Factotum

by Charles Bukowski

  “Good,” I said.

  “Grace is his main girl, though.”

  “How about you?”

  “Not for a long time.”

  “That’s good, because I like you.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, you watch. If he comes out this morning with his sailor cap on, that captain’s cap, that means we’re going out on the yacht. The doctor told him to get a yacht for his health.”

  “Is it a big one?”

  “Sure. Listen, did you pick up all those coins off the floor last night?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “It’s better to take some and leave some.”

  “I guess you’re right. Should I put some back?”

  “If you get a chance.”

  I started to get up to get dressed when Jerry ran into the bedroom. “He’s standing in front of the mirror adjusting his cap to the proper angle. We’re going out on the yacht!”

  “O.K., Jerry,” said Laura.

  We both began to get dressed. We were just in time. Wilbur didn’t speak. He was hungover. We followed him down the stairway and into the garage where we got into an unbelievably old car. It was so old it had a rumble seat. Grace and Jerry got into the front seat with Wilbur and I got into the rumble seat with Laura. Wilbur backed out the driveway, headed south on Alvarado, and we were on our way to San Pedro.

  “He’s hungover and he’s not drinking and when he’s not drinking he doesn’t want anybody else to drink either, the bastard. So watch it,” said Laura.

  “Hell, I need a drink.”

  “We all need a drink,” she said. Laura took a pint from her purse and unscrewed the cap. She handed the bottle to me. “Now wait until he checks us in the rear-view mirror. Then the minute his eyes go back to the road, take a slug.”

  Soon I saw Wilbur’s eyes looking at us in the rear-view mirror. Then he looked back at the road. I took a hit and felt much better. I handed the bottle back to Laura. She waited until Wilbur’s eyes looked into the rear-view, then went back to the road. She had her turn. It was a pleasant journey. By the time we reached San Pedro the bottle was empty. Laura took out some gum, I lit a cigar, and we climbed out. As I helped Laura out of the rumble seat her skirt came up and I saw those long nylon legs, the knees, the slender ankles. I began to get horny and looked out over the water. There was the yacht: The Oxwill. It was the largest yacht in the harbor. A small motor boat took us out. We climbed aboard. Wilbur waved to some fellow boatmen and some wharf-rats and then he looked at me.

  “How you feeling?”

  “Great, Wilbur, great…like an Emperor.”

  “Come here, I want to show you something.” We walked toward the back of the boat and Wilbur leaned down and pulled a ring. He pulled back a hatch cover. There were two motors down there. “I want to show you how to start this auxiliary motor in case anything goes wrong. It’s not difficult. I can do it with one arm.”

  I stood there bored as Wilbur pulled at a rope. I nodded and told him that I understood. But that wasn’t enough, he had to show me how to pull anchor and unmoor from the dock when all I wanted was another drink.

  After all that, we pulled out and he stood there in the cabin with his sailor’s cap on, steering the yacht. All the girls crowded around him.

  “Oh, Willie, let me steer!”

  “Willie, let me steer!”

  I didn’t ask to steer. I didn’t want to steer. I followed Laura down below. It was like a luxury hotel suite, only there were bunks on the wall, no beds. We went to the refrigerator. It was filled with food and drink. We found an open fifth of whiskey and took that out. We had a bit of whiskey and water. It seemed like a decent life. Laura turned on the record player and we listened to something called “Bonaparte’s Retreat.” Laura looked fine. She was happy and smiling. I leaned over and kissed her, ran my hand up her leg. Then I heard the engine cut off and Wilbur came down the steps.

  “We’re going back in,” he said. He looked quite stern in his captain’s cap.

  “What for?” asked Laura.

  “She’s gone into one of her moods. I’m afraid she’ll jump overboard. She won’t speak to me. She just sits there, staring. She can’t swim. I’m afraid she’ll jump into the ocean.”

  “Listen, Wilbur,” said Laura, “just give her ten bucks. She’s got runs in her stockings.”

  “No, we’re going in. Besides, you people have been drinking!”

