I read it quickly. The first page explained that this was a new scientific method of meeting people who were specifically suited to one’s own tastes and needs, all of it made possible through the modern miracle of electronic data processing. It went on to explain that the answers to this questionnaire (which comprised the remaining pages of the folder) would be fed into a computer programmed to discover “that perfect date who will complement your personality, your likes and dislikes, your outlooks and ideals, your physical tastes.”
“What do you think?” Sandy asked.
“What do you think?” I answered.
“I think we ought to screw up the machine,” Sandy said.
I’d noticed that a registration fee of ten dollars was required for each applicant, and I immediately wondered whether it was worth that much to screw up a machine. She saw my hesitancy and said, “What’s the matter?”
“It costs ten bucks to join,” I said.
“That’s only a little more than three dollars each,” Sandy said. “David’ll go along with it, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.” I hesitated again. “I wish he was, here.”
“I do, too. Let’s fill it out, Peter. Just for fun. We don’t have to mail it in if we don’t want to.”
“Okay,” I said.
We sipped a little more beer. Sandy took a ballpoint pen from her beach bag, and propped the folder on a copy of McCall’s, which she supported with her knees. It was a very hot day. A fine sheen of sweat was on her chest above the bikini top. I thought fleetingly of that day she’d run into the water naked above the waist. Sandy immediately said, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Peter,” she said warningly.
“I was thinking of the day you went in the water without your top,” I admitted.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, and grinned. “Some show, huh?”
“Well, I think it was,” I said, and shrugged.
“Shall we fill this thing out or not?” she said.
“Yeah, sure, let’s fill it out.”
The first question (as indeed the entire first page of questions) was multiple choice, the applicant being asked to circle his or her age bracket. Since the youngest bracket listed was 17–19, Sandy was clearly ineligible to begin with. But in order to screw up the machine, she circled the listing for 20–22. I was still thinking about that day, and was getting a little annoyed by her refusal to discuss it. We’d promised to tell the truth at all times, hadn’t we? So why had she just brushed me off? She went down the questionnaire now, reading the questions and the choices out loud, circling her height as 5′3″ to 5′5″, a good two inches less than her real height, and then describing herself as “of ample build.” She claimed to have a masters degree, black hair, and blue eyes — she did have blue eyes, of course. But she further claimed to be Oriental, and Jewish, and fluent in Chinese and Greek, and Republican in outlook.
She then came to a question that asked whether she considered herself Very Bright, Bright, or Averàge, and immediately circled Very Bright. Since I was annoyed, anyway, I coughed politely and looked up at the sky.
“I am,” she said. “I have an IQ of 157.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, that sounds like boasting. Shall I cross it out and circle Bright instead?”
“Do what you want to do,” I said. I couldn’t stop thinking about that day last week, and I blamed her for what I was thinking, figuring if she’d only discuss the damn thing, we could forget it. At the same time, I was embarrassed by the memory of how she’d looked, and ashamed of myself for feeling so horny. Finally, I blamed David for having stupidly got himself grounded, though I couldn’t really imagine what that had to do with any of it.
“Should my date be Negro, Caucasian, or Oriental?” Sandy asked.
“Negro,” I said.
“No, let’s say Puerto Rican. That’ll really screw ’em up.”
“Is there a listing for Puerto Rican?”
“No, I’ll write it in.”
“Okay,” I said. My mouth was dry.
“Peter, what the hell is it?”
“Well, if you really want to know,” I said, “I was pretty interested that day.”
“What day?”
“The day you took off your top.”
“Oh,” Sandy said.
“If you really want to know,” I said, “which I guess you don’t.”
“Sure I do,” she said. “I appreciate your telling me, I do, Peter.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s perfectly all right that you were interested. I don’t mind.”
“I’m glad you don’t mind.”
“In fact, I’m flattered.”
“Yeah, well.”
“I mean, I’m so little, Peter,” she said, and laughed. Nervously, it seemed to me.
“You’re not so little,” I said.
“Thank you, Peter,” she said, “that’s very sweet of you.” She hesitated, and then smiled and said, “Shall we finish this?” and tapped the questionnaire with the tip of her pen.
“No, I want to settle this other thing first.”
“But what’s there to...” she started, and then turned to stare at me.
“It’s still on my mind,” I said.
“Oh, come on, Peter.”
“Well, we promised to tell the truth, and that’s the truth.”
“Well... I...” She gave a brief puzzled shrug. “Well... well, what about it?”
“I want you to do it again.”
“Do what? Take off my top?”
“Yes,” I said, and swallowed, and looked away from her.
“Oh, boy,” she said.
“Well, that’s the truth. That’s what’s on my mind, and that’s the truth.”
“Oh, boy,” she said again.
“Well,” I said, and was silent.
Sandy stared at me. “There are people around,” she said at last.
“Yeah.”
“I’d take it off if there weren’t.”
“Sure.”
We were silent again.
“You don’t believe me,” Sandy said.
“I believe you.”
“Peter, it doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’d take it off in a minute if we were alone.”
“Sure.”
“I would.”
I did not answer her. She began tapping the pen on the magazine cover. Down on the beach I could hear the volleyball players shouting.
“I just don’t understand you,” I said at last, shaking my head. “Didn’t you know David and I would...” I shrugged.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, what’d you expect?”
“I don’t know, but I didn’t once think you’d...” She shook her head angrily. “We can’t even talk straight anymore, see what you did?”
“I can talk straight,” I said.
“Oh, sure.” She picked up a tiny beach shell and, studying it, said, “Did... did David, too?”
“How would I know?”
“Didn’t you discuss it with him?”
“Behind your back?” I said, shocked.
“I thought...”
“Of course not!”
“Peter, you’re getting me very confused.”
“It’s just that I don’t know what’s supposed to happen here.”
“Happen?”
“Yes, between us.”
“Between us?”
“Jesus, Sandy, must you repeat...?”
“I don’t understand you, damn it. I don’t understand!”
“Are we supposed to... are David and I supposed to... to...”
“What?”
“Do things?”