Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

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.