  Wilbur went back up the steps. The engine coughed and we turned around and headed back toward San Pedro.

  “This happens everytime we try to go to Catalina. Grace goes into one of her moods and sits there staring at the ocean with that scarf tied around her head. That’s how she gets things out of him. She’s never going to jump overboard. She hates water.”

  “Well,” I said, “we might as well have a few more drinks. When I think about writing lyrics to Wilbur’s opera I realize how disgusting my life has become.”

  “We might as well drink up,” said Laura, “he’s mad now anyhow.”

  Jerry came down and joined us. “Grace is sore about that fifty bucks a month I’m getting out of his ass. Hell, it ain’t that easy. The minute she’s gone that old son of a bitch leaps on top of me and starts pumping. He never gets enough. He’s afraid he’s going to die and he wants to get in as many as possible.”

  She drank her shot and poured another one.

  “I should have stayed in personnel at Sears Roebuck. I had a good thing going.”

  We all drank to that.

  34

  By the time we docked, Grace had joined us too. She still had the scarf around her head and she wasn’t talking but she was drinking. We were all drinking. We were all drinking when Wilbur came down the stairs. He stood there looking at us. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  That was in the afternoon. We waited and we drank. The girls started arguing about how they should handle Wilbur. I climbed into one of the bunks and went to sleep. When I awakened it was evening going into night and it was cold.

  “Where’s Wilbur?” I asked.

  “He’s not coming back,” said Jerry, “he’s mad.”

  “He’ll be back,” said Laura, “Grace is here.”

  “I don’t give a damn if he never comes back,” said Grace. “We got enough food and drink here to supply the whole Egyptian Army for a month.”

  So there I was in the biggest yacht in the harbor with three women. But it was very cold. It was the chill off the water. I got out of the bunk, got a drink, and crawled back into the bunk. “Jesus, it’s cold,” said Jerry, “let me get in there and warm up.” She kicked off her shoes and climbed into the bunk with me. Laura and Grace were drunk and arguing about something. Jerry was small and round, very round, a sung type. She pushed against me.

  “Jesus, it’s cold. Put your arms around me.”

  “Laura…” I said.

  “Fuck Laura.”

  “I mean, she might get mad.”

  “She won’t get mad. We’re friends. Look.” Jerry sat up in the bunk. “Laura, Laura…”

  “Yes?”

  “Look, I’m trying to get warm. O.K.?”

  “O.K.,” said Laura.

  Jerry snuggled back down under the covers. “See, she said it’s O.K.”

  “All right,” I said. I put my hand on her ass and kissed her.

  “Just don’t go too far,” said Laura.

  “He’s just holding me,” said Jerry.

  I got my hand up under her dress and began working her panties down. It was difficult. By the time she kicked them off I was more than ready. Her tongue shot in and out of my mouth. We tried to look nonchalant while we did it sideways. I slipped out several times but Jerry put it back in. “Don’t go too far,” Laura said again. It slipped out and Jerry grabbed it and squeezed. “She’s just holding me,” I told Laura. Jerry giggled and put it back in. It stayed there. I got hotter and hotter. “You bitch,” I whispered, “I love you.” Then I
came. Jerry got out of the bunk and went to the bathroom. Grace was making us roast beef sandwiches. I climbed out of the bunk and we had roast beef sandwiches, potato salad, sliced tomatoes, coffee and apple pie. We were all hungry.

  “I sure got warmed up,” said Jerry. “Henry’s one good heating pad.”

  “I’m plenty cold,” said Grace, “I think I’ll try some of that heating pad. Do you mind, Laura?”

  “I don’t mind. Just don’t go too far.”

