“Uh-huh.”
“So what do you think?”
“Well, it’s early yet,” she said.
“Are you waiting for another call, is that it?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“I just don’t like to make decisions so early in the morning. I’m lying here in bed, I just woke up, you woke me up, I don’t like to have to make a decision just yet.”
Goddamn snooty Princess, he thought.
“What are you wearing?” he said.
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
“A T-shirt,” she said. “And panties.”
“What kind of panties?”
“Bikinis.”
“What color?”
“Blue.”
There was a silence on the line.
“Why don’t you take them off?” he said.
“Okay,” she said, “just a sec.”
He heard the telephone clattering on a hard surface. Jesus! he thought. Jesus, she’s actually taking off her panties! He waited. His heart raced, his heart was going to explode.
“Okay,” she said, “they’re off.”
“Uh-huh,” he said.
There was another silence.
“So... uh... what’ve you got on now?” he asked. “Just the T-shirt?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of T-shirt is it?”
“Just a T-shirt. A white T-shirt.”
“Does it have any lettering on it?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
“It says ‘WQXR.’ ”
“You listen to WQXR, huh?”
“Yes.”
“You like classical music, huh?”
“Is that why you asked me take off my panties? To discuss music?”
“Well, no, I...”
There was another silence.
“Are you blond?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I mean...”
“I know what you mean. I’m blond.”
“What are you doing now?” he asked.
“Just lying here.”
“On your back?”
“Yes.”
“Are your legs spread?”
“No.”
“Spread them.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Are they spread now?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you put your hand down there?”
“Down where?”
“You know. Down there.”
“Tell me where.”
“Between your legs,” he said.
“Where between my legs? Tell me.”
“On your...”
He hesitated, panicking.
“On my what?” she said.
“Your cunt,” he said.
“Okay,” she said.
There was another silence, longer this time.
“Are you... did you... are you... is your hand there now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you wet?”
“Yes.” She paused. “What are you wearing?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
“You’re naked?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Are you on your back?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have an erection?”
“Yes.”
“Is it just sticking up there?”
“Yes.”
“Just sticking up there big and hard?”
“Yes.”
“Grab hold of it,” she said.
He thought in those next ten delirious minutes, he thought, Jesus, this is impossible, she can’t be Jewish! Her image filled his mind, the first glimpse he’d had of her, Molly turning from the sea, materializing in sunlight, stepping out of sunlight, the sea wind lifting her skirt over incredibly long legs, her hand moving to flatten it, that beautiful face with its upturned Irish nose and rampant freckles (but she’s Jewish!), the wide mouth and sea-green eyes, the miracle of her! And imagined her now, as she was now, as they whispered urgently to each other now, visualized her at the Seaview Hotel on a bed in a room he had never seen, conjured her on her back with her legs spread and her hand buried in her crotch (She was using just one finger, she told him, she was getting very wet now), the long slender length of her on a tangled sheet, her blond hair loose on the pillow, her eyes closed (My eyes are closed, she whispered), freckles on her breasts (Do you have freckles on your breasts? he asked. Lots, she said), nipples poking the thin fabric of the white T-shirt (Are your nipples hard? he asked. Very, she said), hard nipples puckering the WQXR (Are they big? he asked. My nipples? she asked. Your tits, he said. They’re ample, she said), saw her writhing on that bed, crisp golden-blond moist cunt hair curling around her frantic fingers (I want to kiss your cunt, he said. Yes, I want you to, she said), his Yiddishe Shiksa, he could not believe what was happening, could not believe he had found her, could not believe the miracle of her (I’m very close, she said, and then without prompting said, Fuck me, David, oh fuck me, David, fuck me!).
So long ago, he thought.
What happened, Molly? What happened to the miracle?
When did we become obsolete?
He went into the bathroom to shower, worrying that he might not hear the phone if Kaplan called.
“I was waiting for you by the Emergency Room,” Bessie said.
“I came in the main entrance,” he said.
“Do you come by taxi?”
“Yes.”
“It’s shorter if they drop you by the Emergency Room.”
“Well,” David said.
“What does it cost, the taxi?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what it costs?”
“Two-fifty, something like that.”
“You should have them drop you by the Emergency Room. It’s shorter.”
David nodded. He did not want to be talking to Bessie about taxi fares; he did not want to be talking to her about anything, in fact. He wanted to know only whether or not his father had survived the operation. They were walking swiftly down the third-floor corridor; or, rather, he was walking swiftly, and Bessie was trying to keep up. He did not want the encumbrance of an old woman at his side. He wanted to get to the nurses’ desk in the Intensive Care Unit and find out how his father was. He looked at his watch. It was five minutes to eleven. As they passed the open door to the waiting room, he said, “Wait for me here, I’ll be right back.”
He walked directly to the door at the end of the hall and stepped into the unit. He did not think anyone would chastise him for breaking in here five minutes earlier than he was supposed to. Besides, he didn’t care. A strange nurse was standing behind the desk. She looked Oriental. Chinese or Japanese, he couldn’t tell which. Maybe Vietnamese. That was probably it.
“I’m David Weber,” he said. “How’s my father?”
“Fine,” the nurse said, and glanced up at the clock.
“When did he get back from surgery?” David asked.
“He didn’t go to surgery,” the nurse said.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you talked to Dr. Kaplan?”
“No.”
“You’d better talk to Dr. Kaplan.”
“Why? What’s the matter?”
“He should be here in a little while, he called ten minutes ago. You can talk to him.”
“Where’s my father now?”
“In his room.”
“The same room?”
“Number five,” the nurse said, and nodded.
He went into the room without asking permission. The clock on the wall opposite his father’s bed read four minutes to eleven. His father was staring at the wall. There seemed to be more tubes attached to him, was that possible? A tube running under the sheet, alongside the one that went to the stained bag. Another tube hanging on a stand, the end of it taped to his left arm, the tube on his right arm still feeding him his three thousand calories a day. His father kept staring at the wall.