The Broom Of The System Part 14

LENORE: Maybe it just makes no sense. Maybe it's just completely irrational and dumb.

JAY: But obviously it bothers you.

LENORE: Pretty keen perception. If there's nothing about me but what can be said about me, what separates me from this lady in this story Rick got who eats junk food and gains weight and squashes her child in her sleep? She's exactly what's said about her, right? Nothing more at all. And same with me, seems like. Gramma says she's going to show me how a life is words and nothing else. Gramma says words can kill and create. Everything.

JAY: Sounds like Gramma is maybe half a bubble off plumb, to me. LENORE: Well, just no. She's not crazy and she's sure not stupid. You should know that. And see, the thing is, if she can do all this to me with words, if she can make me feel this way, and perceive my life as screwed way up and not hung together, and question whether I'm really even me, if there is a me, crazy as that sounds, if she can do all that just by talking to me, with just words, then what does that say about words?

JAY: "... she said, using words."

LENORE: Well exactly. There it is. Lenore would totally agree. Which is why it sometimes just drives me nuts that Rick wants to talk talk all the time. Talk talk talk. Tell tell tell. At least when he tells me stories, it's up-front and clear what's story and what isn't, right? all the time. Talk talk talk. Tell tell tell. At least when he tells me stories, it's up-front and clear what's story and what isn't, right?

JAY: I'm getting a scent.

LENORE: I don't think the armpit theory should be rejected out of hand.

JAY: Why is a story more up-front than a life?

LENORE: It just seems more honest, somehow.

JAY: Honest meaning closer to the truth?

LENORE: I smell trap.

JAY: I smell breakthrough. The truth is that there's no difference between a life and a story? But a life pretends to be something more? But it really isn't more?

LENORE: I would kill for a shower.

JAY: What have I said? What have I said? I've said that hygiene anxiety is what?

LENORE: According to whom?

JAY: Ejection remains an option. Don't misdirect so transparently. According to me and to my truly great teacher, Olaf Blentner, the pioneer of hygiene anxiety research....

LENORE: Hygiene anxiety is ident.i.ty anxiety.

JAY: I am gagging on the stench of breakthrough.

LENORE: I've been having digestive trouble, too, really, so don't.... JAY: Shut up. So comparisons between real life and story make you feel hygiene anxiety, a.k.a. ident.i.ty anxiety. Plus the fact that delightfully nice and helpful Lenore Senior, whose temporary little junket I must say does not exactly fill me with grief, indoctrinates you on the subject of words and their extra-linguistic efficacy. Do some math for me, here, Lenore.

LENORE: Wrongo. First of all, Gramma's whole thing is that there's no such thing as extra-linguistic efficacy, extra-linguistic anything. anything. And also, what's with this throwing around words like "indoctrinates" and "efficacy"? Which Rick uses on me all the time, too? How come you and Rick not only always say the same things to me, but the same words? Are you a team? Do you fill him in on this stuff? Is this why he's so completely uncharacteristically cool about not asking me what goes on in here? Are you an unethical psychologist? Do you tell? And also, what's with this throwing around words like "indoctrinates" and "efficacy"? Which Rick uses on me all the time, too? How come you and Rick not only always say the same things to me, but the same words? Are you a team? Do you fill him in on this stuff? Is this why he's so completely uncharacteristically cool about not asking me what goes on in here? Are you an unethical psychologist? Do you tell?

JAY: Listen to this will you. Aside from the me-being-terribly-hurt issue, why this obsession with whether people are telling telling all the time? Why is telling robbing control? all the time? Why is telling robbing control?

LENORE: I don't know. What time is it?

JAY: Don't you feel a difference between your life and a telling? LENORE: Maybe just a little water out of that pitcher, there, in either armpit....

JAY: Well?

LENORE: No, I guess not really.

JAY: How come? How come?

Lenore Beadsman pauses.

JAY: How come?

LENORE: What would the difference be?

JAY: Speak up, please.

LENORE: What would the difference be?

JAY: What?

LENORE: What would the difference be?

JAY: I don't believe this. Blentner would twirl. You don't feel a difference?

LENORE: OK, exactly, but what's "feeling," then?

JAY: The smell is overpowering. I can't stand it. Just let me tie this hankie over my nose, here.

