Return of the Other Man

It was five minutes to midnight when the call came in. Normally I would have thought someone died but it was the "Michael Line." Only fan club business.

"Phone for you, dear," I enunciated.

"Okay, hon, I'll get it. You know your speech has really improved of late."

Yes, much better without the mask, I thought but would not dare to say.

She picked up the receiver and said, "Hello." There was a long pause followed by a scream. "He's not married? He's not married? I knew it. I knew those rag tabloids were full of it. I knew he wouldn't marry the b----."

It was terrible. It was gloom. I went through the stages. First denial. How do they know, anyway? Then anger. Why the hell didn't he get married and make himself and a lot of other men happy, I thought. Finally, resignation. Gosh, what do I do now?

From the "Michael Room" I heard the phone hang up and a chill crept up my spine.

"Oh, sweetheart," she called.

"Yes, dear," I replied.

"Whatever happened to that mask?"

I thought fast. "Burned it, dear, just like you said."

"You toad!" she bellowed. (She was always fond of quotes from The Phantom. "It's ceramic and it won't burn! Now where is it?"

And so I sit and ponder what might have been, but it's too late now. There are more events planned and the phone rings at night. Uh, there it is again.

"Phlone, dear," I mumbled.

"What?" she said.

"Phrone! Phrone!"

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