"Yes."
"You treat him mean. He gets lonely when his wife is at work. What the hell's the matter with you?"
Tammie jumped up and ran into the bedroom and started dialing. I had just bought her a fifth of champagne. She hadn't opened it. I took it and hid it in the broom closet.
"Bobby," she said over the phone, "this is Tammie. Did you just phone? Where's your wife? Listen, I'll be right down."
She hung up and came out of the bedroom. "Where's the champagne?"
"Fuck off," I said, "you're not taking it down there and drinking it with him."
"I want that champagne. Where is it?"
"Let him furnish his own."
Tammie picked up a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table and ran out the door.
I got out the champagne, uncorked it and poured myself a glass. I was no longer writing love poems. In fact, I wasn't writing at all. I didn't feel like writing.
The champagne went down easy. I drank glass after glass.
Then I took my shoes off and walked down to Bobby's place. I looked through the blinds. They were sitting very close together on the couch, talking.
I walked back. I finished the last of the champagne and started in on the beer.
The phone rang. It was Bobby. "Look," he said, "Why don't you come down and have a beer with Tammie and me?"
I hung up.
I drank some more beer and smoked a couple of cheap cigars. I got drunker and drunker. I walked down to Bobby's apartment. I knocked. He opened the door.
Tammie was down at the end of the couch snorting coke, using a McDonald's spoon. Bobby put a beer in my hand.
"The trouble," he told me, "is that you're insecure, you lack confidence in yourself."
I sucked at the beer.
"That's right, Bobby's right," said Tammy.
"Something hurts inside of me."
"You're just insecure," said Bobby, "it's quite simple."
I had two phone numbers for Joanna Dover. I tried the one in Galveston. She answered. "It's me, Henry." "You sound drunk." "I am. I want to come see you." "When?" "Tomorrow." "All right."
"Will you meet me at the airport?" "Sure, baby." "I'll get a flight and call you back."
I got flight 707, leaving L. A. International the next day at 12:15 pm. I relayed the information to Joanna Dover. She said she'd be there.
The phone rang. It was Lydia.
"I thought I'd tell you," she said, "that I sold the house. I'm moving to Phoenix. I'll be gone in the morning."
"All right, Lydia. Good luck."
"I had a miscarriage. I almost died, it was awful. I lost so much blood. I didn't want to bother you about it."
"Are you all right now?"
"I'm all right. I just want to get out of this town, I'm sick of this town."
We said goodbye.
I opened another beer. The front door opened and Tammie walked in. She walked in wild circles, looking at me.
"Did Valerie get home?" I asked. "Did you cure Bobby's loneliness?"
Tammie just kept circling around. She looked very good in her long gown, whether she had been fucked or not.
"Get out of here," I said.
She made one more circle, ran out the door and up to her place.
I couldn't sleep. Luckily, I had some more beer. I kept drinking beer and finished the last bottle about 4:30 am. I sat and waited until 6 am, then went out and got some more.
Time went slowly. I walked around. I didn't feel good but I started singing songs. I sang songs and walked around-from bathroom to bedroom to the front room to the kitchen and back, singing songs.
I looked at the clock. 11:15 am. The airport was an hour away. I was dressed. I had on shoes but no stockings. All I took was a pair of reading glasses which I stuffed into my shirt pocket. I ran out the door without baggage.
The Volks was in front. I got in. The sunlight was very bright. I put my head down on the steering wheel a moment. I heard a voice from the court, "Where the hell does he think he's going like that?"
I started the car, turned the radio on and drove off. I had trouble steering. My car kept pulling across the double yellow line and into the oncoming traffic. They honked and I pulled back.
I got to the airport. I had 15 minutes left. I had run red lights, stop signs, had exceeded the speed limit, grossly, all the way. I had 14 minutes. The parking lot was full. I couldn't find a space. Then I saw a place in front of an elevator, just large enough for a Volks. A sign read, NO PARKING. I parked. As I locked the car my reading glasses fell out of my pocket and broke on the pavement.
