(Phone rings.)

"H-hello?"

"Hello, may I speak to the person who makes decisions in your household?"

"Uh . . . I . . . (muffled sobs) . . . hold on a second . . . "

"Oh, I . . . ah, okay . . . "

(fervent whispers, muffled)

"I . . . I'm being held hostage. He, uh, the guy holding me . . . he says he's in charge. So I guess you want him, but he's busy."

"You . . . you . . . what?"

"I'm being held hostage, so you have to talk to him. What's this about? He says he'll kill me."

"God, I . . . look . . . God. I was . . . I was just calling about your long distance plan, but--"

"Hold on."

(more fervent whispers)

"Okay, he's interested, so hold on. He's just hanging up with the negotiators."

"No! I can . . . oh, God . . . "

"Hi, this is Tom. I don't have much time here, but talk to me about your international rates. Like, Honduras or maybe Cuba."

"Ah . . . ah . . . sir, I . . . ah . . . "

"Oh, hell, you're going to have to call back, I've got tear gas to worry about here."

(Click.)