Mr Sifakis’ Second Job
by Philip J. Lees
Sitting at his desk in the tax office, Mr. Sifakis glanced down at his bare left wrist, blushed slightly, cursed under his breath, and affected insouciance. His wife, Eleni, had given him an action watch for Christmas, the kind that winds itself using the energy of the wearer’s movements. At first, Mr. Sifakis’ watch kept running down, he was so inactive. The solution, he found eventually, was to wear it on the other wrist, where the perpetual raising and lowering of his right hand with its rubber stamp provided sufficient motion to keep the watch going, at least during the week. Unfortunately, though, years of wearing his old watch on the more conventional left side had led to the inculcation of fixed habits and most of the time he still looked the wrong way, to his continual embarrassment. Things had reached the stage where he was almost too afraid to look at the time at all, but this made the boredom of his working day seem interminable. Mr. Sifakis cursed the moment of weakness which had led him to express his enthusiasm for this particular watch when he saw it advertised on the television. “Look!” he had exclaimed to Eleni, “no batteries.” Mr. Sifakis settled deeper into his cushion, stamped another document and brooded.
Mr. Sifakis worked in the car registration department. He described himself to others as a happily married man, but this was far from the truth. True, he had a comfortable home, was well dressed and well fed. Friends and neighbours complimented him on his children, though as they got older he himself found them increasingly difficult to comprehend. The thing was, the passion had gone out of his marriage. Since the birth of their second child, nine years ago, there had been no sex. His wife had had a difficult labour and at first she complained that lovemaking would be too painful; then, gradually, although he could not later understand how it happened, things had reached the stage where he did not even feel able to raise the subject any more.
The previous evening had been typical. After a dinner of beef in tomato sauce, oven roast potatoes and fresh salad (Eleni was an excellent cook, her had to admit) he had settled into his usual armchair with a glass of whiskey to watch the news on television while Eleni cleared up and put the children to bed. There was nothing much on the news - mainly the usual unconvincingly optimistic statements from politicians about the economy - but the warm feeling in his belly, assisted by the relaxing effect of the Johnny Walker, left Mr. Sifakis feeling quite mellow. He was beginning to contemplate suggesting a romantic continuation to the evening, when Eleni lumbered in, carrying a glass of liqueur in one hand and a plate of cherry preserve in the other. “Would you like a sweet, Costas?” she asked. “No thanks.” Mr. Sifakis did not share his wife’s sweet tooth. Her ample body strained the buttons of her pink housecoat as, breathing heavily, she manoeuvred herself on to the sofa. There were small beads of perspiration on her upper lip. The sight quickly quenched the faint stirrings of Mr. Sifakis’ libido and he reached for the television’s remote control.
Today, at work, Mr. Sifakis thought about the previous evening. He had to do something about the situation. He had several times considered visiting a brothel, but he had absolutely no idea where to go and, anyway, he thought he would probably be too ashamed to walk through the door. And what if somebody from the office happened to see him? No. that was definitely out. Then his eye lighted upon a magazine which one of his colleagues (he supposed) had carelessly left on the chair beside his desk. It was open at a page which advertised the so called ‘pink numbers’ which provided access to telephone sex. Mr. Sifakis had no idea what to expect from this service, but he had heard two of the younger clerks sniggering about it in the office. Out of desperation, he decided to give it a try.
§
That evening he called one of the numbers that he had furtively jotted down on a slip of paper. An attractive voice answered: “Hello, dear, what can I do for you?”. Mr. Sifakis was lost for a reply. “What do you suggest?” he eventually replied, nervously. “Where are you now, dear?” the voice asked. Mr. Sifakis was, in fact, sitting in his car, which was parked in a dark side street around the corner from his apartment, and was speaking into his cellphone, but he was too embarrassed to admit this. “At home, in bed,” he improvised. “And what are you wearing?” Mr. Sifakis was, naturally, fully dressed. “Just my underpants,” he lied. “Mmm. You know what I’d like to do, dear? I’d love to take them off you, dear, and smell them,” the voice continued, seductively. Mr. Sifakis was now completely taken aback. The idea of a woman, however sexy, sniffing around his Y-fronts he found rather distasteful and certainly not remotely erotic. If he had been expecting anything, it would have been more along the lines of human, rather than canine, foreplay. The young lady then proceeded to make a suggestion which, if Mr. Sifakis had considered the matter more carefully in advance, would have been quite obvious but, as it was, it left him shocked and speechless. He hung up in shame.
The following morning, he thought again about last night’s debacle. Was it just him? he wondered. Were other men really aroused by that kind of thing? He found it hard to believe. Surely the people who ran the phone sex operation had enough imagination to come up with something better than he had experienced. Why, he himself, after all these years of abstinence, could easily invent a dozen scenarios with more erotic content than last night’s script. It was then that Mr. Sifakis had his idea. At first, it was just a kind of irritation, nibbling away in one corner of his mind, but then it began to take shape until he could ignore it no longer. But did he dare?
