“Forget it,” says Dolly in a dry voice. “I’m too old for that sixties shit.”
Dolly takes a few minutes to finish and sets down her coffee. She turns, and I notice this time that she doesn’t seem afraid of me but rather pleased with my reaction…
“Don’t you feel it, Dolly, is that a little bit of fear creeping in the pit of your stomach? Do you think maybe you’ll look back on yourself in a few years and regret it? Or would we be better off not getting rid of the dolts like we’re doing by now?”
“I don’t know,” I say, “but… maybe you could go back and let me speak to Missy…”
“You wouldn’t dare go back to my room at your age,” Dolly protests. “I’ve got to be back around eight or nine to start my classes.”
“Maybe we’ll find a place to live,” I mutter. “Maybe some other class is up for grabs.”
“I can’t let the older girls hang around, Dolly.”
“Oh!” Dolly says, laughing, “Then we’ll have no place to put any of them!”
I can hear her running behind me. She can’t catch up to us!
Is Dolly really a good actress? Can she play her parts with conviction? Do my experiences match up to what I’ve heard? Is she really still my friend or can I still call her by her real name?
“Why don’t you join your new friend in the living room?” I suggest, “and make some phone calls? We could do a few of these ‘tune-up’ exercises.”
“Sure,” she says, “because you’re a little old man. But I just want to know what my future friends look like.”
“I bet you do,” I say; “you don’t look like anyone I know!”
“No, you don’t,” I retort. “Don’t you wish I did?”
Dolly is staring at me… and making faces.
“What do you think?”
How’s this for a good opening:
“How’s this for a good opening:
“I’ll teach you to
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