Stephen Dixon - Fall and Rise

I pick up the student’s paper. Why not put it off? Because I want to get all of them corrected so I can get to things I really want to do. “Morphology” again means what? It means morphine. It means latrine. I write on the paper with an arrow aimed at the word “Leonard, no more big words for me like this — I’m too lazy to look em up. And what’s with this postdeconunstru—? What about supercacographicexhibitionism? (Did I spel it rite?)” Phone rings. Now he’s blown it. Much too late to call twice the same night even if the last call was ten seconds ago and he was my husband-to-be and most loved lover. Whatever he has to say can hold till the morning and late into it. Stop on your own accord. Doesn’t. Shameless schmuck. I pick up the receiver. “Arthur, this better be good.”

“It isn’t Arthur, and I know it’s extremely late, but it’s Dan from tonight — Daniel Krin — is this Miss Winiker?”

“Who? Oh, I’m not going to pretend — I know who. Are you out of your mind? What could you want when it’s after two?”

“I’m sorry, but the clock, and this is no excuse, I’m looking at says it’s one — few minutes past — but it’s a bank clock, on a seedy street corner, and since I haven’t a watch or another clock to compare it with, it could well be wrong.”

“Whether it’s two or one—”

“You’re right — by all means — please believe I’m not disputing it. And you can’t know how sorry I am to call. Nor how I tried everything under the sun — sun’s hardly the word to use at this hour. Everything under the street light, perhaps, to resolve — and I shouldn’t make light of it — neither of those lights — beforehand the reason why I did call. But I couldn’t and it was an emergency which—”

“What kind of emergency, Mr. Krin? And let’s make this quick. So tell me, what kind? Because at this hour I don’t take emergency calls from people I’ve just met.”

“Please hear me out. You’re just about my last chance on this. The timing of my call’s all wrong but I don’t think the reason I called is. And by ‘last chance’ I meant, to help me out of a bad situation. And for the last fifteen minutes — you’re still there?”

“Make it quick.”

“For the last fifteen, because it was so late — and at the time I thought it was ten to one, so for a Friday not the latest of lates to call but still much too late — I debated with myself and thought ‘No, don’t call, too late, much too, I don’t know her, just met, etcet, spoke fifty words to her, hundred, tops, and maybe a hundred-fifty between us.’ But then, when I didn’t see any alternative, which I’ll get into, and I decided to call, but even then undecidedly, your phone was busy — a few minutes ago. So I thought ‘At least she’s up and at home, so if I call a minute from now and the line’s free, I won’t be waking her.’ Of course you’d be home if you were up.”

“Not necessarily. If someone dials a number the same time that phone’s ringing because someone else dialed it first—”

“That’d produce a busy signal for the person dialing a little behind? Didn’t think of that in relation to this. And ‘dialing a little behind.’ That could be misinterpreted, but please don’t. Should’ve kept it to myself. It was unintentional, but repeating it wasn’t. Though the repeat was just my surprise at my unintentional line, not said to be suggestive. And now I guess whenever I dial someone late — which I don’t normally do; I don’t like getting calls myself after eleven.”

“Same here.”

“Even after ten. I occasionally go to bed early just to get an early start the next day.”

“Between ten and eleven’s all right, even from someone I just met, but never a call around two. Or if your clock’s right and it wasn’t that it stopped—”

“It hasn’t.”

“—then five to ten minutes past one. Never. But where’s my watch? I’m looking at the alarm clock right now — hold on.” I go into the bathroom, get my watch off the shelf under the medicine chest, put one of the pearl ear-studs back into the cockleshell on the shelf from which it must have rolled out of but got stopped by my toothbrush, put the toothbrush back into the wall holder, go back. “Your bank clock runs slow or is still suffering from an outage of an hour and a quarter some time ago, because both my watch and clock says it’s twenty after two. And earlier tonight I set my watch by my clock and then checked my watch against the wall clock at that reception I told you I was going to.”

“If I’d known it was past two I probably still would’ve called you. It’s that important.”

“I can imagine. You want to come up.”

“Not for the reason your tone says. Please, give me a little credit. You see, I’m locked out of my apartment. If I started to tell you the scenes that led up to it — and I’m sorry, by the way, for my calls to your service, which happened way before I got locked out. I was a little drunk then. Now I’m not. I’m stoned sober — stark sober — very stark but what’s—”

“What calls to my service?”

“They didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t call it.”

“You’re the first person I know of with one who doesn’t call it every three hours. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong in calling it that—”

“I got home after it closed. Even if I got home before that I wouldn’t have called it till tomorrow. I really only need it on school days. I’m a teacher—”

“I know. I spoke to a couple of people about you at the party. Casual. I didn’t probe. Oh, so I probed. I was interested in you after you left — you must have known before you left how interested I was in you. In fact we both spoke about it — our mutual interest — so of course I’d be just as or more interested in you after I left, which caused that brainless yelling to you from the window, for instance, or helped cause it. All the drink I drank at Diana’s didn’t hinder it, not that I’m not responsible for how much and then how I act under it. Nor do I want all this drink talk to downplay the interest I felt without drink before or after the window incident.”

“Less said about that window—”

“Thank you. The very least would be the best, but it’s good it’s out and that you know it’s also not something I normally do. But I was interested so I asked a couple of people, Diana, mostly, ‘Who is she? What does she do?’ Nothing detailed, not personal life —but that has nothing to do with why I called now and my emergency.”

“Excuse me, but since you knew I had a service — and I hope you didn’t insult anyone there. It’s a good service, nice hardworking people work there—”

“I didn’t. I forget what I said but I know, because I was still a little drunk — and I also hardly ever drink that much or get the way I’ll describe — that I must’ve sounded drunk and perhaps unrefined to them the two or three times I called — I hope not. So next time you speak to them I wonder if you could apologize for me. But you were saying?”

“The service is called Lip Sinc, with an I-n-c. Why don’t you look up the number tomorrow and call it to apologize?”

“I will. Lip Sinc. I’ll remember it since I don’t have a pen. Now can I tell you about the spot I’m in and why your reasons for thinking why I want to come up aren’t the ones why I do, or should I just forget it and quietly hang up? And I would very quietly hang up. For I know I’m disturbing you — I just hope I didn’t get you going to sleep.”

“You didn’t. But let’s say your reason is you’ve been locked out. So what’s that got to do with me?”

“Maybe I should say the rest quickly before you hang up or we get cut off, and you won’t, will you? You’ve every reason to, but this was my last dime. I even had to borrow it — or beg for it, really — but I suppose I could always borrow or beg another one. It’s probably not that mortifying to do after the first time, though later it gets, fewer people to borrow or beg from and less inclined they are to stop. So before we do get cut off, and my tried-and-true mental timeclock says we’re long overdue, maybe I could give you my number here and you could call back. It’s kind of a long story why I’m asking to come by and, just for a few hours till daybreak when my landlady gets up and I can get my duplicate keys, sleep on your floor.”