Nude Men

have?”
    “Three.”
    Click.
    “Is it recording yet?” asks Sara.
    “Yes,” says Henrietta.
    “Melissa said her mother said my mother is perverted, because your house is full of naked men showing off their bodies and trying to be pretty like women.”
    Click.
    “What did you say you wanted to be when you grow up?”
    “A hairdresser.”
    Click.
    “So tell me what’s wrong,” says Henrietta. The sound is muffled.
    “You’re not gonna record me, are you?”
    “No. Tell me.”
    “I don’t know, I’m just sad.”
    “There must be a reason.”
    “I wish I had a father who wore clothes.”
    “What in the world do you mean?”
    “I want someone who’s dressed most of the time. All the men who come here are nice, but they’re not like normal fathers. All my friends have fathers who are always dressed. My friends have never seen their fathers without their underwear, except one girl, and that was by accident, because none of the bathrooms in her house have locks.”
    Click.
    “No, don’t record me.”
    “Yes, I gotta have this on tape. This is terrible. Repeat what you just said.”
    “What do you mean, terrible? You always said I should be free in that way.”
    “I know. I don’t mean terrible. I mean incredible. Surprising. Disconcerting. Unsettling. Nerve-racking. Repeat what you said.”
    “Do I have to?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “I’m attracted to Jeremy.”
    My ears buzz in surprise, but I am careful not to move a muscle, not to show my interest in this new topic of conversation. “You are?”
    “Yes.”
    “How do you mean, attracted?”
    “I want to do it with him.”
    “Do what?”
    “Sleep.”
    “Do you know what that means?”
    “Sex.”
    “And do you know what that means?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are you sure? You didn’t learn it from me. You must have learned it from TV or your friends, right?”
    “Yes. And books.”
    “Are you sure you have the right definition?”
    “I guarantee you, yes.”
    “And you’re interested in Jeremy.”
    “Yes.”
    “Are you planning to do anything about it?”
    “Yes. I would like to go to Disney World with him.”
    “Really.”
    “Will you let me go?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “You should. Our doorman, on afternoons when you’re out hunting for O.I.M.s, would willingly see me in the back room, but he’s aggressive and too rough. Otherwise there’s my gym teacher in school, a pedophde. He adores me, and we have plenty of free time after class, but I think he might be dangerously insane.”
    “Don’t underestimate my intelligence.”
    “You know I’m kidding. But it is supposed to make you think.” Click.
    “What did you say you wanted to be when you grow up?”
    “A fact checker.”
    Click.
    “I think I regret it,” says Sara. Her voice is muffled. I realize this means the tape recorder is hidden.
    “Why?”
    “Because he probably won’t want to be friends with me now.”
    “You knew that might happen.”
    “I know, but I didn’t think it would bother me. Now I wish I could keep him as a friend.”
    “Maybe you’ll be able to.”
    “It’s not sure at all.”
    “I know. You’re not in love with him, are you?” asks Henrietta.
    “Not that much. Though I wish we could stay lovers. But I’m sure he’d never want to.”
    “I think you’re right.”
    “He’s too influenced by what people think.”
    Click.
    “That took long. Is there any hope?” says Henrietta.
    “No.” It’s my voice.
    “You see, I knew it.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    She cries. “Well, come home. It’s getting late.”
    Silence.
    “Okay?” she says. “Can you please bring Sara home now?”
    “No,” says my voice.
    “Why not?”
    “You should turn on your tape recorder.”
    “It’s already on.”
    “You should come to the hospital. There was an accident. It’s Sara.”
    “Is she all right?”
    “No.” Pause. “She was hit by a car, and died instantly.” Her scream is long and deep.
    The real Henrietta’s eyes are closed, but she is not asleep. Her hand is stdl inside the box, petting the braids. I bury my face in my hands.
     
    A n hour later, I am able to persuade her to go out for a walk. We are sdent, and we walk slowly. I am also able to persuade her to eat half of a small marzipan mushroom. We don’t go far, but an hour elapses before we are back at the house.
    We go to our room and find the parrot covered in long golden threads.
    “I am a dying person,” says the parrot.
    I notice a white ribbon on the floor