"You call me your agent," the man says as he makes a stump out of his cigarette and exhales.
I notice he has two rings on his left middle finger.
"Sounds good, sir," I say.
He nods, approving of my reply.
"I need to call my cousin," I say when he's finished nodding.
He looks at me questioningly.
"You said you'd let me use your phone," I explain.
"Right," the man says and gets up out of his tall leather chair. He comes over to my side of the desk and walks over to the wall behind me. I realize that that's where the phone is and promptly stand up. I find the blue wall-phone oddly pretty, and wish, for a fleeting second, that I had the exact one to call my own.
"You've got a dial tone," he shoves the phone to me and sits back behind his desk where he immediately lights another cigarette.
I dial Glen's number quickly, as if it's programmed into my fingers. He doesn't answer and I don't leave a message. I'm not too down about it, at least I don't show it.
I am glad that the man doesn't inquire about why I had such a quick time on the telephone. I sit back down.
"You've got to go to your father's." it almost sounds like a question.
I look down at my Velcro watch, "I've got to get to church," I answer.
The man frowns, "Huh," he says; it comes from deep inside his chest, "I stopped believing in God before I stopped believing in Santa."