A Simple Misunderstanding

Jonathan Strutt
Jul 27, 2017 · 17 min read

“Hello?”

“Who’s this?”

“Uh, you called me, buddy.”

“I’m not your buddy, guy. Who is this?”

My eyebrow raised at my friend sitting across from me. “I think you got a wrong number, buddy.”

“I told you, I’m not your buddy!” Isabel raised her eyebrows as I winced.

“Alright, alright, chill.”

“Don’t you tell me to chill, you snot-nosed little butt-muncher! You got three seconds to-”

I set my phone down on the café table and stared at Isabel, who stared back.

“Who was that?”

“Hell if I know,” I said. “That’s the third wrong number today. I guess someone didn’t update everyone in their address book.”

“Yeah, you got your new phone today, right?” She took a sip of her coffee.

My phone buzzed again as I nodded. “I think it’s the same guy.” The number seemed familiar.

“Are you gonna get it?” Isabel asked. “He’ll just yell at you again.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll let him have it. Yeah?”

“Please, please, I’m sorry, just… where is she?”

His pitiful voice struck me dumb for a moment. “Uh… where’s who?”

“Sandra, Sandra, beautiful Sandra,” he wept. “Oh, I need her, I need her bad! I’m in a bad spot… so, so bad…”

“Uh… okay, just relax, bud — dude,” I told him. Isabel leaned forward, turning her ear towards me. “Um… do you… are you… safe?”

“Are any of us safe, away from Sandra?” He began to cry, although his cries were closer to screams.

“Hey, hey, listen to me. It’s gonna be okay.” Some of the other people in the café shot me worrying looks.

“It… it is?” I could almost picture his pleading eyes looking up at me.

“Yeah, sure. Sure it will. Do you know where Sandra lives?”

“I… I do.”

“Well, why don’t you go see her? You should go and… tell her how you feel.”

“I…” He blew his nose right into the mouthpiece of his phone. “I think I will. Tell her I’ll be over soon. Thanks.”

“Wait, no, I don’t-” He hung up. Isabel’s confused face matched my own.

“I… I think this Sandra is like… a hooker, or something.”

Isabel laughed. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, the other calls said they needed Sandra, and this guy was crying that he needs her, and… I dunno.” Isabel was covering her mouth as she chuckled. “Well, I don’t know how hookers work!”

“I wonder if they found her in the Yellow Pages?”

“Shut up. Now, where were we?”


“Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m calling to change Miss Thorn’s appointment tomorrow.”

“What?” I plugged my other ear to block the sounds of the subway train.

“Leon, please, not today. She’ll be there two hours later.”

“Um, I think you have the wrong number.”

“Please, she’s been even bitchier than usual. I’m not in the mood.”

“Who?”

“Leon, stop it. Just tell Sandra. Why she gives you her personal phone sometimes, I’ll never understand.”

“Listen, this isn’t Leon, or Sandra. You got the wrong-”

“Enough, Leon. And come tonight around eight. Don’t be late, I mean it.”

“But-”

“I won’t remind you, so you better show up. If you don’t, we’re over.” She hung up.

I stared at my phone. That made six people calling for Sandra within as many hours. Who was this Sandra? And why did I have to get her old number? I sat back in my seat, wedged between a snoring old man who was due for his sponge bath and a stone-faced woman whose nose was lodged in a book. Who was this Sandra? I asked myself again. She had someone working for her, a Leon. A pimp? But wait, didn’t the hookers work for the pimps? Well, it was 2017 after all. Things could be different now.

I chewed on my lip for a moment before calling my friend Ramone.

“Yo, man, whaddup?”

“Hey, Ramone. I’m good, what about you?”

“Ah, man, you know me, just livin’ life to the max, my man!”

“Great, great. Listen, uh, I got something to ask you.” I became very conscious of the people all around me.

“Yo, you can ask me anything, brother.”

“Um…” I cleared my throat. “Do you know any hookers?” The train hit a silent stretch of track as I uttered those words.

“Oh, shit, are you for real? You think just ’cause a brother’s black, he know some mademoiselles? Shame on you, brother.”

“I didn’t ask that because you’re black, I asked — wait a minute, you aren’t even black.”

“Sure I am, brother! I as black as they come.”

“No, dude, you’re not. You’re whiter than I am.”

“Oh hell naw, you didn’t just say that! I am black, brother!”

“How. Tell me how black you are.” A man across from me glared; I tilted my head down and lowered my voice.

“My dad was black.”

“You’ve never even met your dad.”

“Exactly! How’s you to say I ain’t black?”

