Page 47 of Throwing Shade
“Any lifetime now,” Laurent groused.
“Shut up.” I relaxed my eyes, trying to see through the panel, and there it was: a black button marked with a white B. “Aha!” I pushed it and we descended into the bowels of the garage.
When the elevator opened, Laurent stepped out into a tiny concrete foyer and lifted the broken handle of the ancient payphone bolted to the wall. Twice, he clicked the part that hangs up the call.
“That’s a switch hook,” I said.
Frowning, he looked at the black handset in his grip. “It is?”
“No, that’s the handset with the transmitter and receiver. I mean the part you depressed.” I mimed the motion with my index finger. “It’s where the saying ‘my phone was ringing off the hook’ came from.”
He considered the receiver for a moment. “Did it ever really fall off the hook?”
“Maybe?”
“English has ridiculous expressions,” he proclaimed.
“Yeah, but you were still curious.”
“Others won’t be,” he said. “Not in here.” He hung up the phone and an entire section of wall, including the pay phone, swung open.
I gasped. “Did it send some kind of signal? Did hanging up the phone make it do that or did someone buzz us in from the other side?”
“It’s—” He shook his head. “No more questions. No more trivia.” He stepped through the wall. “If you want to get out of here unnoticed, then stick close.” I opened my mouth but he cut me off with a slash of his hand. “And no talking.”
