Vox Mulieris

I listened to the electronic pulses of the call connecting while I watched water run down the rough plaster of the basement wall. I remembered what being ten years old and helpless felt like, but this was uncomfortable in a different way. You don't expect a ten-year-old to know the location of the water shut-off valve. At my somewhat more advanced age, I expected I'd be able to find it without too much trouble. Having failed to do so after ten minutes circumnavigating the basement, I was beginning to feel like a dunce, maybe worse than a dunce. The leak didn't bother me (thank God I was renting the place), but this moment of ineptitude sure did.

"Giuffre Plumbing, this is Hannah, how may I help you today?"

The voice was soft and calm and low, also warm and reassuring. Hannah, at the other end of the line, was confirmation that the rest of the world wasn't simultaneously sliding into the abyss along with me and the hundred-year-old plumbing. Not today, anyway.

"Hi, Hannah, I have a water leak and I'm looking for the shut-off and I can't find it. Is there someone available to come out? Really soon?"

"Okay, dear, are you in the borough?"

"Yes, I am."

"What street?"

I told her.

"Okay, are you in one of the duplexes?"

"In the six-hundred block, yes. Number 628."

"You're the new renter?"

"That's right."

Damn, this really was a small town.

"Can you go down to the basement?"

"I'm down there now. Water's streaming down the wall. The leak's up in the bathroom--"

"All right, hon, your water supply comes in from the alley, so go to the rear wall."

The water I'd been staring at was coming down the side wall.

"Okay," I said, striding over to the back of the house. "I looked here already, there's a washer with hot and cold supply lines but--"

"That's where it is."

"But I--"

"Check down below that. There should be a valve, maybe a wheel or maybe a handle, I don't know. Sometimes they're red, depends how old it is."

I stretched over the white cuboids of the washer and dryer, slotted tightly into their alcove, and craned my neck to look behind them. About a foot up from the basement floor was a lever attached to a copper pipe penetrating the wall.

"Oh shit, there it is!"

"Yay!" She could have been my mom applauding a successful tying of shoelaces. "Now, is it a wheel or a lever?"

I'd already grabbed a pipe wrench hanging from a nail (placed there for just this purpose, I guess), and stretched awkwardly down toward the low-level cobwebs between wall and washer. After a couple of swipes I caught the end of the small lever and worked it through a quarter-turn.

"It's a lever and I just turned it off," I said, sliding off the washer and gushing with relief. "Oh my God, Hannah, I could kiss you, thank you so much." I heard a rich appreciative chuckle at the other end of the line. "Oh and sorry for cursing just now. Heat of the moment."

"No problem, dear, I've heard it all and much worse. I'm in the plumbing business."

"Do you know every house in the borough?" I was suddenly feeling pretty chatty, dopamine flooding my system six inches deep, just like the bathroom upstairs.

"I guess I know all the house types," Hannah said, "so I can usually help out in a case like yours."

"Is Giuffre an old family business? Been here since forever?"

"More or less, but listen, uh--what's your name, dear?"

"It's Freddie. Freddie Puck."

"Listen, Freddie, you're only half done. You need to drain the lines."

"Oh."

"While there's pressure in the system it'll keep running for a while. Might as well end that nonsense now before there's any more damage."

"Agreed."

"So go upstairs and turn on the faucets in your bathroom. Sink, bath, and shower. Flush the toilets, then come down and turn on the kitchen faucets and any other sinks on the first floor. Flush any toilets downstairs, too."

"Got it."

"And while we've been talking here I sent out an emergency request. Looks like... let's see... it looks like Kyle will be available first, he should be with you in the next half-hour to an hour."

"Fantastic. Thank you so much, Hannah."

"Hey, no problem, Freddie. It's why I'm here."

I'd already climbed to the first floor and was stumping upstairs to the bathroom.

"So are you one of the owners?"

For some reason I wanted to keep her on the call with me.

"Matter of fact, I am," she said, and I could hear faint amusement in her voice. "I married into it. Back when my husband took over the company from his daddy, he made me the primary owner and him a partner. There was a thing about woman-owned enterprises or some such back then, I might have the wrong term, but there was some tax advantage. Maybe there still is. I can't say I know if it did us much good. I should ask our accountant."

Fifty-five, I thought to myself. Maybe sixty, but not a whole lot older than that.

