The phone rang while Anna was eating breakfast in front of the computer, but it was only Leslie.
“Where do you go for a bikini wax?” she asked as soon as Anna picked up.
“Lucky Nails on Fifth Ave. at Fifty-Eighth. Out in Sunset Park.”
“Ugh. Don’t you know any place in the city?”
“Nope.”
“Last time I went to my place? They tore my skin off.”
“Ew,” Anna said, opening another tab for Salon.com. She clicked back to Facebook and left a comment on a friend of a friend’s wall, because yes, last night’s episode of Real Housewives of Dallas was total bullshit. That lady’s boobs were for sure fake. Cassandra was right:) Anna typed as she spoke. “Well, Lucky Nails uses this special hard wax. I think it’s from France? Plus they really get in there with the tweezers.”
“At my place, they skip the tweezer part,” said Leslie.
“No way!”
“Way. I think I’m just going to shave. I have to go to one of Josh’s things tonight.”
“Don’t,” Anna said, scrolling through her twitfeed. “It’ll only grow back thicker.”
Waxing, Anna had to admit, was something that had crossed her mind careerwise. Not the inhaling-crotch-musk-all-day part, not the really-getting-in-there-with-the-tweezers part, but the personal part. Anna always ended up telling Wendi, the Chinese lady who groomed her crotch, everything. And without even meaning to, Anna began to wonder how Leslie styled. Wendi once told her that crotch-styling preferences said a lot about a person. So what was it, a Brazilian? A perfect little St. Moritz landing strip? She wouldn’t even put it past Leslie to try vajazzling. And this line of thinking served only to remind Anna that she was getting a little overgrown herself down there. She should give Wendi a call—her pubes were probably hanging down around her knees.
Leslie was still talking about something. Her fertility treatments? But cars were honking in the background and for half a minute a loud siren drowned her out. Anna noticed Gawker had an article about candy cigarettes being banned by a smoking-prevention law.
“—zen person’s pants?”
“Huh?” Anna said, clicking on something.
“—ess than a ten percent chance. That’s what the doctor said. After that it’s pointless. I told Josh we should switch clinics, but can’t decide between Columbia or Cornell.”
“Isn’t Cornell in Ithaca?” Anna said. She forgot what came next after IUI. IVF? Or was IVF first? All the Is confused her. So many Is engaged to create yet another I.
“They have a center in the city, too, but the thing is—I’m sorry this is so loud—”
“Yeah, I can barely hear you,” Anna said, even though she could hear her fine now.
“I’ll call you later,” Leslie shouted.
“Call me later,” Anna shouted, and hung up.
She went to the bathroom, plugged in the flat iron, and turned it to high. Then she got out a tube of SPF 15 Sweet Tea tinted moisturizer and began to put on her face. Today she would call Brandon, Anna decided. She had assumed she would open the AVCCAM box together with Brie after she got back from kickball practice last night, bust out a box of microwave popcorn, and make it a roommate thing. But Brie never showed, so the box remained where it was, by the front door. She’d even sent Brie a text, Yoo-hoo? around 10:30, but never heard back. So now she would have to call Brandon. It’s probably for the best, she thought. Brandon’s better at that sort of thing.
Then again, maybe it would be better to get out of the house first, run a few errands? She hadn’t left the apartment at all yesterday, not even to go downstairs for the mail.
She was halfway down the block when the phone rang again.
“Anna? Taj,” came an unfamiliar man’s voice. “You answered my ad yesterday.”
“Hi,” Anna said, feeling her pulse quicken.
“That was pretty funny.”
“Funny?”
“Mr. 135 blah blah?”
“Oh yeah,” Anna said, nervous. “Ha ha.”
“Is now a good time to talk? I’m scheduling interviews this week, but first I just need to ask you a few questions.”
“OK,” Anna said. She walked by a sports bar with a huge banner outside reading CATCH ALL THE WORLD CUP ACTION HERE! Then she passed another small bar on the corner, with a handwritten sign taped up that said, ABSOLUTELY *NO* WORLD CUP COVERAGE EVER HERE (PHEW!). When she tuned back in, Taj was saying, “Sofia or Francis?”
“Um, Sofia?” Anna said.
“Dogme 95 or French New Wave?”
“Both?” Anna said, not knowing much about either.
“Black and white or color?”
“That depends—”
“Dolly or handheld?”
“Handheld.”
“Pinhole or digital?”
“Are you being serious?”
“Semiserious.”
She actually knew what a pinhole was because Brie had brought home one of those Build-Your-Own-Pinhole-Camera kits from Urban Outfitters one day.
“I guess, pinhole?” This is supposed to be art, she thought. In which case, the weirder the better, right?
“Bolex or Pixelvision?”
“What?”
“Bolex camera or Pixelvision?”
“Um …”
“That’s OK,” said Taj. “I was thinking of changing that one anyway. Bolex or Flip?”
“Flip.” At least she knew what a Flip was. There was a longish pause. “Hello?” Anna said, pressing the phone closer to her ear.
“I’ve heard nothing but wrong answers,” said Taj.
Well, that’s that, Anna thought, automatically binding the familiar wound with a tourniquet of indifference. She was standing right outside the pharmacy now. She had something to do. After getting off the phone, she would fill her prescription. And then? Then she would go to Earthy Basket and get one of those fancy, superhealthy deli salads and have lunch, maybe grab a few things to go, for later. When she got home, she would call Brandon and they’d make a date to open the AVCCAM box. In the meantime, she could get back on craigslist, send some follow-up messages. Keep busy. Why hadn’t she heard from anyone else yet?
“So, BING! You win,” Taj continued. There was a smile in his voice. “I’m intrigued. Where do you want to meet?”
She felt her heart contract.
“Have you ever been to Café Gowanus?” There was another long pause and Anna thought maybe the line had gone dead, just now, at the crucial moment. “Hello?”
“They may as well call that place Café Schadenfreude,” Taj said. “Let’s keep it real. We’ll meet at Halal Wireless Café on Thirty-Third and Fourth in Brooklyn. Can you do tomorrow at three-thirty?”
“Yes,” Anna said.
“I’ll text you the address so you’ll have it.”
“OK.”
“Bring a sweater. It gets cold in there with the air-conditioning,” Taj said, and he hung up.
Anna