The Zero Game

“I’ll be okay,” she shoots back, annoyed that I’m checking up on her. As she hits the button marked Speaker, the dial tone disappears.

I can’t say I blame her. Even forgetting that I got her into this (which she doesn’t), this is her show – and these two phone calls are ones only she can make.

Her fingers tap at the Touch-Tones, and I hear the ringing through the receiver. A female voice picks up on the other end.

“Hey, Adrienne, it’s Viv,” she says, pumping excitement into her voice. The show’s already on. “No… yeah… nuh-uh, really? And she said that?” There’s a short pause as Viv plays along. “That’s why I’m calling,” Viv explains. “No… just listen…”

The female voice on the other line belongs to Adrienne Kaye, one of Viv’s two roommates in the Senate page dorm. As Viv told me on the ride over, every night, when the pages get back from work, they’re supposed to sign the official check-in sheet to make sure everyone’s accounted for. For the thirty pages, it’s a simple system that works just fine – that is, until last week, when Adrienne decided to ditch curfew and stay out late with a group of interns from Indiana. The only reason Adrienne got away with it was because Viv signed Adrienne’s name at the check-in desk and told the proctors she was in the bathroom. Now, Viv’s trying to get the favor returned.

Within thirty seconds, the job’s done. “Great – yeah, no – just tell them it’s that time of the month; that’ll keep them away,” Viv says, giving me the thumbs-up. Adrienne’s in. “Nuh-uh… no one you know,” Viv adds as she glances my way. There’s no smile on her face.

“Jason? Never,” Viv laughs. “Are you a nutbag? I don’t care if he’s cute – he can pick his nose with his tongue…”

She keeps the conversation going just long enough to keep it believable. “Cool, thanks again, Adrienne,” she says, finally hanging up.

“Well done,” I tell her as she stands in front of the desk and dials the next number.

She nods to herself, showing the tiniest hint of pride. The chase with Janos pulled her down a few pegs. She’s still trying to climb her way back up. Too bad for Viv, the next call will only make it harder.

As the phone rings on the other line, I already see the change in her posture. She lowers her chin, ducking down just slightly. Her toes turn inward, one shoe picking at the tip of the other. As her hand grips the receiver, she again glances at me and turns away. I know a call for help when I see one.

I hit the button for the speakerphone just as a female voice picks up on the other line. Viv looks down at the red light marked Speaker. This time, she doesn’t shut it off.

“Doctor’s office,” a female voice answers.

“Hey, Momma, it’s me,” Viv says, forcing the same amount of bubbliness through the phone. Her tone is pitch perfect – even better than the last call.

“What’s wrong?” her mom asks.

“Nothing… I’m great,” Viv says as she leans her left hand against the desk. She’s already having trouble standing up. Two minutes ago, she was seventeen, going on twenty-seven. Now she’s barely thirteen.

“Why’m I on speakerphone?” Mom asks.

“You’re not, Momma; it’s a cell phone that’s-”

“Take me off speaker – y’know I hate it.”

Viv looks my way, and I instinctively step back. She hits the button marked Speaker, and the call leaves the room. The good news is, thanks to the volume of Mom’s voice, I can still hear her through the receiver.

Earlier, I said we shouldn’t make this call. Now we have to. If Mom pulls the fire alarm, we’re not going anywhere.

“Better,” Mom says. “Now, whatsa matter?”

There’s real concern in her voice. Sure, Mom’s loud… but not from anger… or bossiness. Senator Stevens has the same tone. That sense of immediacy. The sound of strength.

“Tell me what happened,” Mom insists. “Someone make another comment?”

“No one made a comment.”

“What about that boy from Utah?”

I can’t place Mom’s accent – part southern Ohio drawl, part broad vowels of Chicago – but whatever it is, when I close my eyes… the intonations… the speed of each syllable… it’s like hearing Viv twenty years in the future. Then I open my eyes and see Viv hunched over from the stress. She’s got a long way to go.

“What about the Utah boy?” Mom persists.

“That boy’s an ass-”

“Vivian…”

“Momma, please – it isn’t a cuss. They say ass on every dumb sitcom on TV.”

“So now you live in a sitcom, huh? Then I guess your sitcom mom will be the one paying your bills and taking care of all your problems.”

“I don’t have problems. It was one comment from one boy… The proctors took care of it… It’s fine.”

“Don’t let them do that to you, Vivian. God says-”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Don’t let them-”

“Mom!”

Mom pauses – a triple-length pause only a mother can give. All the love she has for her daughter – you can tell she’s dying to scream it through the phone… but she also knows that strength isn’t easily transferred. It has to be found. From within.

“Tell me something about the Senators,” Mom finally says. “They ask you to write any legislation yet?”