“Because your mom said. Your dad was some low-life, Caucasian scum, those were her words.”

“Man, don’t you be talkin’ smack ‘bout my family, or imma beat yo’ ass!”

“Do you know any hookers, or not?” That garnered quite a few looks; the woman beside me made a noise of disgust.

“Yeah, man, I got some people. Anyone in particular?”

“One named Sandra.”

“Oh, shit! Sandra’s high class, man! She outta your price range, brother.”

“So she’s a hooker?”

“She’s an escort.” He pronounced that word as if it were foreign. “How’d you hear ‘bout her, anyway?”

“Long story. How can I contact her? Or her… uh…”

“Agency?”

“Sure.”

“No, that’s what they called. Agencies.” Again with the foreign pronunciation.

“Alright, perfect. How do I contact the agency?” I gave the frowning woman a half-hearted grin.

“I’ll text you the number. When you call, ask for Leon first.”

Bingo. “Awesome. Thanks again, Ramone.”

“You got it, brother! Keep it real!”

I hung up and glanced at the people around me, wearing looks ranging from amusement to utter disgust. The train finally found the noisy parts of track again. Convenient.

“It’s pigs like you that are the reason this country’s in the shit,” the woman spat as the train jerked to a stop.

“Um… what?” She didn’t reply, but stormed out of the train.

The man who gave me the glare stood up and leaned close. “A word of advice, brother: if a brother say he black,” he leaned even closer, “he black.”

His deep voice rattled my skinny frame something fierce. “Y-yes, sir,” I mumbled. He stared at me for one terrifying second before he exited the train. The old man turned his head and leaned on my shoulder, snoring and drooling away.


The original plan was to call Sandra’s agency tomorrow, but after the fifteenth call for Sandra, I dialed the agency, fuming. It was late, but this was prime escort time, wasn’t it? They would thank me for bringing their business back.

“Yep?” A gruff voice answered.

“I’m looking for Leon.”

“Who’s looking for Leon?”

“I am.”

“Right. And who is ‘I’, wiseguy?”

I froze. “Escobar.”

“Escobar. Hold on.” I heard him scream to Leon that an Escobar was calling, someone screamed back, and the man screamed he had no idea who the hell Escobar was neither. There was a lot of fumbling with the phone, and-

“Alright, Escobar, how’d you get this number?”

“Uh… my friend gave it to me.”

“Your friend. And your friend, he have a name?”

“Uh… yes,” I said slowly, a second fake name avoiding me.

“And are you going to — I told you to shut that music off!” he bellowed. “Felicity, I swear to God, if you don’t get into that dress and out that door in five minutes — don’t you say that! Don’t you say that. I have brought you up from nothing!”

I held the phone away from my ear. “Uh, excuse me…”

“Hey! Hey! Get back here. Yeah, you! Bring that here.” He took a long sip of something. “What do you want?”

His voice had returned to full volume. “Uh, I want to talk to Sandra.”

“Sandra!” I nearly dropped the phone. “Get over here and talk to this numbskull. Two minutes, you got it? Then you gotta pay.” There was much fumbling around with the phone again. “Two minutes!” Leon’s screamed echoed.

“Hey, handsome.” Her voice was a thick blanket of velvet after being sandblasted by Leon. “How you doing?”

“I’m, uh, great. I’m… Escobar.”

“Hey, Escobar.” I almost forgot the reason I called.

“I, uh…” I cleared my throat. “Have you changed your number recently?”

“Why? Have you been trying to get… in touch?”

I took a moment to catch my breath. “Well, not me, but I think a lot of others have been trying to.”

“I’m a hot commodity, big guy. You want to see what all the fuss is about?”

“Yes. I mean, no, I was just-”

“Meet me at fifth and Carter’s in an hour. You won’t regret it. I’ll show you a good time.” The call ended, but it took me a few moments to put down my phone.

Now what? Sandra’s voice probed my heart and my thoughts; I had to shake my head and blink rapidly to expel all thoughts of probing. If I wanted to get to Fifth and Carter I would have to get moving soon, but then what? I had no cash, and these agencies probably didn’t take credit cards. At least I used a fake name.

A plan came to me and I picked up my phone.


I was early and set up shop in the park near the corner. I browsed aimlessly on my phone from the bench I sat on, which gave an clear view. There were only old apartment buildings with faded bricks and more than a few boarded up windows around, with one confectionery shop lit down the street. No one was there yet, but there were still ten minutes left of my hour. I took some deep breaths to calm my racing heart, and got a lovely stench from the sewer grate in front of me. I smelt the pungent odor again, and looked under the bench; some dog had left a lovely surprise. At least, I hoped it was a dog. I moved to another bench, doing my best to find the least rotten part.