I ran down the stairway and across the street to the airline reservations desk. It was hot. The sweat rolled off me. "Reservation for Henry Chinaski…" The clerk wrote out the ticket and I paid cash. "By the way," said the clerk, "I've read your books."
I ran up to security. The buzzer went off. Too much change, 7 keys and my pocketknife. I put them on the plate and walked through again.
Five minutes. Gate 42.
Everyone had boarded. I walked on. Three minutes. I found my seat, strapped in. The flight captain was talking over the intercom.
We taxied down the runway, we were in the air. We swung out over the ocean and made the big turn.
54
I was the last one off the plane and there was Joanna Dover.
"My god!" she laughed. "You look awful!"
"Joanna, let's have a Bloody Mary while we wait for my baggage. Oh hell, I don't have any baggage. But let's have a Bloody Mary anyhow."
We walked into the bar and sat down.
"You'll never make Paris this way."
"I'm not crazy about the French. Born in Germany, you know."
"I hope you'll like my place. It's simple. Two floors and plenty of space."
"As long as we're in the same bed."
"I've got paints."
"Paints?"
"I mean, you can paint if you want."
"Shit, but thanks, anyhow. Did I interrupt anything?"
"No. There was a garage mechanic. But he petered out. He couldn't stand the pace."
"Be kind to me, Joanna, sucking and fucking aren't everything."
"That's why I got the paints. For when you're resting."
"You are a lot of woman, even forgetting the 6 feet."
"Christ, don't I know it."
I liked her place. There were screens on every window and door. The windows swung open, large windows. There were no rugs on the floors, two bathrooms, old furniture, and lots of tables everywhere, large and small. It was simple and convenient.
"Take a shower," said Joanna.
I laughed. "These are all the clothes I have, what I'm wearing."
"We'll get you some more tomorrow. After you have your shower we'll go out and get a nice seafood meal. I know a good place."
"They serve drinks?"
"You asshole."
I didn't take a shower. I took a bath.
We drove quite a distance. I had never realized that Galveston was an island.
"The dope runners are hijacking the shrimp boats these days. They kill everybody on board and then run the stuffin. That's one reason the price of shrimp is going up-it's become a hazardous occupation. How's your occupation going?"
"I haven't been writing. I think it's over for me."
"How long has it been?"
"Six or seven days."
"This is the place…"
Joanna pulled into a parking lot. She drove very fast, but she didn't drive fast as if she meant to break the law. She drove fast as if it were her given right. There was a difference and I appreciated it.
We got a table away from the crowd. It was cool and quiet and dark in there. I liked it. I went for the lobster. Joanna went for something strange. She ordered it in French. She was sophisticated, traveled. In a sense, as much as I disliked it, education helped when you were looking at a menu or for a job, especially when you were looking at a menu. I always felt inferior to waiters. I had arrive
d too late and with too little. The waiters all read Truman Capote. I read the race results.
The dinner was good and out on the gulf were the shrimp boats, the patrol boats and the pirates. The lobster tasted good in my mouth, and I drank him down with fine wine. Good fellow. I always liked you in your pink-red shell, dangerous and slow.
Back at Joanna Dover's place we had a delicious bottle of red wine. We sat in the dark watching the few cars pass in the street below. We were quiet. Then Joanna spoke.
"Hank?"
"Yes?"
"Was it some woman who drove you here?"
"Yes."
"Is it over with her?"
"I'd like to think so. But if I said 'no'…"
"Then you don't know?"
"Not really."
"Does anybody ever know?"
"I don't think so." "That's what makes it all stink so." "It does stink." "Let's fuck." "I've drunk too much." "Let's go to bed." "I want to drink some more." "You won't be able to…"
"I know. I hope you'll let me stay four or five days." "It will depend on your performance," she said. "That's fair enough."
