“Which companies exactly does Activist 345 take exception to?” asked another.

“Would the TWA blow up the Jimbo Jelly Bean corporation? Their jelly beans make me break out in a rash,” said another.

I tried to call and defend Penny against the charge of “whore” but I didn’t get through.

Then Edward was put on. The first time anyone from our family gets on air and it was him. I smashed another plate. Deliberately this time.

He said he understood Activist 345’s emotional crisis, her dilemma, the need to do something drastic because you felt it was right only to see it careering out of control and cause horrifying damage. He said he was a retired fireman . . .

“Ha!” I said in my kitchen.

. . . who’d quit because of the stress. Did the listeners know that only the U.S. president had a more stressful job? He said he’d invested an inheritance in unethical shares without thinking. He said he got scared that the TWA would blow him up, leaving his children fatherless . . .

“Ha!” I said again.

. . . and for what? So that he could get a few unearned dollars off the suffering of the African poor. He said he wanted out.

Penny let the program finish with both him and Activist 345 weeping.

I called up Edward afterward and asked him what he thought all that proved. He said it proved there were still people out there concerned with the pursuit of JUSTICE. He said Activist 345, WHAT A GIRL.

736

Edward put in another quarter.

“Penny doesn’t want you on today, caller, she’s got a man who’s in love with his monkey, and a couple of stalkers.”

“I won’t be slushy,” said Edward.

“If it was up to me I’d put you through but I’ve been given the thumbs-down.”

“I see.”

“I’ll take your number if things get slack.”

“Forget it.”

Edward put the phone down. It occurred to him that if Activist 345 was listening to the show she might think him soppy. And he didn’t want to be thought of as soppy. He wanted to be thought of as steely. Steely and ruthless. He wished his bomb had gone off.

He’d call the show when he had something to brag about.

735

Dr. Frankburg’s nine-o’clock appointment, a pilot called Graham Johansson, wasn’t coming.

Frankburg cursed. The office was gloomy and depressing in the evenings and Dr. Frankburg felt uncomfortable with the responsibility of securing the shared-use premises.

He didn’t like sitting there on his own.

It was in this room that his wife had decided he was insufferable and had walked out on him, telling him he could have everything, every single thing, she didn’t want any of it, not even money. It was also in this room that he had told his daughter that the offspring of separated parents often turned out to be highly motivated and successful people, and although it was all very traumatic now, he was confident she’d feel better very shortly.