§
Sitting in his parked car, having summoned up his resolve, Mr. Sifakis once more dialled the ‘pink number’. This time, the voice was different, but the words were the same. Trying to sound less nervous than he felt, Mr. Sifakis began his carefully rehearsed speech. “Look, miss, just put your supervisor on would you,” he said. Before the girl could reply, he continued, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to complain about you or anything. I just have a business proposition I want to put to whoever’s in charge.” There was a pause at the other end of the line, then, “Wait a moment, I’ll see.” Mr. Sifakis, his heart pounding, could hardly hold the small cellphone steady at his ear. After an immeasurable interval of time a male voice spoke. “What do you want?” The voice was not unfriendly, but definitely abrupt. “I have a business proposition that I think will interest you,” said Mr. Sifakis, a little too quickly. He swallowed and pulled himself together. “Look, I don’t want to tie up your business line, so can you give me another number I can call so that we can discuss it. Or, if you like, I’ll give you my number and you can call me back.” The unknown man hesitated, then, “All right, what’s your number?” Mr. Sifakis spelled it out, carefully, in spite of the tension that clamped his body. Now he was committed. He switched off his phone, hugged his body and waited.
It seemed like an hour before his cellphone began to bleat. Fumbling, Mr. Sifakis pushed the button and held the handset to his ear. “Yes?” he said, affecting a confidence he did not feel. “Costas, where are you?” his wife’s voice said. “I thought you’d be home by now.” The cellphone had also been a present from Eleni. Damn the woman! “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he shouted. “Look, I can’t talk now. I’m driving. It’s dangerous.” Cursing under his breath, Mr. Sifakis switched off the phone. It immediately rang again. “What now?” he snapped. There was a short silence, then the same male voice replied, “Did you just call me a few minutes ago? Something about some business?” “Yes, yes,” Mr. Sifakis stammered. “I’m sorry, I thought you were, er, someone else.” “Well, let’s hear it, then. I haven’t got all night.”
Carefully, Mr. Sifakis explained. He had been surprised and disappointed with what he had heard when he first tried their service. He suspected that other men would have the same response. He, himself, had prepared some phone scripts which he thought would please the customers more. He could let them have one or two on a trial basis and, if his ideas turned out to be popular, then they could discuss the matter further. “So you see,” he concluded, “you’re risking nothing. Only if it works out, then we can talk about me getting a share of the extra profits, on a kind of commission basis.” The man sounded amused. “What makes you think you can come up with something good in this line?” he asked. “Look,” said Mr. Sifakis, “like I said, you’re risking nothing. If you don’t like my stuff, then throw it away. If you do like it, and it works, then I’ll give you some more. But then I’ll expect to be paid something for it.” The man chuckled. “OK,” he said. “Send me a couple of scripts and we’ll see. Take down this fax number.” “Fax?” gulped Mr. Sifakis. “Shouldn’t this be more private?” “Don’t worry, nobody else will see it but me. Now, do you want the number or not?” Mr. Sifakis had reached the point of no return. “Just let me get a pen and paper.” He scribbled down the number the man gave him and then read it back to make sure. It wouldn’t do to make a mistake!
§
It was three months later and Mr. Sifakis whistled as he walked towards his desk. Several of his colleagues looked up in surprise. Surely the man was indecently cheerful for a Monday morning. Mr. Sifakis sat in his chair and prepared to attack the usual stack of files with gusto. Outwardly he appeared calm, though more energetic than usual, but inside he felt like cheering. The extra money he had picked up over the weekend would more than cover the last payment on his car and it looked as if there was going to be plenty more where that came from. And none of it going to the taxman (although Mr. Sifakis worked for the government this did not seem to him in the least hypocritical). Life was indeed grand.
He had turned out to have a real talent for ‘pink fiction’, the euphemism he used to describe it to himself. After his initial scepticism, George Angelopoulos had been so impressed by the success of Mr. Sifakis’ first two scripts that he had pressed him to produce more and more. After one month George’s business was doing so well that he had been obliged to get two more new phone lines and employ another four girls to cover the extra shifts. George had even mentioned the possibility of a partnership, but Mr. Sifakis preferred to keep a distance. He could work better as an independent, he explained, although he would not object to a small increase in his commission.
And it wasn’t only the extra money; his life had improved in other ways, too. Of late, Eleni seemed to have regained some of the youthful spirit which had attracted him to her so long ago. She was dressing better, she had attended a health studio for a month and had lost almost all of her excess weight; and last night they had made love for the first time in almost ten years. Today, Mr. Sifakis felt like a teenager again.
Leaving the office that day, he decided it was time for another spot check. One couldn’t be too careful. He encouraged the lads in the office to ring the “pink numbers” during coffee breaks in the staff kitchen “just for a joke” and they would repeat back to him what they heard. “Gets the old man going,” he had overheard one of them say, behind his back, “I’ll bet he isn’t getting much at home”. But Mr Sifakis didn’t mind the teasing and, in fact, until recently it had been quite true. Anyway, business was business. Apart from all that, however, he made a point of ringing up himself from time to time. He had never met any of the girls and had never visited the office from which they practised their long distance seduction, so there was no chance of any of them recognising him, except as an occasional customer. By now, of course, he knew almost all their voices.
But today’s girl was different. She must be one of the new ones. There was something, though, a tone in her voice which seemed almost familiar, even though Mr. Sifakis was certain he had never dealt with her before. He pretended to be shy, hesitating nervously, while focusing his attention on the script, which, along with its built in variations, he knew by heart. She was doing well, even though she was clearly somewhat lacking in experience. Damn good writing, this! if he said so himself. He led her along, playing his part, and waited for the sexy, throaty chuckle that he had written in at this point in the routine. It came right on cue and Mr. Sifakis once again complimented himself on his stagecraft. But then, a warning bell rang in his mind and for a moment it was as if the echo of the chuckle resounded in his head. Just a minute, this couldn’t be true. He knew that chuckle. He had heard it recently. He had heard it last night, for the first time in almost ten years!
- End -
© Copyright Philip J. Lees 1998