My phone rang at about 1 p.m. this afternoon. I picked up. “Hello?”
“Hi!” Some unfamiliar female voice was overly happy to hear mine.
“Hi!” I said back, figuring I’d play along and try to buy some time to figure out who on earth this was.
“Dave?” she asked.
“Uhh, yee-ah,” I said, slowly.
“How are you!?” she asked forcefully, still way too happy.
I paused and analyzed the voice. Adult. Pre-middle age, probably in the 20s or 30s. Female. African-American. I ran through the list of people I know matching that description. No match. “Umm, I’m sorry, but I have no idea who this is,” I said.
“Yes you do!” her enthusiasm was unwaning.
“Umm,” I know, I know, I’m just a stupid male, but I honestly was drawing a blank.
“It’s your lover,” she said, tenderly and huskily enough to really freak me out.
Now, I haven’t had a date in eight months, so the likelihood of any female believing herself to be my lover is, well, really remote. Besides, I’m of the persuasion that the act that most people associate with the endearing term “lover” ought to wait until after marriage. So, very obviously, one of the people in this conversation was mistaken, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t me.
“It’s your lover,” she said again, pretty much the same way. I was starting to wonder if this wasn’t a practical joke someone was pulling off on me. I know more than a few pranksters, after all. I decided to play it safe.
“I… don’t have… one,” I said finally.
She laughed. “Sure you do, Dave!” And she said her name. I didn’t know anybody by that name.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong number. This is Dave Farquhar.”
She let out a very embarrassed laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said.
“That’s OK,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
She laughed some more. She was still laughing when I hung up the phone.
I laid the phone down on its cradle, and it wasn’t 30 seconds later that it was ringing again. I picked up again. “Hello?”
It was the same woman again. Her mood changed quickly. Very quickly. She verified the phone number she dialed. Then she turned desperate. “Are you visiting from out of town?” Nope, this is my phone number, and I live alone. “Did you just get this number?” Nope, I’ve had it for more than two years. I could hear the hurt. She didn’t have to tell me the story. I could pretty much put it together myself. Boy meets girl. Boy sleeps with girl, probably promising something more later. Boy gets what he wants. Boy makes up a phone number and gives it to girl so he won’t have to deal with commitment.