BECKY
At lunch, I’m sitting in my room grading papers when my classroom phone rings. I reluctantly pick it up.
“Ms. Duchamp, you have a parent wishing to talk to you.” Says Jill, an unusual warmth in her voice.
Shit, she likes this parent.
That’s fine. I’m not worried. This is fine.
“Okay, thanks Ji—“BEEP.The beep signals the call change. I wish she’d tell me more thana parent is calling.
“Hello, this is Ms. Duchamp, may I ask who is calling?”
An incredibly low rumbling voice answers, and I don’t even need to hear his name to know who it is. “This is Billy Saul. Do you got a minute, Ms. Duchamp?”
Lordy, his voice is sinful.
“Of course, what can I do for you, Mr. Saul?”Hilarious that he’s calling me Ms. Duchamp.
“Billy. Please.” He’s not rude, but he’s also not gentle. I’ve always been able to vibe with people like Billy Saul.
“Okay, yes, Billy.”
“You doing the DC Trip tent again next week?”
“Yes, I believe Ms. Terri, Ms. Hall, and I will be running the tent.”
“Ms. Hall?”
“Oh, yes, the new Art Teacher, Sonya Hall, volunteered to help.”
“Right.”
“Okay, is that all you need Mr… I mean, Billy?”Snort.
“Yeah.” Something muffled comes over the phone, but it stops just as quickly as it started. “Sorry, no. Look, I have a car that’s been donated to your cause. Instead of a 50/50 raffle, y’all can keep all the money collected, and the winner gets the car. It’s not new or nothin’, but it’s y’alls to use to raise your funds.”
Holy shit.
“Billy, that’s amazing! I don’t know?—”
A familiar muffled voice can be heard from over the phone. “Tell her it’s a good car, not some junker. Make sure she knows we checked it!”
“Okay, okay, I get it man,” said Billy to the other person, obviously, ridiculously, Carter. A gruff sigh, then louder to me. “It’s not brand new, but solid. Y’all can raise more with it than with raffle tickets. Oh, um, also, Ms. Duch—can I just call you Becky?”
“Umm, yeah of course. Thank you so much for your offer, but we?—”
“It’s already done. So don’t do the, ‘Oh, I couldn’t’ shi—Ouch, what the fuck, Carter!”
Again Billy’s muffled voice, away from the phone. “I’mnotsaying that. Hell no.” More muffled talking. Finally, to me again. “Sorry, if you thought I was rude.”
“That’snotwhat I said!” That same achingly familiar voice says in the background of the call.
“Shut the fuck up, Carter,” Billy growls, not even bothering to cover the receiver this time.
“Don’t forget to tell her about the posters, Billy! Posters!” Carter is easily heard by this point, and I smile, but only a little. The image of massive, imposing, and stoic Billy while an energized, anxious, excitable Carter buzzes around is more endearing than I’d like to admit.
I wonder if Billy actually thinks he’s blocking the receiver end of the phone.
