What Is All This? (28 page)

Never?

Almost. With you it's the other way around.

I never said I wasn't interested in you, Biff. Just not right now.

Why not? Let's forget all the others. We'll just go away, or stay here, but develop something, become friends. Talk and have fun and anything you want to do anyplace you want to do it at.

That's very generous of you, but again, I can't right now.

Then when? Because we could just go, that's what I'm saying. I could pick you up in half an hour.

Impossible.

Then an hour.

Impossible till one day I tell you it's not. When, who knows? Most likely never. If you can't accept that, stop calling.

Will you call me if I don't you?

For the time being, no. Things have to be settled first.

Like that guy who craps on you? You like being crapped on?

I don't like the word, expression, meaning or even the implication or symbolism or anything else about it in any tense or form. Don't mention it again, please.

That this fellow craps on you?

Biff?

I'm sorry. That was a mistake. I felt like saying something mean.

You feel like that a lot. That's why you shouldn't bother with me. It can't be healthy for you. And if you like me like you say, then don't bother with me. Find someone else.

There isn't anyone else.

First you have to find her.

I'd love to. You think I like making a fool of myself on the phone? I only do it because I think you're worth it to go through all this crap with you and letting you see what's really inside me.

That's a line.

You joking?

A trick, an act, a masculine stunt. A universal ploy, then, used by men and women alike, said for your own gain. Me, me, me. It never ends. I can't even say goodbye.

He calls back.

Call me once more and I'll pull out my phone. I mean it. Leave me alone.

He calls back.

I thought you were going to pull out your phone.

And you with your last call ten calls ago, what about that? Anyway, I thought it would cost too much having my phone repaired. And what excuse could I give the phone company—some maniac wouldn't stop calling me?

You could have said my calls were obscene.

I could have, but now I don't feel like pulling it out. No strength. Anyway, I could just leave it off the hook. Besides, I'm going out. Bye, Biff.

Will you call me sometime if this thing with this fellow is ever through?

I don't think so. Goodbye.

If you say you'll call sometime if this thing you have is ever over, then I won't call again.

Call all you want. What I've decided on now is a new number. Unlisted. I want to be away from all callers. You, everyone.

Even him?

Even him. Even you. Even who? You're such a cluck. Did I ever say there was anyone else? Even if I did, I didn't reveal much because I said it was too personal. So why do you persist?

I persist–

Oh, you persist because that's the way you are. Because you got it sealed in your head you're interested in me and that we could be great together. Oh, yeah. Because you like my face. My neck's so nice. My eyes so blue. Sky blue blue. My lips are so symmetrical and full, you never met anyone with such lips. So soft, not chapped. How sweet. My sweet tweet lips. Or you like my perfume, though I don't wear perfume or cologne. You adore my legs. Long strong thin legs. Tiny feet. Legs like an athlete, dancer or gymnast. Did I like sports when I was a girl? You're amazed by my waist. What size belt could I possibly wear? Why do I ask? Because I once knew a woman who had a very small waist, but yours seems even smaller than hers. Or you like my hair. You always had a thing for long straight black hair. The way it shines. It can also look blue. Pitch black or rich blue in the night light. And so fine. How many times must you take a shampoo a week? How did it ever get so long? Don't the ends break off at that length? Or you like the way I stand, walk and run. An athlete again. My voice. The way I talk and move. Especially the way I move. And most especially my mind. If there was nothing else about me, you'd be attracted to my mind.

You do have a good mind.

Of course I've a good mind. That's what I'm saying. That you say it. That you want to be with me for all these things. My unpolished fingernails. Because I eat health foods and don't wear lipstick and no makeup and I'm slim and my clothes and I can make jokes and talk lively and I seem sympathetic and no guises and am friendly and everyone seems to like me, and I can't stand it. I can't stand it. Your comments. Now don't call. Do not call. Don't—you hear me?—call. You do I'm gonna get my big brudder to come over your house and knock your block off, ya unnerstand? Now goodbye.

Wait.

He calls right back.

Your dialing finger must be exhausted.

I have a push-button phone.

You would.

You don't approve?

Who am I to disapprove? And for someone who makes as many calls as you, it obviously serves a purpose.

I don't like to dial. And never liked the sound of the rotary part going backwards after my finger went around. I also don't like waiting, even for a half second, for the rotary part to rest after each digit's been dialed before I can dial again, or the frustration, after so much dialing, if the line's busy. Now it's so easy. Just push push seven times for the city or ten for long distance, and I'm there or I'm not.

