Pillow Talk
The phone rang four times before I could grope the handset out of the cradle. Groggy and hoarse, a muffled “Lo?” was as much as I could offer, my head still on the pillow. “Is Kitty there?” I heard the door of a phone booth screech a few inches and thud shut. I needed to hear his voice again. Immediately. “Who did you want?” “Kitty. I don’t know her last name. We met at the Hi-Lo the other night.” “Hmmm. The Hi-Lo, huh? She gave you my number?” “914-232-5646?” He was off by one. Close. So close. The acoustics of the phone booth were intimate. His voice was like melted butter and dark syrup swirled together. Salty, sweet, smoothly overwhelming. “No. No kitty here. Just me.” I yawned. If I could purr, I would have. “So, what number is this?” “And why would I give you my number if you weren’t looking for me in the first place? I snuggled deeper into the warmth of my nest. “Hmmn?” “Solid point, but can I have some slack 'cause I’m glad I got...