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.