Someone walked past me, whistling, hands in his pockets. He stopped at the corner diagonally across from Fifth and Carter, rocking back and forth on his feet, whistling, hands in his pockets. He glanced at me more than once, but I pretended to be on my phone, judging this to be the caller who whistled ‘Over the Rainbow’ on the phone. After a moment, I realized he was whistling a new song, ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’.

Another man sat down in the bench I had abandoned. He leaned back, setting both arms along the back of the bench, sniffed once, extended his legs, sniffed again, glanced at me, sniffed again, and again, and looked under the bench. Finding the same surprise as I did, he sniffed and walked over to my bench, sitting in the same manner, arms across the back of the bench, legs extended. The bench groaned under the strain. I stared at him.

“’Sup,” he answered, sniffed, and turned to watch the street. I scooted to the edge of the bench.

An expensive looking car drove and parked itself at the appointed corner, the lights switching off. I stood up and walked over to the brick wall across from the car, leaning against it, figuring this was as good a sign as any.

A window rolled down. “You Escobar?” I couldn’t see the driver’s face in the dark.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Get in.”

“Uh… could we… can’t I talk to her outside?”

The hidden man turned to the back seat and muttered something before storming out of the vehicle. I tensed, but he opened the passenger door and Aphrodite herself strode out.

“Hey, Escobar,” she crooned, long brown hair draped down one side, baby blue eyes fluttering at me, her crimson dress showing me so much of her coffee-with-milk skin, yet not nearly enough. Or was it milk-with-coffee?

“H-hey.” My eyes struggled upwards against the gravitational pull of the two celestial bodies jutting before me. “H-how are you?”

“I’m better now.” She came close and grasped my hand; I almost melted. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, my eyes wide as they stared into her eyes. I couldn’t think of one reason why prostitution should be illegal.

“What did you want to talk about?” Her other hand came up to twirl a strand of my hair; the noise I made defied explanation.

“Um…” I took a breath to center myself. “Okay. I took the liberty of inviting some friends, I hope-”

“She don’t do groups, brother.” The escort’s escort stepped forward into the light; he was the man from the subway. “You!”

“Oh, uh, hello,” I managed.

“If you wanted a group thing, you should have told Leon before.” Sandra stepped away from me, a wall of ice coming between us.

“No, I don’t mean like that, I mean-”

“SANDRA!” A mournful voice echoed. “WHERE ARE YOU?”

“What the hell?” Sandra whirled around.

The large man shoved me hard against the brick wall. “The hell you playing at, brother?”

“I’m not playing, buddy, I’m just-”

He shoved me again. “I ain’t your buddy, brother. Talk.”

“SAAAAAAAANDRAAAAAAA!” The voice was closer.

“Look, I thought if I got your clients here, you could tell them your new number, all at once.”

“What new number?” Sandra had her hand on the car door; the other two men, hearing someone call their beloved one, wandered over to the corner. Someone was whistling the theme song to Mission: Impossible. “What the hell’s he talking about?”

“What the hell’s you talking about?” the man asked me, his dark eyes almost touching mine.

“I got your old number by mistake and people keep-” My phone rang. “See? That’s probably someone for Sandra.”

The man fished in my pocket and produced my phone. “Hello!” he answered, more demand than greeting. “Do I sound like a Sandra? No? Then I probably ain’t! Who is this?”

He released me from his grip, and I decided to sacrifice my phone for my greater good. The other two men had reached the corner.

“Uh, where’s Sandra?” He sniffed.

“Right there. You’re welcome,” I told the bench hog, walking past him, but he stopped me with a hand on my chest.

“Uh, that ain’t Sandra.”

I turned around and saw Sandra glaring at us. “You blind?”

“What did you say to me?” An angry sniff this time.

My reply was interrupted by another wail for Sandra and pounding footsteps. A overweight man was sprinting towards us, the sweat on his bald head reflecting the streetlights like a mirror. The theme from Jaws was a nice touch by the whistler. We got out of his way as put a hand against the wall for support while he caught his breath, his grey sweater nearly black with sweat.

“S… San…” He gagged once, twice, then vomited. The shark attacked.

“Jesus Christ. Can we go now?” she addressed her bodyguard, who was in a heated debate.

“Oh, I’m a what? I’m a what?!” He held the phone away, closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then dove back in.

“Wait, wait, the others will be here soon,” I said.

“What others? There’s more? What the hell is wrong with you?” She stomped towards me.

