The other day I stepped into an elevator and someone's phone started ringing. A bell-like tone emanated from it and then a computerized voice said:
"You have an incoming call."
The ringtone and the accompanying canned voice sounded three times before the owner of the phone dug the device out of his pocket. It reminded me of a conversation I had heard on a porn set years ago. Someone there had the exact same ringtone/computerized voice alert programmed into his phone. He received a lot of calls. Finally one of the crewmembers had asked him:
"Isn't the fact that your phone is ringing enough to inform you that someone is calling you? Do you need to have the pre-recorded voice message too?"
Everyone in the room had laughed. A few days later I mentioned the episode to cameraman
Mike Raffone. He did not think it was very funny.
"A lot of people have that ring option on their phones. Most people don't use it." he said. "It's a good one because it's distinctive. It's probably an option on your phone. It's probably an option on my phone. It could be an option on anybody's phone. Some people's ringers play the 'Iowa Fight Song'. Some people use 'Take Me out to the Ballgame'. Why do you care if someone else uses a canned voice? What do you use on your phone? You probably just use a normal ringtone. I've never even heard your phone ring. Does anyone ever call you? Your phone never rings. Does your phone ever ring?"
"I.. " I began.
"Where's your phone?" Mike demanded. "Do you even have a phone? Is that why you always send e-mails? Because you don't have a phone?"
"No. I.. " I started again.
"You don't have a phone. I can't believe that you don't have a phone!" Mike cackled. "You really are a hermit!"
"I.. " I tried again.
"Danielle doesn't have a phone." he said with delight. "I knew you didn't have a printer, but I can't believe you don't have a phone!"
I halted his laughter by reaching into my purse and retrieving my cellphone. Dale Earnhardt was still alive when I had bought it, but it worked well enough.
"Oh, so you do have a phone." Mike said as he snatched it from me. "I bet I can program it to use the ringtone that has the computerized voice."
He started fiddling with it. I watched him for a few seconds.
"Hey, " I said. "Jewell is supposed to be calling me soon. Can we get started shooting the video? She and I have plans to go out to lunch when you and I are finished."
Mike's hands froze. I knew I had just said something that had offended him. Mike is like a great artist in that he is very temperamental. He looked up at me.
"Oh, you and JoJo have plans, do you? She's another great one. Always showing up late and then demanding to be done early. You girls make my life Hell. Do you understand how hard it is on me? You girls are nightmares." he said with some real bitterness and some feigned indignation.
He wasn't totally serious, but I knew that he was not finished. JoJo (which is what he called
Jewell Marceau) and I often became targets of his ire. According to him we showed up late, we weren't grateful enough for the work, we didn't take direction well, and we behaved like primadonnas. The first point had some validity, but none of the others did. I knew he was about to embark on a lengthy diatribe about our various faults. He would wind himself up if I let him. I held up my hand in a placating gesture.
"Listen, " I said. "I'm sorry I was late. I should not have been late. Jewell should never be late either. We're lame. But I'm hungry and Jewell and I are supposed to get lunch. Can we start shooting? You can treat me to one of your hate-filled soliloquys the next time we shoot."
Mike looked at me with disgust.
"You act like I have nothing better to do than sit here and chat with you. I have plenty of work I could be doing right now." he said.
With that he stomped into the bedroom. I followed him. He tied me up with purple rope and we began shooting the bondage video that we needed to do. At one point he put his camera on the tripod and walked out of the room. He did that fairly often when he got too sick of me. I kept struggling against my restraints and playing to the camera, careful not to wiggle out of frame. Mike strode back in. He was holding my phone and he placed it on the nighttable next to the bed. I wondered about it but I kept struggling. Mike left the room again. Minutes ticked by. The camera kept filming. I continued to strain against the ropes. The video should have been over already. Mike was nowhere in sight and I was gagged. All I could do was moan and make incoherent sounds of anger. I was getting really mad. My bad temper started to morph into full-blown fury. All of a sudden I heard a ringing noise. It was immediately followed by a computerized voice saying:
"You have an incoming call."
My phone was ringing and Jewell was calling me! In a fit of pique Mike had reprogrammed my phone and evidently he was going to make me struggle endlessly and suffer. By now I was writhing around in agony on Mike's bed. The ropes were chafing and I was sweating bullets. Vitriolic hatred invaded my soul. It felt as if the burning rage was enough to make my temples explode. The phone kept ringing and then the voice would chime in and say:
"You have an incoming call."
I raged against the ropes in frustration. My whole being wanted to scream, but the infernal gag was preventing me from making any sounds other than feeble moans and bleats. Another voice broke into the morass of my torment:
"Uh, miss.. isn't this your floor? Weren't you the one who pushed the button for this floor?"
Suddenly I remembered that I was standing in an elevator full of people in a hotel in Miami. That blasted ringtone had forced yet another long-dormant Mike Raffone memory to surface. I shuffled forward and exited the elevator as the other passengers regarded me with odd expressions on their faces.
Mke Raffone, the evil Geppetto, was still pulling my puppet strings from across the continent.
to see the "Tied in Black Hose" gallery in its entirety. And about 600 other photosets and videos that Mike has shot of me over the years.
