It must be going on two years ago now that came home to my Brooklyn apartment to find a message waiting on the answering machine. Much to my delight, the message wasn't for me, and I found it entertaining in the extreme. I made a careful transcription of the message before I erased the tape, and since I've just run across that transcription, I thought I'd share it with you.
Imagine the voice of a cultured New York socialite, probably in her early to mid thirties, who is blissfully oblivious to the face that she's dialed the area code for Brooklyn instead of Manhattan—and, indeed, to the fact that the voice on the answering machine belongs to no one she knows:
Hi, Astrid, it's Maria F_____ calling, and, um, this is a thank-you call from me and, uh, Michael, and it is to you and your husband Jim. We had a fabulous, fabulous time at your dinner party, and, um, everything was wonderful. Um, we thoroughly enjoyed your company, and, um, the company of your friends, and, uh, dinner was just delicious, and the conversation was, as you know, hilarious and occasionally, um, um, terrifically satisfying, if you know what I mean, in terms of the content and absolute range, um, of topics, and, um, I don't know, I just, we were blissed upon leaving, and, um, I just, uh, I'm . . . just want to say thank you for your kindness. Um, bye.
I wonder if Maria ever realized that Astrid never received her stilted but effusive flood of thanks. I wonder if their friendship decayed and dried up as a result of this miscommunication. I wonder if Astrid will ever see this page and realize what a stupid fluke it was that drove their two households apart and brought so much pain and misery to the Upper East Side. I wonder . . .
God. I wonder if I'm going to get sued.