“What? You should be thanking me!” I retreated.

“Can you give us a second?” Sniffs-A-Lot stepped in front of Sandra, sniffing, to which she snorted. He whirled around and dragged me back a few feet beside the rocking and whistling man. He was whistling ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’, which was… impressive.

“Okay, ha ha, very funny, now I’m serious. Where’s Sandra?” He sniffed again.

My jaw dropped as I pointed with both hands behind him.

“That’s not Sandra. I’m serious.” A knife appeared in his hand with a frightening clack.

“Whoa, chill, buddy! She’s-”

“I’m not your buddy, guy.”

“Sandra!” The obese man had caught his breath and looked around maniacally. “Sandra! Sandra? Where are you?” He dropped to all fours and looked under the car.

“I’m right here, idiot,” Sandra told him.

He started. “You…” he struggled to his feet, winded. “You’re not Sandra. Where’s Sandra?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. This is the idiot who texted us.” Knifeman shoved me forward. Whistleman whistled some obscure tune.

The obese man clutched my shirt; from the smell that erupted from him, I made a vow never to eat cheeseburgers again and go to the gym at least four times a week. At least three. “Where is she? Where’s my darling Sandra?!”

“She’s right there!” I screamed.

“God damn it!” The man with my phone threw it on the ground, shattering it.

“Oh come on! What the-”

“Where is she?!” Cheeseburger man shook me. “Give me Sandra!”

“What the hell is this?” Another woman said, and we all turned. There were two of them, at least until my vision adjusted itself. “Where’s Leon?”

“How do you know Leon?” The phone-wrecker asked.

“Um, he’s my boyfriend. Or he was, until he flaked!”

“Boyfriend?” Sandra and her bodyguard exchanged looks.

“Is there an echo here? Who are all you?”

“We were told Sandra would be here,” the man with the knife said.

The obese man released me. “Sandra! Do you know where she is?”

“Um, no, that’s why I’m here. Miss Thorn sent me.”

“Alright, well, this has been real fun, but if you want anything from me, you have to talk to Leon.” Sandra opened the car door.

“And how do you know Leon?” The women appraised each other with disdainful looks.

“He’s my-”

“Wait! You’re that slut he’s sleeping with!” Miss Thorn’s aide stormed forward.

“Look, sugar, you got the wrong-” The woman attacked with astounding speed. They screamed and cursed each other as hair was pulled and slaps rang. The destroyer of phones swore and went to assist his charge. Whistleman began to whistle ‘Eye of the Tiger’. I went to run, but a hand caught me and a knife pressed against my throat.

“I’m not screwing around anymore! Where’s Sandra?” He sniffed three times.

“SANDRA!” The obese man screamed, collapsing to his knees. I noticed a crowd was forming.

“Sandra’s right there, you idiot! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Idiot? I’ll show you who’s an idiot!” The knife drew back.

“Gavin, enough!” A woman’s voice cut through the din. Gavin released me and stepped back like I stung him. “What is the meaning of this?”

I saw a tall, slender woman, professionally dressed, with grey in her hair but fire in her eyes. A pair of thin glasses were connected to a chain that ran behind her neck. A young man stood beside her, eyes red and puffed.

“Doctor Faulks!” The knife fell to the pavement. “I…”

Doctor?

Oh.

“We talked about this, didn’t we? What are you supposed to do when the angry people come into your head?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot,” he mumbled, sniffing sadly.

“What are you supposed to do?”

Whatever tips he had were lost as someone screamed “SANDRA!” I looked and saw the obese man kissing the end of her skirt. “Sandra, oh, it is you, thank goodness!”

“Well well, Jimmy! That’s your second episode today, I do believe.”

“Oh, Sandra, I missed you so,” he said, slobbering all over her. “Sandra, sweet Sandra, I need help.”

“Clearly, or we wouldn’t be acquainted. Leon! Stop snivelling and get this fiend off me. And Wilbur! Stop that infernal whistling!”

There was silence, sweet silence.

“Now! Who was the one to call my clients to this… outing?” she asked, glaring at us all.

Gavin pointed to me. “This one.”

I tried to draw moisture to my mouth. “You’re a-”

“You! And who are you? How did you get the numbers of my clients? Is this some sick game to you, tormenting these poor people?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t know you-”

“You certainly don’t know me.” She stood within millimetres of my face, where I could smell old person breath.

“You’re a… doctor.”

“A doctor, yes, and a therapist to these folks you saw fit to torment.”

“Therapist.” I let that revelation marinate me. “I, uh, you… changed your number?” Words were difficult right now.

