Idea in Stone | Page 8

bought his lunch. Although it was November,
the weather was still warm, so he ate outside in a concrete park
sheltered between skyscrapers, looking at a phone booth all the while.
When he finished, he crumpled up the packaging, napkin, and bag from
his lunch and threw it into a waste-bin, thinking what an awful amount
of garbage it was. I sound like Mom. Then he marched to the phone
booth.
He dropped a quarter into the phone, dialled the number he'd been
given, and braced himself. "Hello, Lewisbus, Traffordwalk, and
Lemirefish. How can I help youbuttie?" Stefan struggled to filter out
the second voice.
"Hi, could I please speak to Allen Hoffstand, please?" asked Stefan,
realising that he'd said 'please' twice. He wasn't good at business-speak.
"One moment," said the receptionist.
Allen answered a moment later. Aware of Stefan's trouble with the
phone, he communicated the evening's plans slowly. The guys and he
were meeting for coffee, maybe dinner, and wanted Stefan along.
Stefan said he was up for an evening away from home, as the connubial

bliss between his mother and her girlfriend was still at a toxic level.
"I have to go," said Allen. "I'm in discussionsstay this afternoon about a
big kipestate in Forest Hill, a bunch of siblings alldoon fighting over
this property. Should be funday."
"I'm off to explain in a funny voice why not having an atmosphere will
be a good thing," said Stefan. "I'll see you tonight." They said their
goodbyes. Stefan was suitably convinced Allen had no idea he'd be
walking into a surprise party this evening. Allen's partner of five years
hadn't been invited for a strategic reason: they wanted to have fun.
Back in the booth, Stefan recorded several minutes of Bloob-speak.
The sound engineer gave him the thumbs up. Then he made the "Okay,
let's move on" signal they'd worked out. Stefan had some bit parts to
record, characters whose preliminary sketches he'd seen. His job now
was to give sensitive, nuanced line readings for a leaky lawn sprinkler
and a toaster with a knife stuck in it that was supposed to look surprised
but looked more like it had been murdered.
The technician poked angrily at his sound board and his computer. He
shook his head and made a throat-cutting gesture, then held up an open
'Take five' hand. Stefan nodded, picked up his sides from the music
stand, and left the booth. He went to the producer's office, knocked on
her door, and opened it.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Uh," said Stefan.
"What?"
"I'm supposed to record this toaster dialogue this afternoon. Isn't that a
bit outside the show's scope? I mean, I thought we were supposed to be
doing environmental topics, not safety tips."
"Stefan," she said, putting down her pen and turning to face him, "did
you know that Ron Emery came in here the other day and did the most

perfect impression of Bloob?"
"Oh," said Stefan. He nodded and left. Rather than head back to the
booth, he went to the sound-stage where they taped the live-action
Super Fantastic Window show (in English and French). He made his
way across the stage by the illumination of a bare-bulb work light on an
iron stand, past the big gold window frame with its green-screen panes,
past the bulbous coat-rack with its fun-fur coats, and dropped with a
sigh onto the same puffy green couch that he'd seen on the show as a
child. He unbuttoned his hemp trousers and masturbated.
~
Wendy opened the door of the ironically beige Green Room. "Oh there
you are," she said. "Chuck fixed the mixer." Stefan stood and followed
her again.
"What's BSE?" she asked as she opened the booth's door for him.
"Huh? I think it stands for Bovine Spongiform Ecephalo-something.
Mad Cow disease. Why?"
"Oh, nothing," she said. "I just heard Jean talking about it on the phone
with one of the writers, and I didn't know what it meant." She shut the
door as she left.
Stefan stared at his little figurine.
~
"Hey guys," said Stefan, coming up the stairs to the coffee-shop's
second floor. He placed his foamed soy milk spiced tea drink on the
table, took off his coat, and plopped down into one of the deep chairs.
"Hey Stef," said Allen. Stefan noted that Allen, as could be expected,
had already been home, changed out of his business suit, redone his
hair (and a put on a touch of make-up? or was that fake tan?), and
changed into queer gear, since he was going to be seen in the gay

ghetto. He was in a relationship, but he still wanted to be wanted.
Tonight he wore tight black jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to his
gym-enhanced frame. The T-shirt was printed with