private number

the phone rings
so you pick it up
and say hello. you
can see the caller id
which reads, private
number.
hello the woman says,
her voice is husky,
sultry like lauren
Bacall's used to
be for those that
remember her.
what are you doing,
she asks. nothing, you
tell her. i'm answering
the phone. what are you
wearing? she says,
breathing heavily
into the phone.
a towel, you say, I just
now hopped out of the
tub. me too, she says,
i'm all wet and
dripping onto
the floor. there's
a short pause
and you can hear
the shuffling
of papers.
do you need new
windows, she says.
you pause for a second
then say, as a matter
of fact, I do.
well, that's too bad
she says. i'm not selling
windows. do you have
anything to set out
for the purple heart
this Tuesday? she asks.
no, you tell her. are you
with them? they wish,
she says, but no,
I was just wondering.
have you refinanced
lately? the rates
are at historic lows.
I did, you tell
her and got a very nice
rate, under three
per cent for fifteen
years. well, I'm happy
for you. maybe we should
have a cocktail sometime,
she says. you can hear
her lighting a cigarette
and sipping on a drink,
the ice cubes clinking
against a glass.
that would be nice, you
tell her. I like
your voice, how about
tonight? no, she says.
I'm busy tonight. my
husband keeps me on
a short leash,
but perhaps some other
time. okay, you tell her,
well, thanks for calling.
I love you, she says.
which makes you stare
at the receiver and
shrug, drying your ears
with the towel. ummm,
I love you too, goodbye.