Cold Call

Harry Mcliven hated gossip. It was one of the traits he admired most about himself. He wasn’t particularly smart. His looks would fit the comedic relief in a 2000s romcom. His lovelife was nonexistent; but at least he never gossiped. It felt wrong to him. Without much going right for him, he hated to think that people might be talking about him behind his back, and so he hated when it was done about other people.

Now, Harry Mcliven worked as a salesperson for a massive insurance company. His office was a little gray cubicle in a room with 30 of his coworkers. There he sat and made cold calls from 9 am til 4:30 in the afternoon. Talking to strangers for so much of the day, Harry got a good feel for how most people’s lives worked. He could recognise the tone of a frenzied housewife, he laughed at the mischievous lilt of a child who was clearly not supposed to answer the phone, and sighed when the man on the other end was clearly lonely and just wanted to talk. There were code words that Harry had quickly become familiar with, the many ways that people would say no.

He learned how to easily tell if someone was tight for cash, or scared to do anything without the approval of their spouse. There was nearly nothing he couldn’t learn about a person through a 5 minute conversation.

Harry knew so much about other people, but he never repeated a word of it. To do that would be unfair to the ones who invited him into their homes through the phone and gave him a peek into their lives without even knowing who he was.

Every day after work Harry went for supper with Olivia and Alice from the office. They were a couple, but they never made him feel like a third wheel. Usually they were joined by some of their friends.

The girls kept it strictly professional in the office, but once they clocked out they couldn’t stop talking. They yapped on the way to the diner, discussed in between placing orders, and chatted while they waited for their food. Most of it was about other people. They may not talk much during work hours, but afterwards they spoke about it tons. Who was mad at whom, why the boss was in a bad mood, this hysterical story that happened with a client, and “omg, wait til you hear what I overheard by the watercooler!”

It made Harry uncomfortable, but he never said anything. Olivia and Alice were the only friends he had, and he really did appreciate them. So he kept his opinion to himself and made sure to make the appropriate noises at the appropriate times.

On this day, Harry met them as usual at the lobby exit of the building. He mumbled, “hey,” and then stayed quiet while they dissected their days. When they got to “Sam’s”, they were met with Agnes, Andy, and Timothy. (A cousin of Alice and two of her roommates.) They joined the conversation immediately, even though they had no idea who was being spoken about.

Harry, of course, said nothing. It stayed that way, until after their waitress Janice left with their order. Then Andy brought up his sister-in-law. She was pregnant, and apparently made the funniest mistakes when the family got together. Harry knew of Carrissa, she nearly always answered the phone when he called for her husband Charles. He has never once not heard screaming in the background. Harry wasn’t sure if it was Charles or one of their five children. Sometimes it sounded like both.

Carissa was a good woman, who was forced to handle too much, a husband who drank, kids who grew up with such a father, the burden of supporting them all, and apparently a brother in law who’d prefer to talk about her than help. She didn’t deserve that. For once, Carrissa deserved to have someone in her corner.

“Hey, cut it out!” Harry wanted to say. But months of silence had established a routine. For Harry to start talking now would be as if their dead supervisor joined them for supper. Both unexpected, both something you don’t want to see. So as all those days before, Harry stayed silent. While planning what he should do next.

He didn’t comment when Agnes placed her hand on Andy’s thigh and then kept it there. He kept his face neutral after Olivia declined a drink, again, while sneaking a tiny smile to her girlfriend. He didn’t even shrug when Timothy counted out the pennies of his tab.

But he noticed it all. And Harry made sure he remembered everything. It was good to have some extra knowledge. And apparently, an observant guy like Harry could come across it very easily. If only he paid attention. Up until now he hadn’t been. But now he was.

Once they had all said their goodbyes and he had started the walk to his apartment, Harry allowed himself to think about Carrissa. About the hard life she was clearly living, and the family that made it harder. It wasn’t fair. Any of it. No woman should have to be treated like that. To be the punchline to people she didn’t even know.

She needed help. She needed to know what was going on. She needed to be able to do something about it.

Harry got home. Took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. Then he sat down on the one facing it and stared at the bent collar. He wondered what someone would see if they peeked into his room. He wondered what the inside of Carissa and Charles’s house looked like. He wondered how they themselves looked. He wondered if they knew the true thoughts of the people they surrounded themselves with. He wondered if anyone ever really knew.

He wondered if he could do anything to fix that.

By the time he woke up the next morning, (still sitting in the same chair, his shirt and hair a mess) Harry knew exactly what he was going to do.

He got up, changed his shirt, brushed his teeth, and ran a wet comb through his hair. He drank his usual black coffee from a mug he found on the counter. Then he grabbed his jacket from the chair and headed out the door.

Harry made it to work in record time. Today felt monumental, and he didn’t want anything to mess it up. He nodded hello to Olivia but didn’t stop to say goodmorning. He was afraid that taking any breaks, even one so ingrained in his routine, would make him change his mind. Instead he went straight to his desk, without even bothering to take off his jacket. With it still on, Harry sat down and looked back to the records of the week before to find the phone number of Charles Wayback. He dialed hoping that, once again, his client’s wife would pick up.

She did.

“Hello Carissa.” he said the moment she answered the phone, “My name is Harry, and you don’t really know me. But you are never going to believe what I have to tell you.”