"I remember when that was the hot thing to do."

"Yeah, it's all horseshit. But who's gonna turn down a tax break if they dangle it in front of you?"

"Right? Don't leave anything on the table."

"Is that running water I hear?"

"It is. Upstairs bath is done, pressure's dropping already. Heading down to the kitchen."

I heard what sounded like a light smack on a hard surface at the other end of the line, then I recognized the encumbered pronunciation that comes from holding a cigarette between your lips. "Good man," Hannah said, and the crank of a disposable lighter sounded loud and close in my ear.

"Smoke break?" I said.

"A good man with a good ear, Freddie," she said, and laughed raucously. "But it's not a break. I smoke pretty much nonstop. Because I can."

"Because you're the owner."

"That's exactly right." And she laughed again, this time back to her smooth, creamy chuckle.

"Do you and your husband have kids in the business?"

"Leo had three sons from a previous marriage. I was his second wife. Two of them are plumbers here. They can fight it out when I'm gone, who wants to take over."

I couldn't help myself.

"

Was

his second wife? ... I'm sorry, that's incredibly rude of me to ask."

"It's fine," she said, but the bubbling cheeriness in her voice had subsided. "Leo died five years ago. God bless him. I knew going in how it would turn out."

And I'd been doing so well. Curse my loose mouth to hell. I forced myself to endure the awkward silence I'd caused. Mercifully, Hannah was gracious enough to end it.

"We had a lot of good years. And he set me up here. He looked out for me. And his boys are good to me."

"Well, that's good," I said, not knowing what else to say. "Anyway, all faucets are open and the toilets are flushed."

"Well, that's good," Hannah said. Her voice was gently mocking, which I deserved. "So like I said"--back to business now--"Kyle should be there within the hour. I guess we'll send the bill to your landlord?"

"Uh, yeah I guess so. I don't have his address handy. His name's Bernard Esquivel."

"Oh, Squeezy! Sure, I know him. Moundville's top slumlord."

I looked around at the spare kitchen. Nothing fancy, but the place wasn't a hovel and--so far, at least--no roaches or vermin.

"It's not so bad," I said, taking the epithet 'slumlord' somewhat personally, which was ridiculous.

"I'm just kidding. Squeezy's maybe the biggest property owner in town, outside of the commercial guys. We do a lot of work for him. For some reason your house isn't in our database, so maybe it's a new one for him."

"I guess I called the right plumber."

"Ha-ha. You never go wrong calling Giuffre."

This woman could have been a late-night radio DJ, or employee of the year at the suicide hotline. Hannah's voice wrapped you in a blanket and told you everything was okay, and you believed her.

"Well, you've been very helpful, Hannah." I enjoyed saying her name, too. "And it's been nice talking to you."

"Likewise, Freddie. And you know where to find me next time. Find us," she added, as though to correct a mistake. I clung to that tiny slip of the tongue like it might save my life.

Kyle came by within the hour and fixed the leak. In the process he tore out a good chunk of the wall behind the shower as well as a portion of the wood floor in the adjacent bedroom.

"The good news," he said to me downstairs in the kitchen when he was done, "is your pipes are fixed. The bad news," he went on, and he couldn't keep the smirk from the corners of his mouth, "is you got some big holes to patch up."

"I guess you can't make an omelet," I said.

"What's that?" He looked a little crestfallen that the bad news hadn't gone over bigger. "What about an omelet?"

"You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs," I said. "That's the old saying."

"Huh."

"Call it creative destruction," I said. "I guess that's the phrase in vogue these days."

"Okay. Well, anyway, we'll send on the invoice."

"Yeah, I talked to Hannah. She knows to send it to the landlord."

"Ah, okay."

"So are you one of Leo's sons?"

"Nah, not me, I'm just a journeyman. Been with Giuffre about three years. Never knew the old man. But sometimes it feels like I did."

"Big personality?"

"So everyone tells me. His sons are pretty good guys."

"And how's working for Hannah?"

"She's a real sweetheart, long as you stay on the right side of her. She's got an edge to her. But, you know, she's got a business to run and she knows what she's doing."

"It sounded that way when I talked to her. Told me about draining the lines."

