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WRONG NUMBER

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“Hello.” “Chip?” “No.” Whispers, “Shit.” “Excuse me?” “Sorry. Is this Clearbrook 3 6148?” “Yes, it is.” Whispers, “God dammit.” “Sir?” “Sorry.” “God’s last name is not Dammit.” “What? Oh.” Laughter. “I’m sorry. Someone gave me your number.” “Chet?” “Yes.” “He’s not here.” “Right. Hey, is that Gilda Radner singing in the background?” “Yes, it is.” “Sounds like ‘Let’s talk dirty to the animals’.” “Yes, it is.” “I’ve been looking all over for that thing. Where did you find it?” “On the Internet.” “Do you remember where?” “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Would you like the URL?” “Yes, I would.” “I’ll need your email address.” “Great. It’s nick an nora charles, all one word, at gmail dot com.  That’s ‘an nora’, not ‘and nora’.” “Got it. Are you a fan?” “Of Gilda?” “No, Nick and Nora Charles.” “Oh, yeah. I’ve got all their films.” “I’ll send that URL right away.” “Who are you.? What’s your name?” “Nick Charles.” I laughed a
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THE GREEN DRESS

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Pamela Pres c o tt exited the train depot onto Jackson Boulevard and crossed the Canal Street Bridge. She was on her way to Chicago’s Loop to the see the film, Harold and Maude . She paused as she neared the T rè s El é ga n t Woman’s Apparel S hop. There wa s a sign in the display win d ow which caught her attention. For t h e Dis c riminating W oman over Fifty She chuckl e d as she read it. ‘ T hat’s me all r i ght.’ But i t w a s t he ma n nequin behind the sign which held her int e rest. It w o re a F or e st Flo o r Gre e n d ress fa s h i oned from a m a terial with whi c h s he was not f amili a r. She wo u ld take a closer l o ok at this g a r ment o n h e r w a y ba c k to the train s tation. Fore s t Fl o or Green was a f a vorite col o r, one that brought ba c k p a inful memo r ies of t he pa s t, of lo v e lost, o f new begin n i ngs, o f c o n tentme n t, and of ev e n t ual happine s s. She enjoy e d the fi l m as well as the eleg a n
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