PAUL

I had only been working at Magnet for a couple weeks when I first spoke with Paul. I had answered the phone with our standard greeting - “Hello Magnet” (it wasn’t really a complete sentence, but it just rolled off the tongue – so much so that I still to this day find myself saying it – saying it when answering my cell phone, saying it when answering the phone at my new job, or saying it while greeting friends on the street.) 

To which Paul responded - “Well hello there. And who might you be?”

I was thrown by this less than standard response. I would have felt much more comfortable if had said something like “Get me Nicole, and don’t leave me on hold for 10 minutes this time!” But his interest in who I was was jarring. His voice was deep and sultry. He hadn’t introduced himself, but I could tell that he was someone who probably would be offended if I didn’t know who they were. Asking him to identify himself was out of the question, so I quickly figured out a way to force him to say his name.

“Hi, my name is Chris and this is my first…” I started to say, but he ruined my plan when he interrupted to say;

“Why haven’t you sent me pictures of yourself yet?”

I was stunned. Had I heard him right? I paused, and then sputtered out, “I’m sorry? What did you say?”

“Why haven’t you sent me pictures of yourself yet? I want to see pictures of what you look like.” He had the vocal presence of a phone sex operator, and every time he spoke, his voice got deeper and sultrier. And while it was somewhat flattering that some sexied-voice stranger was soliciting me for photos of myself, I was getting offended and annoyed at the phone game we were playing.

In a slightly sharper tone, I asked “Excuse me?”

Paul, I’m sure, could sense my frustration, and began to laugh. “Get me Nicole if you don’t mind.” He said. I put him at hold and looked up. Everyone in the office had heard me get flustered and was starring at me to see what was going on.

“Who is that?” my boss asked.

“I don’t know!” I shouted. “Some guy. I think he wants me to send him naked photos of myself.”

“That would be Paul,” Nicole said smiling as she picked up the phone. The other girl in the office put her hand over the side of her mouth and whispered “sounds like he likes you!”

Paul was one of the most talented and well established makeup artists on our roster. He lived in LA and worked with some of Hollywood’s biggest actresses - Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Garner, Lindsay Lohan, Salma Hayek – countless leading ladies had had his hands on their face. Being as he was mostly handled out of our LA office, it was unusual for us in New York to hear from him. I still to this day have no idea what he called about, but for whatever reason, when he was done speaking with my boss he asked her to put me back on the line.

“He wants to talk to you again,” she laughed. “Don’t worry. He’s great.”

I tentatively picked up the phone and stuttered “Hello…?”

“I hope I didn’t upset you,” Paul said gently, “I thought you were someone else.” Being the only boy to have worked in the office for over two years, I couldn’t imagine who he was mistaking me for, but his voice was so soft and genuine it was hard to imagine him being a creep. “But…” he continued, “if you still want to send me pictures, I wouldn’t complain.”

After that conversation, Paul began calling more frequently. I always assumed he was just a chatty guy who would talk to anyone who answered the phone, but it became clear when he started asking to be transferred to my line that he was calling specifically to talk to me. It seemed a little weird at first, considering that I was just a lowly administrative assistant with little-to-no clout at the company. But I enjoyed the attention, as few others in the company could even remember my name.

The two of us quickly developed a rapport with one another. Paul would ask me how big my penis was, and I would tell him he was a pervert. He would laugh and then ask again, but add ‘but seriously” at the end. It was a thing we had. But Paul was interested in more than just my penis size. He asked me about my family and about where I grew up. We talked about where I went to school and who I was dating. After a few conversations, he knew more about me than most of my friends. It was easy to talk to Paul, and when he wasn’t verbally molesting me, he was very engaging.

After the twentieth time I refused to send him pictures of myself, we compromised by agreeing to be friends on myspace. Paul had recently joined and was addicted, so much so that he decided that he needed two accounts (an official one and an unofficial one). He forced me to be friends with both of them. When he noticed that I hadn’t put either the official or the unofficial Paul in my top friends list, he called me and demanded that he instantly be upgraded. A few months later, when I swapped him out for an old college roommate, he called me within the hour, angry and wondering what he had done to deserve such shabby treatment. When I pointed out that he had never put me in his top ten, he responded “well, I don’t see how that has to do with anything.”

When my birthday came around, I decided not to tell any of my coworkers. I figured it would have only ended in one of two ways – either they would have made a huge fuss, or they wouldn’t have done anything. I couldn’t decide which would be embarrassing, so I tried to avoid the whole situation by keeping it to myself. But, much to my surprise, when I arrived to work, I was greeted by a huge bouquet of flowers and a giant birthday cake. Paul had gotten my birthday from my myspace page, and a few days before had informed everyone in the company so that they could adequately prepare. I had a flood of emails that day, many from people I had never even met, all saying the same thing - “Paul told me that it was your birthday and that I should say hi.”

After a year of conversing on the phone, Paul and I finally got to meet face to face. He was in town working with Mariah Carey, and he insisted that Nicole and I meet him for lunch. It’s always weird meeting someone that you’ve talked to forever but never met in person. I sat quietly during lunch as Nicole and he spoke very professionally about his career, but as soon as Nicole excused herself to go to the bathroom; he leaned in and whispered “Are you wearing any underwear?”

When I got my promotion, Paul was the very first to call to congratulate me. “Well well well,” he said. “I heard someone is a big agent now. You know, I’m the one who told everyone that you needed to be promoted. I told them that you were going to be the best thing that ever happened to this company.”

“That’s so sweat Paul…” I began to say, genuinely touched. He quickly interrupted though.

“So you better start getting me work out there in New York. You owe me big!”

After working at my job for over two years, I decided it was time for a change. When I quit, it all happened so fast that I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to anyone. Just a couple weeks ago I thought about Paul though. I saw his myspace page, and I thought to myself “I should drop him a line and say hi.” I didn’t though. I thought it might be weird after I quit. I was afraid he might be angry with me and give me shit, so I just let it go and went about my day.

Just this week, one of my old coworkers called me to tell me that Paul had past away. No one really knows exactly how it happened – just like how no one really knew how old he was. He definitely was well beyond the 39 years he claimed to have been, but he was still a relatively young guy. Too young to have just gone like that. I was crushed. I sat their at my desk at my new job, fighting back tears while surrounded by people who would read about his death the next morning in the paper, but who would never understand what an awesome guy he was. I wish I had had a chance to say goodbye, tell him how much our friendship meant to me, how much I appreciated all the things he did for me, and finally tell him how big my cock is.

I love you Paul. I’m really going to miss you.