You've sold me, despite the additional expense.

It's not much more. About as much per month as having an extension.

You have one of those too?

Three.

Three? How big's your apartment?

Two rooms, and kitchen and bath, all of which have a phone.

Why a phone in the bathroom? No particular sexual or scatological hangup, I hope.

The bathroom's separated from the rest of my place by a long hallway, so I have one there in case I get or want to make a call.

Wall or standup?

Both. It can be attached to a wall hook or set down on a flat surface. Again, push push, peep peep, and my phone call's made.

Those do seem like the appropriate sounds for a bathroom. How does the one in the kitchen go, chop chop, squirt squirt?

Push push, peep peep. They're all the same.

Are all the colors the same?

You're not really interested.

But I am. Who wouldn't be? A man who has four phones in one apartment?

But all the same number.

I know. Three extensions and the original. Are you more attached to the original phone than the others because it was your first?

I got them all at once. I had four in my last apartment also. I always felt I needed them. I don't like running from one room to the other and have the caller wait for me for five or six rings.

But it's natural to wait for someone to answer.

With me, people calling avoid that wait.

What they don't avoid is your calling.

You've avoided calling.

I said your calling. But it's getting late.

You've some place to go?

Yes, and I have to get dressed. Look. Now that we're speaking so congenially, would it be too much to ask you to understand that I'm short of time and you're tying up the line and that I'm expecting a call?

From that man?

The one who occasionally craps on me, yes, him. You must feel content now.

I was wondering why you didn't leave your phone off the hook before. Most of the times I called, you probably thought was him.

Right. All the time, right. In everything you say, right. Seriously, though, we've had our nice little chats. Now free me for the time being?

You're free forever.

Thank you. I hope you mean it too.

What can I say to convince you?

Not what you say but what you do. Don't call back?

Got ya.

Okay. You said it. Now remember. Bye.

He calls back.

I forgot to say goodbye.

Goodbye, Biff.

Goodbye.

He calls back.

You disappoint me, Biff. I thought you were being serious.

I'm never serious. I should have warned you. And I've just pulled a great grand joke on you that maybe backfired a little. Because if you believed what I said about anything before…My getting upset. My acting silly and sullen or weird and especially that I was serious in this sequence of calls, then you don't know me at all. You've been taken in, though I miscalculated how deeply you'd believe it. And now I want you to have a wonderful weekend with whomever you want to be with, and that's all.

Thanks. You too.

Me too, what?

A good weekend. Be happy and well. Long life and…goodbye.

Goodbye.

He calls back. The line's busy.

He has another beer and then calls back. The line's busy.

He calls three hours later. The line's busy. He calls an hour after that.

Yes?

It's Biff, Jane.

He calls back.

Now listen, you big dope. Will you stop annoying Jane?

Who is this?

Whoever I am, I'm not a big dope. Leave her alone or I'm putting the cops on you.

Not yourself?

Stop being a schmuck. Can I level with you? You're tormenting the hell out of her. Who could stand someone phoning every minute. And look at the time. It's past two. Grow up. You're interested, she's not, then don't bother. Simple as that. I know what you're feeling. Who hasn't been through it, but that's the way it goes.

Isn't that true? Whenever you really care for a woman, she doesn't for you.

Not always. This time it didn't work out for you. So forget it.

Do you care for her?

I care, I care.

You don't crap on her?

He says do I crap on you?—What man doesn't crap on a woman and she on him in return or before the fact? What's important is if in general the relationship works. That.

Does it with you and Jane?

What's it to you? We get along. We like each other. So now leave her alone. Be a good guy.

I love her.

You hardly know her.

She told you that?

I know. Accept that I know. And if she wanted to see you, she would. She's an exceptionally honest, straightforward person. If you love her as you say, that's good, but it should also mean you wouldn't want to hurt her as you're doing. It isn't nice. Be nice. Maybe this sounds overrighteous. And giving advice isn't my line. But on something like this, you've got to take it like it comes.

What is your line, crapping on girls?

Oh, brother. Your wasting everyone's time. Hers, yours, and what's maybe not as important, mine.

Sure, sure.

Okay. I don't know why I said that. Maybe thinking humility would get you to stop. Worst of all, you're wasting my time. I'm sleepy, I worked hard today, and I don't want to hear this damn phone ringing all night.

Ah, the truth comes out.

