A Perfect Day for Bananafish

Therewereninety-sevenNewYorkadvertisingmeninthehotel,and,thewaytheyweremonopolizingthelong-distancelines,thegirlin507hadtowaitfromnoontillalmosttwo-thirtytogethercallthrough.Sheusedthetime,though.Shereadanarticleinawomen’spocket-sizemagazine,called"SexIsFun-orHell."Shewashedhercombandbrush.Shetookthespotoutoftheskirtofherbeigesuit.ShemovedthebuttononherSaksblouse.Shetweezedouttwofreshlysurfacedhairsinhermole.Whentheoperatorfinallyrangherroom,shewassittingonthewindowseatandhadalmostfinishedputtinglacqueronthenailsofherlefthand.

Shewasagirlwhoforaringingphonedroppedexactlynothing.Shelookedasifherphonehadbeenringingcontinuallyeversinceshehadreachedpuberty.

Withherlittlelacquerbrush,whilethephonewasringing,shewentoverthenailofherlittlefinger,accentuatingthelineofthemoon.Shethenreplacedthecaponthebottleoflacquerand,standingup,passedherleft-thewet-handbackandforththroughtheair.Withherdryhand,shepickedupacongestedashtrayfromthewindowseatandcarrieditwithherovertothenighttable,onwhichthephonestood.Shesatdownononeofthemade-uptwinbedsand-itwasthefifthorsixthring-pickedupthephone.

"Hello,"shesaid,keepingthefingersofherlefthandoutstretchedandawayfromherwhitesilkdressinggown,whichwasallthatshewaswearing,exceptmules-herringswereinthebathroom.

"IhaveyourcalltoNewYorknow,Mrs.Glass,"theoperatorsaid.

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