gary ran his thumb up and down the side of his vodka Collins. Ted stared straight at Manny, who sat next to him. Manny said, “Hey,” and Ted looked at the bartender, who was...