Kyle grinned at that. "Yeah, I guess it helps, but it doesn't make that much difference. I would have done it myself when I got here. The big one is turning off the supply. What Hannah wants is to cut down the time on the call, so she can send me off to the next one." He fiddled with his phone. "See? Right here. Upstairs I sent her word I was done and here she's already sent me the next call."

"Damn, you guys must be printing money over there. I knew I should have been a plumber."

"Or married one."

"Even better, I guess."

Next morning, 'Squeezy' came to look at the collateral damage. I thought he might have a seizure until I realized it was his habit to treat every minor occurrence in the life of a landlord on par with the death of a family member. But by the time he left he was shrugging equably and even thanking me for calling a plumber before calling him. "Some of my other tenants," he said, shaking his head, "they barely know to flush after they take a dump, you know? You saved me a chunk here, my friend."

"Hannah tells me they do a lot of work for you."

"Giuffre is the best in town. Though the less I have to deal with them the better, if you see what I mean." He rubbed his thumb and fingers together as though sprinkling oregano.

"She sounded like a nice lady."

"Hannah? Ehhh, I guess she's what they call a dynamo. Drove poor Leo to his grave. She's got some big ideas for the future."

"Is that right?"

"She's running for mayor here soon. Already on the borough council. I'm not sure I like where she wants to take the town... But I shouldn't gossip with my tenants." He stuck out his right hand for a shake. "You're all right, Freddie, and I hope you'll stay here for many rent increases."

I laughed and we shook, and as I saw him out I clapped his shoulder like we'd been buddies for years.

The slam of the front door was still reverberating around the house as I took out my phone and looked up the address for Giuffre Plumbing. It was now very important--urgent, even--that I meet Hannah Giuffre in the flesh.

Giuffre Plumbing's shop was one block back from Moundville's main street, occupying a corner lot with tall brick walls and vehicle entrances off both streets. Beyond the walls was an open yard with room for maybe six vehicles in addition to the three cars already parked there. The rest of the property was taken up by a two-story industrial shed with aluminum siding. The double-wide roll-up garage door stood open to reveal a combination machine/auto-shop and storage warehouse.

A customized panel truck with side toolboxes and a roof rack was parked in one of the vehicle bays. The company logo on the side included an old-fashioned faucet with a sky-blue water drop coming out of its spout. Two boots attached to a pair of shins in dark canvas stuck out beneath the front of the truck. One of the feet was wagging lazily to a nearby radio.

"Morning!" I called over the crappy pop music.

I heard the clank of a wrench on concrete, then, "Yeah?"

"Looking for Hannah. Is she here?"

"Office is in back, up the stairs."

"Thanks."

"Yup."

A partial second story with full-width windows extended over the rear third of the shop. The ground-floor space beneath it was enclosed by a gated wire-mesh cage containing multiple shelves and boxes of tools, piping, parts, and fixtures, along with mechanical units encased in thick plastic wrap. I climbed the set of metal steps to the second story and stopped outside a heavy door with a narrow slot of window in the upper half. I took out my phone and brought up the number.

"Giuffre Plumbing, this is Hannah, how may I help you today?"

"Hannah, hi, this is Freddie, Freddie Puck. You helped me out with a leak yesterday?"

"Of course, Freddie, how are you doing? Has there been a problem?"

I barely registered what she was saying, instead finding myself immediately submerged again in the warm oleum of her voice.

"What? Oh, no, no problem. Actually I'm here at your office. Do you have a moment to talk?"

"You're here? Well, come on in, Freddie!"

"Thanks," I said, and pulled the door open.

Inside, my eye was caught immediately by a halo of gold that popped up from behind a low dividing wall. The sun was behind her, streaming in through the outside windows, so her features were indistinct, but somehow it all matched: the strenuously blonde hair, the large red-framed glasses, the waves of energy radiating from her (or was that just the shimmer of sunshine?); all of these together seemed an obvious and perfect match for the voice, though in my condition I suspect a raven-haired Mediterranean would have seemed equally fitting. It was all about the voice; whatever the size and shape of the ribcage, belly, throat, and mouth that produced it, the physicality of its owner was always going to be perfect.

I raised a hand in greeting and Hannah waved back.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she said, followed by a deep chuckle of amusement that seemed to reverberate in the room.

"Well," I said, taking her extended hand and giving her fingers the lightest squeeze, "I was in the neighborhood," (lie) "and saw the sign out front," (another lie) "and I thought it would be nice to put a face to the voice" (true). "You were very helpful yesterday."

