The catcher in the rye

For a while, I didn’t think she was home or something. Nobody kept answering. Then, finally, somebody picked up the phone.

“Hello?” I said. I made my voice quite deep so that she wouldn’t suspect my age or anything. I have a pretty deep voice anyway.

“Hello,” this woman’s voice said. None too friendly, either.

“Is this Miss Faith Cavendish?”

“Who’s this?” she said. “Who’s calling me up at this crazy goddam hour?”

That sort of scared me a little bit. “Well, I know it’s quite late,” I said, in this very mature voice and all. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I was very anxious to get in touch with you.” I said it suave as hell. I really did.

“Who is this?” she said.

“Well, you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Eddie Birdsell’s. He suggested that if I were in town sometime, we ought to get together for a cocktail or two.”

“Who? You’re a friend of who?” Boy, she was a real tigress over the phone. She was damn near yelling at me.

“Edmund Birdsell. Eddie Birdsell,” I said. I couldn’t remember if his name was Edmund or Edward. I only met him once, at a goddam stupid party.

“I don’t know anybody by that name, Jack. And if you think I enjoy bein’ woke up in the middle—”

“Eddie Birdsell? From Princeton?” I said.

You could tell she was running the name over in her mind and all.

“Birdsell, Birdsell… from Princeton.. . Princeton College?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“You from Princeton College?”

“Well, approximately.”

“Oh… How is Eddie?” she said. “This is certainly a peculiar time to call a person up, though. Jesus Christ.”

“He’s fine. He asked to be remembered to you.”

“Well, thank you. Remember me to him,” she said. “He’s a grand person. What’s he doing now?” She was getting friendly as hell, all of a sudden.

“Oh, you know. Same old stuff,” I said. How the hell did I know what he was doing? I hardly knew the guy. I didn’t even know if he was still at Princeton. “Look,” I said. “Would you be interested in meeting me for a cocktail somewhere?”

“By any chance do you have any idea what time it is?” she said. “What’s your name, anyhow, may I ask?” She was getting an English accent, all of a sudden. “You sound a little on the young side.”

I laughed. “Thank you for the compliment,” I said — suave as hell. “Holden Caulfield’s my name.” I should’ve given her a phony name, but I didn’t think of it.

“Well, look, Mr. Cawffle. I’m not in the habit of making engagements in the middle of the night. I’m a working gal.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” I told her.

“Well, anyway. I gotta get my beauty sleep. You know how it is.”

“I thought we might have just one cocktail together. It isn’t too late.”

“Well. You’re very sweet,” she said. “Where ya callin’ from? Where ya at now, anyways?”

“Me? I’m in a phone booth.”

“Oh,” she said. Then there was this very long pause. “Well, I’d like awfully to get together with you sometime, Mr. Cawffle. You sound very attractive. You sound like a very attractive person. But it is late.”

“I could come up to your place.”

“Well, ordinary, I’d say grand. I mean I’d love to have you drop up for a cocktail, but my roommate happens to be ill. She’s been laying here all night without a wink of sleep. She just this minute closed her eyes and all. I mean.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

“Where ya stopping at? Perhaps we could get together for cocktails tomorrow.”

“I can’t make it tomorrow,” I said. “Tonight’s the only time I can make it.” What a dope I was. I shouldn’t’ve said that.

“Oh. Well, I’m awfully sorry.”

“I’ll say hello to Eddie for you.”

“Willya do that? I hope you enjoy your stay in New York. It’s a grand place.”

“I know it is. Thanks. Good night,” I said. Then I hung up.

Boy, I really fouled that up. I should’ve at least made it for cocktails or something.

10

It was still pretty early. I’m not sure what time it was, but it wasn’t too late. The one thing I hate to do is go to bed when I’m not even tired. So I opened my suitcases and took out a clean shirt, and then I went in the bathroom and washed and changed my shirt. What I thought I’d do, I thought I’d go downstairs and see what the hell was going on in the Lavender Room. They had this night club, the Lavender Room, in the hotel.

While I was changing my shirt, I damn near gave my kid sister Phoebe a buzz, though. I certainly felt like talking to her on the phone. Somebody with sense and all. But I couldn’t take a chance on giving her a buzz, because she was only a little kid and she wouldn’t have been up, let alone anywhere near the phone. I thought of maybe hanging up if my parents answered, but that wouldn’t’ve worked, either. They’d know it was me. My mother always knows it’s me. She’s psychic. But I certainly wouldn’t have minded shooting the crap with old Phoebe for a while.