Every time I call my friend Nina at work, this is the kind of thing I have to put up with. I called her last night.
“Hello, sugar,” Nina said.
“It’s me.”
“God, I need to talk to a real man,” she said. “I had a fantasy that got me so hot. We were on the bow of a sailboat. Making love in the sun. I was on top. Suddenly a terrible storm came—“
“Nina, it’s me!”
“—but instead of hiding in the cabin, we lashed each other to the deck and kept doing it in the lightning and thunder. Afterwards the warm rain washed the salt off our bodies…”
“For Christ’s sake.”
“Joker?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Why don’t you ever listen?”
“Because they don’t pay me to listen,” Nina said. “They pay me to talk.”
“I wish you’d get a normal job.”
“Don’t start.”
Nina’s a voice for one of those live dial-a-fantasy telephone services. She works nights, which sucks. Also, every time I call, it costs me four bucks. At least the number is easy to remember: 976-COME.
Nina said, “What do you think about the lightning-and-thunder business? I added it to the script myself.”
“What was it before—something about whales, right?”
“Porpoises. A school of friendly porpoises leaped and frolicked in the water while we made love. Our animal cries only seemed to arouse them.”
Nina has a wonderful voice, I have to admit.
Sometimes when I call, another girl, Miriam, answers instead, and launches into a complicated fantasy involving trampolines and silver ankle bracelets. Miriam struggles so valiantly in broken English (“Ooooh, bebee, chew make me comb so many time!”) that I often don’t have the heart to interrupt.
“Can I speak to Nina?”
“I took chew in my mouth and sock like a typhoon.”
“Hello, sugar,” Nina said.
“It’s me.”
“God, I need to talk to a real man,” she said. “I had a fantasy that got me so hot. We were on the bow of a sailboat. Making love in the sun. I was on top. Suddenly a terrible storm came—“
“Nina, it’s me!”
“—but instead of hiding in the cabin, we lashed each other to the deck and kept doing it in the lightning and thunder. Afterwards the warm rain washed the salt off our bodies…”
“For Christ’s sake.”
“Joker?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Why don’t you ever listen?”
“Because they don’t pay me to listen,” Nina said. “They pay me to talk.”
“I wish you’d get a normal job.”
“Don’t start.”
Nina’s a voice for one of those live dial-a-fantasy telephone services. She works nights, which sucks. Also, every time I call, it costs me four bucks. At least the number is easy to remember: 976-COME.
Nina said, “What do you think about the lightning-and-thunder business? I added it to the script myself.”
“What was it before—something about whales, right?”
“Porpoises. A school of friendly porpoises leaped and frolicked in the water while we made love. Our animal cries only seemed to arouse them.”
Nina has a wonderful voice, I have to admit.
Sometimes when I call, another girl, Miriam, answers instead, and launches into a complicated fantasy involving trampolines and silver ankle bracelets. Miriam struggles so valiantly in broken English (“Ooooh, bebee, chew make me comb so many time!”) that I often don’t have the heart to interrupt.
“Can I speak to Nina?”
“I took chew in my mouth and sock like a typhoon.”