  “How far’s too far?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  After we ate I got into the bunk and Grace climbed in with me. She was the tallest of the three. I’d never been in bed with a woman that tall. I kissed her. Her tongue answered. Women, I thought, women are magic. What marvelous beings they are! I reached up under her dress and pulled at the panties. It was a long way down. “What the hell are you doing?” she whispered. “I’m pulling your panties down.” “What for?” “I’m going to fuck you.” “I just want to get warm.” “I’m going to fuck you.” “Laura is my friend. I’m Wilbur’s woman.” “I’m going to fuck you.” “What are you doing?” “I’m trying to get it in.” “No!” “God damn it, help me.” “Get it in yourself.” “Help me.” “Get it in by yourself. Laura’s my friend.” “What’s that got to do with it?” “What?” “Forget it.” “Listen, I’m not ready yet.” “Here’s my finger.” “Ow, easy. Show a lady some respect.” “All right, all right. Is that better?” “That’s better. Higher. There. There! That’s it…”

  “No hanky-panky now,” said Laura.

  “No, I’m just warming her up.”

  “I wonder when Wilbur’s coming back?” said Jerry.

  “I don’t give a damn if he never comes back,” I said, getting it into Grace. She moaned. It was good. I went very slow, measuring my strokes. I didn’t slip out like with Jerry. “You rotten son of a bitch,” said Grace, “you bastard, Laura’s my friend.” “I’m fucking you,” I said, “feel that thing going in and out of your body, in and out, in and out, in and out, flup flup flup.” “Don’t talk like that, you’re making me hot.” “I’m fucking you,” I said, “fuck fuck fucky fuck, we’re fucking, we’re fucking, we’re fucking. Oh, it’s so dirty, oh it’s so filthy, this fucking fucking fucking…” “God damn you, stop it.” “It’s getting bigger and bigger, feel it?” “Yes, yes…” “I’m going to come. Jesus Christ, I’m going to come…” I came and pulled out. “You raped me, you bastard, you raped me,” she whispered. “I ought to tell Laura.” “Go ahead, tell her. Think she’ll believe you?” Grace climbed out of the bunk and went to the bathroom. I wiped off on the sheet, pulled up my pants and leaped out of the bunk.

  “You girls know how to play dice?”

  “What do you need?” asked Laura.

  “I’ve got the dice. You girls got any money? It takes dice and money. I’ll show you how. Get your money out and put it in front of you. Don’t be embarrassed if you don’t have much money. I don’t have much money. We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” said Jerry, “we’re all friends.”

  “Yes,” said Laura, “we’re all friends.”

  Grace came out of the bathroom. “What’s that bastard doing now?”

  “He’s going to show us how to play dice,” said Jerry.

  “Shoot dice is the term. I’m going to show you girls how to shoot dice.”

  “You are, eh?” asked Grace.

  “Yeah, Grace, get your tall ass down here and I’ll show you how it works…”

  An hour later I had most of the money when Wilbur Oxnard suddenly came down the steps. That’s how Willie found us when he came back—shooting craps and drunk.

  “I don’t allow gambling on this ship!” he screamed from the bottom of the steps. Grace got off her knees, walked across the room, put her arms around him and stuck her long tongue into his mouth, then grabbed his private parts. “Where’s my Willie been, leavin’ his Gracie all alone and lonely on this big boat? I sure missed my Willie.”

  Willie came into the room smiling. He sat down at the table and Grace got a new fifth of whiskey and opened it. Wilbur poured the drinks. He looked at me:

  “I had to go back and straighten out a few notes in the opera. You’re still going to do the libretto?”

  “The libretto?”

  “The words.”

  ‘To be truthful, Wilbur, I haven’t been thinking much about it, but if you’re really serious I’ll go to work on it.”

  “I’m really serious,” he said.

  “I’ll start tomorrow,” I said.

  Just then Grace reached under the table and unzipped Wilbur’s fly. It was going to be a good night for all of us.

  35

  Grace, Laura and I were sitting at the bar in The Green Smear a few days later when Jerry walked in. “Whiskey sour,” she told the barkeep. When the drink came Jerry just stared down at it. “Listen, Grace, you weren’t there last night. I was there with Wilbur.”

  “That’s all right, honey, I had a little business to take care of. I like to keep the old boy guessing.”

  “Grace, he got down low, real low. Henry wasn’t there, Laura wasn’t there. He had nobody to talk to. I tried to help him.”

