Something happened. A friend of mine may have drunk called me. The call may have happened like this…
“She might be in trouble,” I thought. Then, “She might be drunk calling me.”
I pondered for a moment. “If it’s trouble, she’ll need help. If it’s a drunk call, it’ll be fun.”
I picked up the phone.
“Hello?” I asked.
“John!” she shouted.
“Hi,” I said, smiling. Obviously, this wasn’t trouble.
“I’m ready for you!” she shouted into the phone.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m ready for you!” she shouted into the phone.
“Are you drunk?” I asked.
There was a pause on the phone. “Maybe,” she said.
I paused myself, considering my answer. Then, I dropped my voice low and said,
“You aren’t ready for me. Because I don’t want you like this. I want you sober. And strong. And at the peak of your powers. I want you when your arms and legs are powerful. And when you can give me what I’ve always wanted. A woman who knows secret whispers and forbidden caresses. Who can master me, and be mastered. Who can break me, and be broken. Who can whisper words into my ear with her broken china whiskey voice. Words so strong, that I strain against them. And I want to hear that same voice, that same strong voice, begging me… begging me not to stop.”
There was a third pause on the phone. I heard the music and crowd in the background. Then, finally, I changed my own voice back and asked, “Still there?”
“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I said.
She laughed. “You’re lucky you aren’t here,” she said.
I laughed, too. “I don’t know which way to take that,” I said. “So, I’ll take it the way I want.”
“Bastard,” she said.
“Seriously, though,” I asked. “And just so I know for sure. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just everything’s fucked up.”
“Well, if you need anything, just let me know,” I told her.
“I will,” she said. “And John?”
“Yes?” I asked.
“You know when I said you were lucky you weren’t here?”
“Yes,” I said.
And when she spoke next, her voice dropped low, that broken china whiskey voice of hers that makes me melt. The rusty razor voice of hers that could cut me in so many ways. And she said,
“Everything you think I can do to you? That’s nothing compared to what I’d really do to you.”
Long pause.
“Good night, John,” she said.
“Good night,” I said.
We both hung up. It was a long time before I could write again.