Around eleven I got through.
Bilclass="underline" Hello.
Me: Hello. Is this Bill?
Bilclass="underline" Yes, it is. I was hoping you’d call.
Me: But you don’t, I’m not someone you know.
Bilclass="underline" I was still hoping you’d call.
Me: I called a few days ago. But I couldn’t talk. I sat there and couldn’t talk and finally hung up.
Bilclass="underline" Happens a lot of the time. Do you feel like talking now?
Me: I think so.
Bilclass="underline" It’s a little scary, isn’t it? The unreality of two voices coming at each other over the wires. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?
Me: Like what?
Bilclass="underline" Anything.
Me: Uh. Let me think. My name is Jennifer and I live in Manhattan. I’m single. I live alone. I’m twenty-six years old. I—
Bilclass="underline" What’s your sign?Me: Uh, Virgo.
Bilclass="underline" I’m Leo, Scorpio rising, moon in Pisces.
Me: I don’t know die rising and moon part, just the sun sign. I don’t pay much attention to it. I used to read my horoscope in the Post but I usually don’t bother.
Bilclass="underline" Uh-huh.
Me: I’m five foot seven and weigh one-twenty-eight. I have dark hair and brown eyes. I’m not beautiful but I’m not ugly; I don’t think. I wear glasses for reading. My skin is good. I never had pimples or blackheads. I’m clever but no one knows it because I’m so timid. I suppose I’m the shyest person in the world. For days I kept dialing the first six digits of your phone number and hanging up. Or I picked up the phone to call you and called the time bureau instead. I do Double-Crostics in half an hour.
Bilclass="underline" In pen?
Me: Pencil.
Bilclass="underline" Show-offs use a pen. I live on 35th Street near Fifth. Would you like to come over?
Me: You mean now?
Bilclass="underline" Sure.
Me: No.
Bilclass="underline" Okay.
Me: I would like to but I can’t. I’m too nervous. I have to, I would want to, know in advance just what would happen. And I can’t even say what I want because of my nervousness. I’m shaking. I’m looking at my hand right now and the fingers are trembling.
Bilclass="underline" Would you like to give me your number and I’ll call you back in a few minutes?
Me: No. I don’t want anyone to have my number.
Bilclass="underline" Would you like to call me, then?
Me: I would tense up and not call. No. This is important to me. Oh, God, I’m surprised you put up with this hysteria instead of just hanging up. Just give me a minute. I want to get a cigarette.
Bilclass="underline" Take all the time you want.
Me: Hello?
Bilclass="underline" I’m still here, Jennifer. Is it Jennifer or Jennie?
Me: Jennifer.
Bilclass="underline" You sound more relaxed, Jennifer.
Me: I am, a little. Just let me plunge in and say this. I am a passionate person. I am, I am. But I cannot let go. When I am with someone I freeze. Your ad. Something about it gives me hope. Oh, I don’t know. If I could believe you, trust you.
Bilclass="underline" All I want is whatever you want, Jennifer.
Me: Just to be — I can’t say it. Why can’t I say it?
Bilclass="underline" Take your time.
Me: To be eaten. There. I said it. To lie back and drift off and be eaten. But nothing else. And knowing you wouldn’t want anything else and wouldn’t be disappointed.
Bilclass="underline" Fair enough.
Me: And that I could walk out afterward and never see you again if I didn’t want to. And that you wouldn’t try to find out where I work or where I live or my phone number. That you won’t even ask those questions.
Bilclass="underline" Understood.
Me: You must think I’m crazy.
Bilclass="underline" No.
Me: You ought to. I know I’m crazy. Being so obsessed with secrecy when there’s no one to keep secrets from. No one knows me. No one knows who I am.
Bilclass="underline" We all have our hangups, Jennifer.
Me: Including you?
Bilclass="underline" Christ, yes.
Me: I guess I trust you.
Bilclass="underline" Good.
Me: I would like to see you.
Bilclass="underline" When?
Me: Not tonight.
Bilclass="underline" All right.
Me: I’m too keyed up and it wouldn’t be good. And it’s late. I have to get to work in the morning.
Bilclass="underline" You work Saturdays?
Me: Oh, tomorrow’s Saturday. No, no, I don’t. But even so. I couldn’t come tonight.
Bilclass="underline" Let’s set a date, then.
Me: Sometime tomorrow?
Bilclass="underline" I’m afraid I’m going to be busy tomorrow. Are you free Sunday?
Me: I’m always free Sunday.
Bilclass="underline" As soon as you finish the Double-Crostic.
Me: In pencil.
Bilclass="underline" Absolutely, Sunday afternoon?
Me: I, oh, yes. Sunday afternoon. Around two o’clock?
Bilclass="underline" That’s perfect. Do you want to take down the address? 98 East 35th Street. That’s between Fifth and. Madison. It’s apartment 3-J. The last name is Cubbins. William Cubbins, known to the world as Bill.
Me: Jennifer Starr.
Bilclass="underline" One “R” or two?
Me: Two.
Bilclass="underline" That’s a beautiful name. Jennifer Starr. I think it fits you. Two o’clock. And if something comes up—
Me: I know. If you can’t come, call.
I looked him up in the phone book. Cubbins, Wm, 98 East 35th Street, 868-9413. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. But I hardly ever have trouble sleeping. Even when I’m like this. I get into a fantasy and the orgasm works like a Nytol commercial.
Sunday afternoon. I shall bathe just before I leave the house. And soap my pussy until it is squeaky clean. And perfume myself. I’ll buy perfume tomorrow. Something musky. And dress as prettily as possible.
Should I get my hair done tomorrow? Not much to be done with it. It’s long and straight and suits me this way.
I can’t write any more now.
6 March — Saturday
All Saturdays are long but none so long as this. I should have gone to him last night. I think I knew as much the minute I hung up the phone. I should have gone to him directly to save myself this waiting.
I play our scene tomorrow over and over in my mind, writing dialogue for both of us. For Bill Cubbins and Jennifer Starr.
Time rushes and crawls, all at once. Tomorrow’s entry should be more gripping than today’s.
7 March — Sunday
“Hello.”
“Bill, this is Jennifer.”
“So it is.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“No problem.”
“I feel terrible.”
“Don’t be silly. Things happen. I’m glad you called, though. I’m about ready to have dinner and I didn’t want to go out and miss your call.”
“I don’t know what to say. I was all ready and I couldn’t leave the house. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And I felt so embarrassed and guilty I couldn’t call you. And that made me feel worse, the thought of you sitting and waiting and wasting your day waiting, and finally I had to call. I’ll promise that you’ll never hear from me again.”
“Don’t do that. Call anytime you want. Even just to talk. I’d rather you do that than disappear on me completely.”
“You’re a strange man.”
“No argument there. Your average run-of-the-mill Nicholas Normal doesn’t advertise in Screw.”
“And Nellie Normal doesn’t answer ads in Screw.”
“Not as a general rule. There’s nothing wrong with being a little weird. The thing is being able to live with your weirdness.”
“I feel so guilty.”
“Well, you’ve got every right. I turned down a date waiting for you.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Nothing to worry about. You’re sorry you didn’t come over, aren’t you?”