This morning, though, he was seized by an overwhelming feeling that he would die soon—from a gunshot. Phil had taken out a contract on him. He lit his second spliff of the day. Fuck, he thought, those seagulls were really eavesdroppers. He closed the sliding door, pulled the blinds. Margaret was the only one who could save him, he thought as he pissed on the carpet. Phil would listen to her if she begged him. He couldn’t die right now. He had to live to see his mother so he could spit in her face.

He sat on the bed and dialed Margaret’s number.

The telephone entered Margaret’s consciousness slowly. She was lying on the carpet in her living room with a throw pillow under her hips and Phil had his wood inside her moving at the right speed, at the right angle, with the right amount of force.

It was uncanny, she was thinking to herself, how much he’d begun to feel like Ian. She tightened her glam to savor the sweetness.

“Get it,” Phil said gruffly. She’d let him play dominator at times.

“Why?” she asked meekly.

“Because I say so,” he growled. He smacked her lightly on the hip.

“No, I won’t,” she said, inviting him to smack her a little harder. He did. She told him no again. He bit her shoulder and pinned her wrists behind her head.

“Get the phone,” he said again, ramming her deep for punctuation.

She felt a crackling in her bones now. She wanted to roll onto her belly so she could feel him deeper. But he held her down.

“Get the fucking phone or I’ll stop,” he said.

Desperation shook her. “No. Don’t stop fucking me. Pleeease! I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything,”

“So get it then.”

He raised his weight and she lowered her legs and slithered to the phone, using the opportunity to turn over and cock up on her knees with the pillow beneath her belly.

A heat sliced through her body when he entered her again. He gripped her by the waist.

“Tell whoever it is that you’re getting fucked.”

She picked up the receiver. “Hello,” she said, out of breath now. “I’m getting fucked. And I’m loving it and I don’t want it to stop and—”

“No one ever fucked you like this,” Phil dictated.

“No one ever fucked me like this,” she said.

“Ever has, does, or will.”

“Ever has, does, or will. Oh fuck, Phil … I’m coming! I’m coming! I’m comiiiinng!”

She collapsed on the floor.

Phil replaced the receiver and lay down beside her. She licked the sweat off his forehead. She was glad she had him, she thought. He was wonderful.

The phone rang again and they both began to laugh.

“Will you please get that, luv?” Phil asked, falling out of character now.

“I’m too embarrassed,” she said. “It might be the same person calling back.”

“If they ask, tell them they must’ve called a wrong number.”

Giggling, she picked up the receiver. “Hello,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.