One Phone Call

The day after ‘tit night’ I had breakfast with my dad at some shitty café in the Richmond District.That’s right,  my dad, the famous author. I was waiting at which point would he take a breath and stop talking about how the studio was trying to coax Richard fucking Gere to play the lead roll in the movie adaptation of his book or how he was going to find time to write while doing so many interviews on those Good Morning TV shows. The pause in his ‘Life is Good’ tirade came finally when he asked: “So how are you doing?”

    I told him what had happened last night. He seemed quite interested, like more so than when I told him I might have landed a job at the Newspaper. I’m sorry, do we even use the word ‘newspaper anymore? I guess I should say a job as a journalist. Anyway, when I had finished the story, he had a look on his face like a 12 year old after someone had read him a Dear Penthouse letter.
    “Wow!” He said
    “Wow, is right.”
    “So, what are you gonna do?”
    “What do you mean? What am I supposed to do?”
    “I mean, you have to investigate.”
    “Investigate what?”
    “What she wanted. Why’d she whip her tits out—all of that.”
    “Dad. She’s a weirdo. End of story.”
    “See, there’s your problem.”
    “I have a problem?”
    “If you want to be a journalist, you gotta follow through on your story. Do some digging around. Take control of the story.”
    “There’s no story. It was an incident.”
    “Buddy (my dad calls me Buddy) If you want to be a Journalist, you have to learn how to get in there! Make a difference.”
    “Dad, I don’t know if I want to be a journalist.”
    “You want to be a writer?”
    “What, and have everybody compare me to you? No thanks.”
    “Not such a bad thing.”
    “It is, if I want to be my own person. I don’t want to be know as Jacob Moon’s daughter.”
    “Then you better change your last name.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    He lifted up his finger. “ One phone call.”
    “Dad…No”
    “Just one phone call to my agent and you could be on your way.”
    “No.”
    “You wouldn’t have to work as a…”What does the paper want you for any way?”
    “I don’t know. I think it’s one of those things where they hire a bunch of bloggers to write about stuff around town or some convention. That way they get the young people perspective.”
    “And that’s gonna pay your rent?”
    “Enough.”
    “In San Francisco?”
    “Dad, I’m fine. It’ll be fine.”
    He lifted up his hands and said: “Fine, fine.” But remember.”
    “I know. One phone call.”

    After talking to my dad, I walked down Geary,  trying to see if there was a place to catch the #38.  I was thinking like: “He’s right. That blogging thing an’t gonna pay my rent. I’m gonna be homeless like that guy with no pants on.”Yes, there was a presumedly homeless guy walking down the street with no pants on. “Even if my dad made that  “One phone call” Then what? I don’t have a novel in me. The longest things I’ve ever written were all non fiction pieces about the early days of California agricultural practices—yawn! snore! But, maybe I could get some type of shitty part-time job. Something that pays just enough to eat Ramen noodles and not have to start a web cam where I masturbate with my earthquake supplies.  My phone got a text. It was my F.G.B.F. Or my Funny, Gay, Best  Friend. Which is actually what I call him—to his face! Thing is though, he’s not my best friend…Nor is he that funny…Okay, he’s not even gay…or even a guy…I made the whole thing up…I suck…My life is boring. But I sooo wish I had a F.G.B.F that would call me up and cheer me up and take me out for mimosas and say things like: “Girl, fuck getting another job. Let’s go shopping!” Instead, it was my friend,  Lori Li. An Asian girl, born and raised in San Francisco, which is kinda rare for there to ever be children in San Francisco. It’s like the Child Snatcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang came in and stole them all. Lori and I used to be roommates but she moved to Silicon Valley to take some job at some tech company, making more money than God. If I were smart, I could have followed her, learned how to code, work for 12 hours a day, 8 days a week and be set for life. But, I like living in San Francisco, with it’s Golden-gated-sour-doughed-hipster-dipster,-pants-less-homeless glory. I think if you’re going to live far away from it then you might as well live in Texas or some land-locked Red State.
    “Hi Moonie” She said.
    “Nǐ hǎo.”
    “What?”
    “Nǐ hǎo.”’
    “What the fuck?”
    “Hello, in Chinese?”
    “Dude. That’s racist.”
    “Is it? But you’re Chinese?”
    “And you’re Irish. Should I be asking how your fucking lucky charms are?”
    “Okay…”
    “Stars?Moons? Green mother fucking clovers?”
    “…Okay, you’ve made your point.”
    “Seriously, Moonie—get your ass kicked in China Town for that shit.”
    “Okay…Gaw. Lucy, are you okay, you’re being a little Aggra.”
    “I’m sorry…I’m tired. I’ve been working on this project for like days and it still not right. I slept here last night. Do you know what it’s like to sleep in a office?”
    “But, don’t they have all of that fancy food and cool couches and facilities at that place?
    “Where the fuck you think I work, Google?” We’re the company that wants to be Google.If Google were a person, we’d be a fucking pimple on it’s ass, until google gets sick of it and lasers the fucker off.”
    “Lucy? Take a breath.”
She took a deep breath.  “Have I mentioned I’m tired?”
    “Yes.”
    “I forgot why I called.”
    “To vent?”
    “Yes…No…Wedding gift.”
    “For who, you?”
    “No! Chelsea!”
    “Oh right. When is that?”
    “Next month, I think—Whatever. Anyway, do you know where she’s registered?”
    “Nordstroms, the Apple store and some winery in Napa.”
    “Wow. No blender for that bitch.”
    “I know. When I get married, all of my registries will be bank withdraws related.”
    “Cash is king. Any-hoo. I better get back to coding—Son of a bitch!”
    “What happened?”
    “I linked to the wrong website and now my screen has a cock on it.”
    “What exactly kind of app are you creating?”
    “Apparently one that shows cock pics, I gotta go. Ciao.”

    When Lucy hung up, I thought.I gotta get a job, but nothing like what she’s doing.

Posted by Hachell Moon 10:29 PM