By the time we finished the wine I could barely make it to bed. I was asleep by the time Joanna came out of the bathroom…
55
Upon awakening I got up and used Joanna's toothbrush, drank a couple of glasses of water, washed my hands and face and got back into bed. Joanna turned around and my mouth found hers. My cock began to rise. I put her hand on my cock. I grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, kissing her, savagely. I played with her cunt. I teased her clit for a long time. She was very wet. I mounted and buried it. I held it in. I could feel her responding. I was able to work a long time. Finally I was unable to hold back any longer. I was wet with sweat and my heart beat so loudly that I could hear it.
"I'm not in very good shape," I told her.
"I liked it. Let's have a joint."
She produced a joint, already rolled. We passed it back and forth. "Joanna," I told her, "I'm still sleepy. I could use another hour."
"Sure. As soon as we finish this joint."
We finished the joint and stretched out in bed again. I slept.
56
That evening after dinner Joanna produced some mescaline.
"You ever tried this stuff?"
"No."
"Want to try some?"
"All right."
Joanna had some paints and brushes and paper spread on the table. Then I remembered she was an art collector. And that she had bought some of my paintings. We had been drinking Heine-kens most of the evening, but were still sober.
"This is very powerful stuff."
"What does it do?"
"It gives you a strange kind of high. You might get sick. When you vomit you get higher but I prefer not to vomit so we take a little baking soda along with it. I guess the main thing about mescaline is that it makes you feel terror."
"I've felt that without any help at all."
I began painting. Joanna turned the stereo on. It was very strange music, but I liked it. I looked around and Joanna was gone. I didn't care. I painted a man who had just committed suicide, he had hung himself from the rafters with a rope. I used many yellows, the dead man was so bright and pretty. Then something said, "Hank…"
It was right behind me. I leaped out of my chair, "JESUS CHRIST! OH, JESUS SHIT CHRIST!"
Tiny icy bubbles ran from my wrists to my shoulders and down my back. I shivered and trembled. I looked around. Joanna was standing there.
"Never do that to me again," I told her. "Never sneak up on me like that or I'll kill you!"
"Hank, I just went to get some cigarettes."
"Look at this painting."
"Oh, it's great," she said, "I really love it!"
"It's the mescaline, I guess."
"Yes, it is."
"All right, give me a smoke, lady."
Joanna laughed and lit us up two.
I began painting again. This time I really did it: A huge, green wolf fucking a redhead, her red hair flowing back while the green wolf slammed it to her through lifted legs. She was helpless and submissive. The wolf sawed away and overhead the night burned, it was outdoors, and long-armed stars and the moon watched them. It was hot, hot, and full of color.
"Hank…"
I leaped up. And turned. It was Joanna behind me. I got her by the throat. "I told you, goddamn you, not to sneak up…"
57
I stayed five days and nights. Then I couldn't get it up any more. Joanna drove me to the airport. She had bought me a new piece of luggage and some new clothing. I hated that Dallas-Fort Worth airport. It was the most inhuman airport in the U.S. Joanna waved me off and I was in the air…
The trip to Los Angeles was without incident. I disembarked, wondering about the Volks. I took the elevator up in the parking area and didn't see it. I figured it must have been towed away. Then I walked around to the other side-and there it was. All I had was a parking ticket.
I drove home. The apartment looked the way it always had- bottles and trash everywhere. I'd have to clean it up a bit. If anybody saw it that way they'd have me committed.
There was a knock. I opened the door. It was Tammie. "Hi!" she said.
"Hello."
"You must have been in an awful hurry when you left. All the doors were unlocked. The back door was wide open. Listen, promise you won't tell if I tell you something?"
"All right."
"Arlene went in and used your phone, long distance."
"All right."
"I tried to stop her but I couldn't. She was on pills."
"All right."
"Where've you been?"
"Galveston."
"Why did you go flying off like that? You're crazy."