Truth, yes, shallowness, no. What can I possibly say to convince you? Jane must have said it all. She'd nodding her head. She's making like she's cutting her throat. Maybe my throat. Oh, the phone's. She wants me to hang up. Who could blame her. And as entranced as I am with our talk here, what do you say we call it quits for the night? It's very late.

You're starting to sound like Jane now.

So, Jane and I are pretty close. But it does seem dumb to let everyone on the phone know you're a misfit. Even dangerous. People get put away for less. But I don't think you actually are. You're just very distressed over being rejected.

Deferred.

Not deferred; rejected. She doesn't want you no way. You've struck out. Zero. What more can she say—get lost?

Let her say it.

Listen: get lost. Take a walk. Scram. Vamoose. But leave her alone. For your own sake, you have to.

Take care of your own problems.

I said leave her alone, you dumb creep, is that clear? Now I tried to be nice before, but if I have to break your dumb neck to get you to stop, I will. I mean that.

You convinced me.

And I'm not saying this for selfish reasons. You've got to have some consideration for others and yourself too.

No, you're right.

Peace, then, brother.

Peace.

He calls back.

Do you mind, brother? We're screwing.

He calls back. The line's busy. The line's busy ten minutes later. He goes to bed, calls her.

No one can be as crazy as you.

Wait, Jane. I'm sleepy myself. Drunk, besides. No, that was said for affect. What I meant—

Go to sleep, Biff.

What I mean is now that I know you're in no way interested—

I can't pretend. I can't say yes, you're right. Everything would sound too absurd to say. I can't even hang up on you again. That would also seem absurd. You have to just hang up on yourself and fall asleep and never call again, because there's nothing else I can say or do for you.

Jane? Jane? You still there? Don't answer, then, but you're still there, somewhere by the phone. Well, I love you, Jane. Beery and sleepy as I am, I hope you know that. I never told you that on or off the phone. I did your friend. I know it's a little late to tell. Late o'clock and late for us and so on. But now you know. I'm also sorry for all my disturbances today, and to you too whatever that fellow's name is. The man you're with or I hope were. And whatever he said to me about me was right. And he didn't seem to be crapping on you, as much as I know you don't like the word. He seemed all right. He implied I should act more like a grown man, and of course he's right. He told me I was tormenting you. I wish he wasn't right on that, but how could I believe he's wrong. I'm sorry, Jane. You listening? Well, listen, then—I'm very sorry. This whole day's been awful. It started off horrible with something I didn't even tell you. And then those calls. How do I ever get out of them or forget all this? I've never done anything like it. They just built up. If you had said yes for the weekend, they wouldn't have happened. I would have come over, tonight, or last night, because it's now morning, with the car. Driven us to where we would have gone. Who knows if from there we might not have gone on for years or for life, even, and I never would have done anything remotely like those calls. But it snowballed, as they say. Snowballs in summer. It can happen anywhere, anytime. Jane? Is the receiver on your bed? Are you on your bed? Alone, or both of you? Are both of you listening to me now? Well, I love you, Jane, I do. And you, whatever your name is, I don't love you, but if you're there—well, you were very kind. He was, Jane. Smart. Thoughtful. He blew up at me because I was asking for it. I'm sorry. I hope you're both happy and well, if both of you are there. And have fun together, if he's still there. Though I wish I was in your place. His place with you, Jane, if he's there or not. But that's all right. I mean that. Jane? I can't talk like this. It sounds crazy, talking to myself. It does. But I have to say something. You knew I wouldn't like it. You're a real shrewdy. And I know this is my last call to you. Even if you hung up or said call me again, it would be my last call. Listen to me, Jane. I've only a few more things to say and then I'll be gone. You probably thought there's nothing left for me to say, but you'd be wrong if you thought that. There is. You see, I felt forced into making those calls. Maybe some spirit got hold of me inside, but it wasn't really me. That's nonsense, of course, spirits. I mean…please say you're there and listening, Jane. Then just say you're there or listening. I've never in my life talked to myself like this. It's a new feeling and I don't like it. New for me. I mean new in that I've never in my life called anyone so many times in a row. I think I already said that tonight, or something like it, but it's true. And surely it wasn't important what I had to say. Everything. We both know that. Nothing was. But I felt compelled. That's it. That's what I meant by my being forced to make these calls. Compelled, now and all the other times with you, but less so now. And I know it wasn't in any way a joke. I realize it was the worst thing I could do to you. And it won't ever happen again. I'm saying I'll never be like this again, Jane. I can't. I learned. I promise. It was so totally uncharacteristic of me. I mean it. Totally. Jane? You there? Well, speak.