LENORE: Flake.

JAY: (m.u.f.fled) (m.u.f.fled) Who cares about defining it? Can't you feel it? You can Who cares about defining it? Can't you feel it? You can feel feel the way your life is; who can feel the life of the junk-food lady in Rick's story? the way your life is; who can feel the life of the junk-food lady in Rick's story?

LENORE: She She can! can! She She can! can!

JAY: Are you nuts?

LENORE: She can if it's in the story that she can. Right? It says she feels such incredible grief over squashing her baby that she lapses into a coma, so she does and does.

JAY: But that's not real.

LENORE: It seems to be exactly as real as it's said to be.

JAY: Maybe it is your armpit, after all.

LENORE: I'm outta here.

JAY: Wait.

LENORE: Hit the chair-start b.u.t.ton, Dr. Jay.

JAY: Jesus.

LENORE: The lady's life is the story, and if the story says, "The fat pretty woman was convinced her life was real," then she is. Except what she doesn't know is that her life isn't hers. It's there for a reason. To make a point or give a smile, whatever. She's not even produced, she's educed. She's there for a reason.

JAY: Whose reasons? Reason as in a person's reason? She owes her existence to whoever tells?

LENORE: But not necessarily even a person, is the thing. The telling makes its own reasons. Gramma says any telling automatically becomes a kind of system, that controls everybody involved.

JAY: And how is that?

LENORE: By simple definition. Every telling creates and limits and defines.

JAY: Bulls.h.i.t has its own unique scent, have you noticed?

LENORE: The fat lady's not really real, and to the extent that she's real she's just used, and if she thinks she's real and not being used, it's only because the system that educes her and uses her makes her by definition feel real and non-educed and non-used.

JAY: And you're telling me that's the way you feel?

LENORE: You're dumb. Is that really a Harvard diploma? I have to leave. Let me leave, please. I have to go to the ladies' room.

JAY: Come see me tomorrow.

LENORE: I don't have any money left.

JAY: Come see me the minute you have money. I'm here for you. Get Rick to give you money.

LENORE: Set my chair in motion, please.

JAY: We've made enormous strides, today.

LENORE: In your ear.

26 August

Monroe Fieldbinder Collection: "Fire."

Monroe Fieldbinder drew his white fedora over his eyes and grinned wryly at the scene of chaos all around him.

Monroe Fieldbinder drew his fedora over his eyes and grinned wryly at the chaos that surrounded him. The flames of the burning house leaped into the night air and cast long, spindly shadows of Fieldbinder and the firemen and the gawkers down the rough new concrete suburban street. Undulating shrouds of sparks whirled and glowed in the spring wind. As he stood on the running board of a fire engine, yelling instructions to his men, the fire chief spotted Fieldbinder.

"Thought you'd be here, Fieldbinder," said the chief, a grizzled old white-haired man with a rubicund face. "What took you so long?"

"Traffic." Fieldbinder grinned wryly at the chief. "Looks like a bit of a mess, here, Chief"

A Phase III Centrex 28 console with a number 5 Crossbar has features which greatly aid the console operator in the efficient performance of his or her duties. Six receiving trunks correspond to six Source Receiving Call lamps, which flash at 60 Illuminations Per Minute for Out-House calls and 120 Illuminations Per Minute for In-House calls, and which emit at 60 Signals Per Minute a pleasant yet attention-getting tone. Calls can be transferred in-house via the Start In b.u.t.ton, the individual extension code, and the Release Destination b.u.t.ton, with the Ready lamp and an audible "access-established" dial tone a.s.sisting the operator in a smooth transfer. A completed transfer circuit will occupy a trunk until one or both parties terminate the circuit. As in all fixed-loop operations, the Source- and Destination lamps will remain lit until appropriate parties disconnect. As in all fixed-loop operations, simultaneous occupation of all six trunks will result in an All Paths Busy signal and a 120 IPM flash in the console's Position Release b.u.t.ton. The Position Release b.u.t.ton allows the operator to exit all completed transfer circuits, and to abort any transfer circuit not yet completed. Other features include a HOLD option to be used when service-area conditions render its use appropriate, and a Position Busy b.u.t.ton, an automatic all-trunk feed-lock that renders the console inaccessible from standard trunk circuits, and allows the operator to attend to urgent extra-console business when such arises.

