An old voice talent I once dated for a moment called me the other night and I said, "Who's this?" He said, "Peggy, don't you recognize my voice?"
"No. Should I?"
"Scott who?" I was kidding by then. (He'd driven by my back gate early in the spring and I was out in my grubbies wrestling with the overgrown garden, my hair gone as wild as the yard. He stopped his car. Oh no. Not good.
I said, "My eyes are bad. I can't hear you. I have company coming." Anyone could look at me and see this was a lie. I actually waved him on. As if we didn't speak the same language. And in a way we didn't. He's a really old man. I'm just an old womam.)
"I had a dream about you."
"Really. What sort of dream?"
"I was living in a big house and you came to my door in the middle of the night. You woke me up. I came to the door and you looked awful. I said Peggy, you look awful. What happened to you? You said, "I'm pregnant." Then the phone rang. I answered it. It was our agent. I told her you were pregnant. She asked me to ask you one question."
"What was it, you tactless bastard?"
"Who's the father?"