“Yes, I did so recently.” Hawk like eyes toyed with the mice of mine.

“Yes, right, well-”

“Leon!” I nearly fell over. “Remove this interloper immediately!” The obese man had wormed his way around her legs.

“Leon?”

“Naomi? What happened?” Leon grunted as he pried the sausages off his employer’s ankle.

“Who is this?” Naomi demanded, pointing at Sandra, her hair in disarray, a part of her dress ripped.

Dr Faulks snapped her fingers at me before I could drink in that coffee-with-milk delight. “Well? Pay attention, boy.” It could be milk-with-coffee.

“I uh… I got a new number today and it must have been your old one. And people were calling for Sandra, and I thought you were a hooker, and-”

“Leon!” Why did people insist on screaming near me? “You daft idiot, did you inform my clients of my new number?”

“Uh…”

“I am not a hooker!” Sandra tossed frayed hair back. “I am an escort.” Naomi muttered something and they fought again, but Leon was there to assist Sir Phoneslayer.

“Leon!”

‘Seven Nation Army’ began to play.

“I mean, maybe I forgot…”

“Sandra is not a hooker!” I slammed into the pavement as the obese man tackled me, his bulldog face drooling on mine. “How dare you say that!” he spat, covering me in sweat and saliva and vomit.

“Jimmy, release that man! Leon! Get over here this instant!”

“Don’t let her order you around like that,” Naomi said. “Stand up for yourself.”

“If you nag him like that, no wonder he cheats on you,” Sandra spat, which caused a fresh bout.

“Doctor, I really need to talk to you-”

“Not now, Gavin! Leon!”

“She’s not a hooker! I wanna hear you say it!”

“Buddy, please,” I gasped.

“Leon!” Someone shrieked.

“I’m not your buddy, guy! SAY IT!”

An ear-piercing scream stopped us. Each one of us stared at Wilbur the Whistler, who looked at us with a rather bemused expression on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was rocking or if my lack of air was causing him to rock.

“Wilbur, what have I said about screaming?”

He whistled a short tune and shrugged.

“Yes. Well.” The doctor smoothed her skirt. “We need some order around here. Everyone remain silent. Jimmy, get off.” He rolled off me with some effort; I wheezed as sweet oxygen returned. “You say my clients were calling you?”

“Yes,” I managed, rubbing the back of my head. “They were asking for Sandra.”

“And you took Sandra for a hooker.” Not a question, but a statement.

“Well…” I tilted my head towards said hooker.

“I’m an escort!” she screamed.

“Indeed,” Dr. Faulks said with narrowed eyes. “Well, it appears this has been one big miscommunication. Leon!” Leon stood at attention. “Make sure to adjust my contact information this instant!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grunted as Naomi shoved him.

“As for the rest of you!” A finger pointed at each member present, including the small crowd, looking at her with some familiarity. “I expect to see you all at our regular times this week. That will be all.” She stomped back the way she came with Leon and Naomi stumbling after her, arguing. Jimmy followed soon after, crawling on hands and knees.

Sandra sighed. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” She slammed the car door closed.

“Hey! What about my phone?” I yelled.

The Phone Slayer stared at me as he walked to the car door, got in, started the car, shifted it into gear and drove up to where I now stood. He stared at me as he rolled down the window, extended his long, thick arm, showed me his fist, rotated his fist, and extended his middle finger at me. The tires squealed as he stomped on the accelerator, still staring at me, and I imagine he was staring at me still as he drove through the intersection, because he slammed into a poor white car trying to make its way through.

The car alarms on both cars sounded off with gusto, each one trying to out-alarm the other. The crusher of my phone got out and screamed and cursed at the alleged idiot driver of the white car, who also got out and screamed and cursed back. Sandra managed her way out and screamed and cursed and pulled her hair. No one appeared to be injured, although I wasn’t sure if I was happy about that or not.

Gavin gave me a dirty look as he retrieved his knife, sniffing. “Watch yourself, boy,” he told me as he left. I shook my head.

A lilting whistle came from behind me, building upwards and upwards, and I turned to see Wilbur with the remnants of my phone. He whistled a mighty staccato finish as he dropped them into my hands; I realized he had been whistling the song that plays in Zelda when you open a big treasure chest. “Thanks, buddy.”

He wagged his finger as he whistled. “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “You’re not my buddy, guy.”


Thanks for reading. Hit that heart if you enjoyed.

Jonathan Strutt

Written by

Canadian living in Finland. Copywriting, UX writing, basically writing. If I’m not writing, I’m reading. Why else would I be here?

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