"Oh, well it's my pleasure to meet you in person, Freddie. Nice of you to think of calling in." That told me she wasn't buying any of my bullshit. And rightly so; it was a miserably poor opening gambit, but I just didn't care.

"As a matter of fact," she said, "I just printed up your invoice to Squeezy this morning."

"Ah, yes, he came by earlier to see about the damage. I think he's more worried about the wall and the floor than anything."

"Water goes where it goes, and it wrecks everything along the way."

"Yeah, made me glad to be renting."

Hannah was shorter than me by almost a foot, tightly packed into a small body that threatened to burst out in all the right places, like a brat too long on the grill. Juicy. Flavorful. Ready to eat.

She'd taken off her glasses, which now hung suspended by a gold chain across the upper slope of her bosom. The buttons of her red blouse were open down to the first inch of her cleavage. The first closed button below labored to contain the potential havoc behind it.

The chain, the glasses, the neckline, even the color coordination (gold hair, gold chain; red glasses, red blouse) all conspired to drive attention toward that glimpse of the trailhead leading down into the vale of shadow. I was meant to look there, of course I was; so I did. And when I found I couldn't look away again I said to her cleavage, "You have very pretty eyes."

Hannah unleashed a laugh that, to my ears at least, granted instant forgiveness for my obvious and shopworn opening lines, and in the same moment moved us easily to a more congenial place where we could pick up the interaction.

"Well, that's a dear thing to say, and it does make me want to linger and talk with you a little, but I'm afraid I have an early lunch appointment." She winced a little as she said this, a sign that she understood the pain of my disappointment. A very confident woman, this Hannah Giuffre.

"Well those are the chances you take calling in on the fly," I said, taking my disappointment in stride, "but it does give me the opening to ask you out another time, when we both have the availability to talk."

She gave a sideways half-nod of the head while she continued to look straight into my eyes, which I took to mean she hadn't expected such a forward approach from me and was momentarily back on her heels. But I'd forced her to consider the idea, and what's more I could almost see her evaluating me for my potential as both a public and a private partner.

"Well," she said, "that might be a nice idea."

"I understand you're in public office?" I said, knowing I had to move on as briskly and airily as possible.

"What? Oh, yes, I'm on the borough council... How on earth did you come to know that?"

"Don't worry, I haven't been researching you. Mr. Esq-- er, Squeezy mentioned it when he stopped in earlier."

"Did he, now. I wonder why he would think to mention that."

"He said you're running for mayor."

"Ah, now I get it. I think at one point he was thinking of making a run himself. He turned tail when he heard I was getting into the race." She chuckled at the thought.

"No match?"

"Not even close," she said, grasping my forearm. "I guess he's smart enough to know when he's licked."

"That's a compliment to you."

"It is. Oh, it is. And if I get some time alone with him I might just be able to win him over to my side."

"I'm sure you're very persuasive. A couple minutes listening to that voice would be enough for most any man."

"You're very kind. So listen, Freddie, I think I might like to get to know you a little better. I have a council meeting tonight and as long as it doesn't run over by too much perhaps if you're around we could go for a drink."

"I'd like that. What time's the meeting?"

"Six-thirty, but there's no need to come listen to all that twaddle. We should be done by around seven forty-five, maybe eight."

"No way, I'd love a chance to see you in action."

"All right. And in case of any confusion," she said, putting her glasses back in place, "I'll be the short blonde with the big mouth."

"I'm quite sure there's no else like you, Hannah."

She laughed like there was warm honey in her throat.

My days--make that evenings--of sitting through long, dull government meetings are long behind me, but as a relatively new resident of Moundville, Pennsylvania I was at least mildly curious how the local sausage was made. There was, of course, the personal interest, too, which probably accounted for more than ninety-five percent of my motivation, but just for fun I dug out an old reporter's notebook and my mini digital recorder before heading down to the town hall, a six-block walk from my house.

I was ten minutes early for the meeting, and the council 'chamber'--a large multi-purpose room lined with rows of thinly-cushioned chairs facing a platform bearing three trestle tables of the sort a painter-decorator might use--echoed with the absence of a crowd. A borough employee was setting up microphones on the tables in front of the councilors' chairs; another was setting up the camera equipment at the back of the room.