  Laura and I had slept over at an all-night party at the bartender’s house. We’d come right from there back to the bar. I hadn’t started work on the libretto and Wilbur had been after me. He wanted me to read all the damned books. I’d long ago given up reading anything.

  “He was really drinking. He got onto vodka. He started drinking straight vodka. He kept asking where you were Grace.”

  “That could be love,” said Grace.

  Jerry finished her whiskey sour and ordered another. “I didn’t want him to drink too much,” she said, “so when he passed out I took the bottle of vodka, poured out part of it, and filled the rest with water. But he’d already drunk a lot of that hundred proof shit. I kept telling him to come to bed…”

  “Oh yeah?” said Grace.

  “I kept telling him to come to bed but he wouldn’t. He was so freaked out that I had to drink too. Anyhow, I got sleepy, it got to me and I left him in that chair with his vodka.”

  “You didn’t get him to bed?” asked Grace.

  “No. In the morning I walked in and he was still sitting in that chair, the vodka at his side. ‘Good morning, Willie,’ I said. I never saw such beautiful eyes. The window was open and the sunlight was in them, all the soul.”

  “I know,” said Grace, “Willie has beautiful eyes.”

  “He didn’t answer me. I couldn’t get him to talk. I went to the phone and called his brother, you know, the doctor who takes dope. His brother came up and looked at him and got on the phone and we sat there until two guys came up and they closed Willie’s eyes and stuck a needle into him. Then we sat around and talked for a while until one of the guys looked at his watch and said, ‘O.K.’ and they got up and took Willie off the chair and laid him out on a stretcher. Then they carried him out of there and that was it.”

  “Shit,” said Grace. “I’m fucked.”

  “You’re fucked,” said Jerry, “I still got my fifty a month.”

  “And your round, fat ass,” said Grace.

  “And my round, fat ass,” said Jerry.

  Laura and I knew we were fucked. There was no need to say it.

  We all sat there at the bar attempting to think of a next move.

  “I wonder,” said Jerry, “if I killed him?”

  “Killed him how?” I asked.

  “By mixing water with his vodka. He always drank it straight. It might have been the water that killed him.”

  “It might have,” I said.

  Then I motioned to the barkeep. “Tony,” I said, “will you please serve the plump little lady a vodka and water?” Grace didn’t think that was very humorous.

  I didn’t see it happen, but the way I heard it afterwards, Grace left and went to Wilbur’s house and started beating on the door, beating a
nd screaming and beating, and the brother, the doctor, came to the door but he wouldn’t let her in, he was bereaved and drugged and he wouldn’t let her in but Grace wouldn’t quit. The doctor didn’t know Grace very well (maybe he should have for she was a fine fuck) and he went to the phone and the police came but she was wild and crazed and it took two of them to put the bracelets on her. They made a mistake and had her hands in front and she came up and then down with the handcuffs and raked open one of the cop’s cheeks, opened him up, so that you could look into the side of his head and see his teeth. More cops came and they took Grace away, screaming and kicking, and after that none of us ever saw her or each other again.

  36

  Rows and rows of silent bicycles. Bins filled with bicycle parts. Rows and rows of bicycles hanging from the ceiling: green bikes, red bikes, yellow bikes, purple bikes, blue bikes, girls’ bikes, boys’ bikes, all hanging up there; the glistening spokes, the wheels, the rubber tires, the paint, the leather seats, tailights, headlights, handbrakes; hundreds of bicycles, row after row.

  We got an hour for lunch. I’d eat quickly, having been up most of the night and early morning, I’d be tired, aching all over, and I found this secluded spot under the bicycles. I’d crawl down there, under three deep tiers of bicycles immaculately arranged. I’d lay there on my back, and suspended over me, precisely lined up, hung rows of gleaming silver spokes, wheel rims, black rubber tires, shiny new paint, everything in perfect order. It was grand, correct, orderly—500 or 600 bicycles stretching out over me, covering me, all in place. Somehow it was meaningful. I’d look up at them and know I had forty-five minutes of rest under the bicycle tree.