Lunchtime, Bombardini Company and Frequent and Vigorous employees herding through the marble lobby and out the revolving door to lunch, the lobby a big box of noise for a few moments, Judith Prietht had depressed her Position Busy b.u.t.ton and was reading a People People magazine. Lenore Beadsman sat with wet hair over the Frequent and Vigorous console, answering calls. magazine. Lenore Beadsman sat with wet hair over the Frequent and Vigorous console, answering calls.

"Frequent and Vigorous," she said.

"f.u.c.king car won't start," said a voice.

"Sir, I'm afraid this is not Cleveland Towing, this is Frequent and Vigorous Publishing, Inc., shall I give you the correct number, though it may not work? You're very welcome." Lenore Released and then Accessed. "Frequent and Vigorous. Hi Mr. Roxbee-c.o.x, this is Lenore Beadsman, her roommate. She's supposed to be in again at six. I will. OK. Frequent and Vigorous."

The Position Release b.u.t.ton gives the console operator a significant amount of control over any and all communication circuits of which he or she is a part. Depression of the b.u.t.ton will immediately terminate any given active console circuit. Like hanging up, only faster and better and more satisfying. An additional and not explicitly authorized feature, introduced by Vem Raring, the night operator, with a trash-bag twistie and his son's Cub Scout knife, allows any and all abusive parties to be put in a HOLD mode unre leasable from that party's end and so rendering that party's telephone service inoperative until such time as the console operator decides to let him or her off the hook, so to speak. Exceptionally abusive calls placed in this mode can also, again thanks to Vern Raring, with the help of the Start Out b.u.t.ton and a twelve-digit intertrunk reroute code and long-distance service number, be transferred to any extremely expensive long-distance service point in the world, with Australia and the People's Republic of China being particular favorites of operators inclined to exercise this option.

"I'm going insane," Lenore said. "This is nuts. This thing has hardly stopped beeping and ringing and shrieking once, and there's been like one semi-legitimate call all day."

"Now you know what it's like to work for a change," said Judith Prietht, thumbing through her magazine.

"Was it like this for Candy on my lunch hour?"

"How should I know, I'd like to know? I had affairs to attend to myself." Judith wet a finger and turned a page. A Tab can with red-orange lipstick around the hole and a bag of dull-colored knitting sat on the white counter next to Judith's console. Lenore had a ginger ale and four books, none of which she'd even gotten to open.

There was jingling and whistling out there. Out of the black line of shadow in front of the switchboard cubicle stepped Peter Abbott.

"Hola, " said Peter Abbott. said Peter Abbott.

"You," " Lenore said over the beeping of the console, "you fix our lines this minute." " Lenore said over the beeping of the console, "you fix our lines this minute."

"An unbelievably nasty problem," Peter Abbott said, coming around the side of the counter and into the cubicle. Judith Prietht plumped up both sides of her hairdo with her hands. "The office is frantic," Peter said. "You might be interested to know that this is the worst problem since '81 and the ice storm in March and the all-Cleveland-numbers-mysteriously-busy-all-the-time problem, and the worst non-storm-related problem of all time, in Cleveland."

"What an honor."

"Pain in the a.s.s, I'm sure, is more like it," Peter Abbott said.

Judith Prietht was looking up at Peter. "How are you today?"

Peter gave her the fish eye. "Bueno," "Bueno,"

"So is it the console?" Lenore asked, looking down at the console as if it might be diseased. "Is that why you're here, and not the tunnel man?"

"I'm here for P.R.," said Peter, eyeing Lenore's cleavage again. "I was just over at Big B.M. Cafe, and before that Bambi's Den, which by the way holy cow. And you should see Big Bob Martinez over at the cafe. He's so p.i.s.sed. And I just now got done talking to your head guy upstairs, just now, Mr. Vigorous, the little fruit fly in the beret and double chin?"

"Ixnay," said Judith Prietht.

"So is it the console," said Lenore.

"We're a.s.suming not," Peter Abbott said. "We're still a.s.suming it's the tunnels. Otherwise why would targets outside your console-access field be affected?"

"a.s.suming? You're a.s.suming?"