Hanging Up by Delia Ephron

Author:Delia Ephron
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2012-08-14T04:00:00+00:00

Seven

Georgia was the first person I knew to buy an answering machine. The summer of 1975, a few days before my father’s wedding. She recorded her magazine voice on it, the one that was an octave lower than her normal voice.

“Hello, this is Georgia Mozell. Yes, it’s true … I’ve taken my last name back. Please leave a message, preferably short, after the beep.”

“Yes, it’s true …” There was a long pause after this. Georgia always knew how to create dramatic effect.

I spoke to the machine. “Hi, it’s me. I was wondering what you’re wearing to this event. I guess you’ve already left.”

“Don’t hang up, I’m here. I’m screening calls. This machine is wonderful. It’s like having my secretary at home. Go right out and buy yourself one.”

“To record whose calls? I haven’t had a date since Philip. Let’s see, we broke up last October, now it’s July, that’s—”

“Nine months,” said Georgia. “Eve, you must be optimistic.” I knew she wasn’t talking just about me. “You cannot be single and not have an answering machine.”

There it was. No sooner did Georgia have this invention than she had a rule about it. “It’s the single woman’s security blanket.” A rule and a cover line.

“What are you wearing to the wedding?”

“Basic black. I think I shall wear it for the rest of my life.”

“In honor of your divorce?”

“No, silly. Because I’ve decided it’s best to find one look and stick to it.”

A look was something I could never manage. It required more than bottoms and tops. It required scarves, pins, a variety of shoes. In other words, accessories. I owned one purse. Even at the age of twenty-four, I knew I would always own one purse. At this time it was a large brown leather thing with a flap, and I knew I would wear it to my father’s wedding even though it did not go with … what? While talking to Georgia, I’d been standing in front of my closet unable to decide what to wear.

“Georgia, I’ve got to get dressed. I’ll see you later.”

“Eve?”

“What?”

“Did Richard ever kiss you?” She said it so fast I almost didn’t understand it.

“What? No. Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I saw this idiotic cartoon by your roommate Adrienne, ‘Reasons They Broke Up,’ and reason four was ‘French-kissed your sister.’”

“I was never French-kissed by Richard.”

“I didn’t think so.”

There was an uncharacteristic quiet here. Georgia was always in a hurry.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, dar-ling.” She mocked herself, putting extra zip on the last word. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The phone rang.

“Hello.”

“I’m a Yankee Doodle dandy …” He was singing, actually belting the song, maybe he was even using hand gestures.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Yankee Doodle, do or die … Did you ever think you’d hear Lou Mozell so happy again?”

“I’m glad.”

He hung up.

The phone rang again.

“Hello, this is Lola Carlton. Your father is marrying—”

“Sure, of course, hi.” Do I say congratulations? Do I warn her about what her poor mother is getting herself into? Do I tell her not to give my father her phone number under any circumstances?

“I’m looking forward to meeting you.

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