"I've got to leave again Saturday."
"Saturday? What's today?"
"Thursday."
"Where are you going?"
"New York City."
"Why?"
"A reading. They sent the tickets two weeks ago. And I get a percentage of the gate."
"Oh, take me with you! I'll leave Dancy with Mother. I want to go!"
"I can't afford to take you. It'll eat up my profits. I've had some heavy expenses lately."
"I'll be good! I'll be so good! I'll never leave your side! I really missed you."
"I can't do it, Tammie."
She went to the refrigerator and got a beer. "You just don't give a fuck. All those love poems, you didn't mean it."
"I meant it when I wrote them."
The phone rang. It was my editor. "Where've you been?"
"Galveston. Research."
"I hear you're reading in New York City this Saturday."
"Yes, Tammie wants to go, my girl."
"Are you taking her?"
"No, I can't afford it."
"How much is it?"
"$316 round trip."
"Do you really want to take her?"
"Yes, I think so."
"All right, go ahead. I'll mail you a check."
"Do you mean it?"
"Yes."
"I don't know what to say…"
"Forget it. Just remember Dylan Thomas."
"They won't kill me."
We said goodbye. Tammie was sucking on her beer.
"All right," I told her, "you've got two or three days to pack."
"You mean, I'm going?"
"Yes, my editor is paying your way."
Tammie leaped up and grabbed me. She kissed me, grabbed my balls, pulled at my cock. "You're the sweetest old fuck!"
New York City. Outside of Dallas, Houston, Charleston, and Atlanta, it was the worst place I had ever been. Tammie pushed up against me and my cock rose. Joanna Dover hadn't gotten it all…
58
We had a 3:30 pm flight out of Los Angeles that Saturday. At 2 pm I went up and knocked on Tammie's door. She wasn't there. I want back to my place and sat down. The phone rang. It was Tammie. "Look," I said, "we have to th
ink about leaving. I have people meeting me at Kennedy airport. Where are you?"
"I'm $6 short on a prescription. I'm getting some Quaaludes."
"Where are you?"
"I'm just below Santa Monica Boulevard and Western, about a block. It's an Owl drugstore. You can't miss it."
I hung up, got into the Volks and drove over. I parked a block below Santa Monica and Western, got out and looked around. There was no pharmacy.
I got back in the Volks and drove along looking for her red Camaro. Then I saw it, five blocks further down. I parked and walked in. Tammie was sitting in a chair. Dancy ran up and made a face at me.
"We can't take the kid."
"I know. We'll drop her off over at my mother's."
"Your mother's? That's 3 miles the other way."
"It's on the way to the airport."
"No, it's in the other direction."
"Do you have the 6 bucks?"
I gave Tammie the six.
"I'll see you back at your place. You packed?"
"Yes, I'm ready."
I drove back and waited. Then I heard them.
"Mommy!" Dancy said, "I want a Ding-Dong!"
They went up the stairs. I waited for them to come down. They didn't come down. I went up. Tammie was packed, but she was down on her knees zipping and unzipping her baggage.
"Look," I said, "I'll carry your other stuff down to the car."
She had two large paper shopping bags, stuffed, and three dresses on hangers. All this besides her luggage.
I took the shopping bags and the dresses down to the Volks. When I came back she was still zipping and unzipping her luggage.
"Tammie, let's go."
"Wait a minute."
She knelt there running the zipper back and forth, up and down. She didn't look into the baggage. She just ran the zipper up and down.
"Mommy," said Dancy, "I want a Ding-Dong."
"Come on, Tammie, let's go."
"Oh, all right."
I picked up the zipper bag and they followed me out.
I followed her battered red Camaro to her mother's place. We went in. Tammie stood at her mother's dresser and started pulling drawers out, in and out. Each time she pulled a drawer out she reached in and mixed everything up. Then she'd slam the drawer and go to the next. Same thing.
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