—Oh yes you were Mister Schramm’s, a friend of Mister Schramm’s weren’t you, the night he . . .
—Look, I mean let’s just cool it with the Mister Schramm okay? She got a denimed leg up to rest a foot on Wise Potato Chips Hoppin’ With Flavor!—like I mean what do you expect me to owww . . .!
—Oh I’m sorry that’s one of my . . .
—Wait here’s another one and, look at them . . . she’d come forward to pull the pencil from the stretch of denim—I mean I never saw so many fucking sharp pencils.
—Yes well I was working there and I . . .
—What, like you write?
—Music yes I, I write music . . .
—Like you just come here to work? I mean why don’t you sit down, you’re standing there holding that little suitcase like you’re selling something, like I mean you don’t really live here, right?
—Well I’ve been staying here while I worked on, something I’ve been working on, he said cornering on Hoppin’ With Flavor! beside her moccasin,—just to be alone so I could work on . . .
—What, you sit up here with all these boxes and write this music? Like I mean where do you sleep.
—Well right there where I, where you’re sitting, I . . .
—With all these fucking pencils sticking in you like some Indian faker man, I mean you must be stoned before you dare to lie down on it.
—Well, no, no I usually . . .
—I mean like those footprints going right up the shade back there man.
—Yes I’ve, I’ve wondered how those . . .
—Man like right up the wall really stoned . . . she came down to one elbow on the sofa, gaping her denim front between the white buttons.—You eat out?
—No here I, I usually eat here, I . . .
—Where. I mean the kitchen in there is so full of boxes and lampshades and everything you can’t even find the stove.
—No it’s right under there but there’s no gas, so I just use the oven to . . .
—Like I didn’t even eat lunch.
—Oh, oh well I could make you a cup of tea if you . . .
—No I mean eat man, like that’s all you’ve got a cup of tea?
—Right now yes but I thought I’d go out and get some cup . . .
—Have you got any bread?
—No but I thought I’d go out and get some cupca . . .
—Like even two dollars . . . she came upright,—there’s that A and P up at the corner like we could get a pizza.
—Well, two dollars, he said standing, digging into a pocket,—here’s one and I . . .
—Like I mean just to get me through the checkout, okay? She stood to pull on the long raincoat.—What do you carry money in your sock?
—No it’s, I have a hole in my pocket and the coins drop down my trouser leg . . .
—Man, I mean . . .
He fitted the door back into place behind her and stood, swallowed, went over and tried the hot water tap till his hand went white against it, finally stood back from the rush of water to look into the rusting cookie tin propped above it for a moment, swallowed and cleared his throat past 24-One Pint Mazola New Improved to pull the aging blanket loose and gather pencils, thrust points up in the tomato soup can, before he smoothed it carefully and sat to comb the mail heaping Grynszpan separate, stood to straighten the askew blind, to turn on the light in the punctured lampshade and try to round its creases, stare at the Baldung and finally stand it atop 2-Ply Facial Tissue Yellow with a deep swallow. When the door shuddered again he was by it tearing open the package from the hall.—Rhoda? is, wait . . .
She stepped in over it.—Like what did you get for Christmas.
—Oh it’s just ah . . . he squared round the green volumes,—it’s Thomas Register of American Manufacturers, I . . .
—Of what? She put a bag on the floor, balanced the flat box from under her arm on a pile of film cans,—I mean you must be kidding.
—No it’s really just, I think they were just sent to me by someone I’ve been doing some work for for, for reference . . .
—I thought you said you write music, she said holding the raincoat wide to come up with small tins and jars from depths of pockets.
—Yes I do yes, yes this business is, this business work is just something I’ve been doing to help pay . . .
—Hey the sink, quick!
—What . . .
—I mean its coming over the side quick . . . The raincoat dropped to the floor,—like we both could drownd in here man . . .
—No I’ll get it, he hesitated, grabbed a coathanger from the dishrack and thrust it in,—just something got, stopping the drain . . .
—Like what about the floor . . .
—Yes there’s a, a mop back there by the window behind those shades and things I, I think I threw it there one night, he said working the coathanger, watching her tight denims breach the lampshades, mount the bank of Morning Telegraphs and scale Appletons’—right near the window, I . . .
—Wait look there’s somebody over there in, oh wow.
—What? did you . . .
—Oh wow . . .
—What? He came up with a sodden wad on the end of the coathanger and stood looking at her spilled toward the sill there under the shade.—Did you . . .
—Man like his underpants come down and it’s standing up like this poker . . .
—The, the . . . what? and the wad dropped back into the water and sank as the coathanger followed.
—Like now he just drops them on it like it’s this big coathook and, wow . . .
—But . . . lampshades went down in a heap as he cleared the Morning Telegraphs.—But what . . . he reached Vol III GRIN-LOC beside her,—who . . . staring into the dark maw yawned at them across the airshaft,—who . . .
—Like man I thought by now these chicks that go down were all in the movies you know?
—I, I no I . . .
—But like I mean what beautiful ass.
—Yes I . . . he cleared his throat,—it . . .
—Like how her cheeks hang where they part how high and round, you know? I mean like I have these bulges in here . . . she brought up a knee to squeeze a full roll of denim—you know? Like I’d give anything for her ass, you know?
—Yes well no I . . . his hand brushed a closing knee and he cleared his throat,—but I’m sure your . . .
—I mean like with that ass she could really model you know? Like I was trying this modeling a while when I thought if I could get like on the cover of like Vogue I’d really have it made, I mean like before I got my nose done they always had to shade it in here see? See? Along here?
—Oh, oh yes, yes . . .
—And photograph me from just this certain angle on account of like shadow, you know?
—I see yes, yes your, but your nose is certainly . . .
—And then like they’re always telling me my tits were too big for how tall I am, you know?
—Yes but I’m sure they didn’t mean to be uncompli, that just because skinny fashion models were, were in fashion . . . he was half over on Vol II CRA-GRIM looking abruptly down from the window to the denim gaps straining her white buttons,—because your, you’re certainly well proportioned for . . .
—I mean like did you just see hers? they’re like just little and round?
—No I, I saw she had long black hair but . . .
—Like I mean they don’t hang like mine, and these very pointy like clear nipples but mine spread all out like, you know?
—No but, but I’m sure your . . .
—What are you doing.
—Oh, oh nothing I . . .
—So like I thought I had this big chance when I got hit in this revolving door of this big office building and I told them I’m this model, okay? So I get enough out of them to like settle so I can go get my nose fixed by, come on what do you think you . . .
—No no I just, I was just going to say I think you’re . . . he straightened up,—I think your, your breast . . .
—Like I mean just don’t fuck around, okay?
—Yes I, I’m sorry, I . . .
—No come off it, I mean like don’t be sorry man just don’t fuck around.
—Yes well I, I . . .
—Like I mean I just don’t feel like screwing, okay?
—Well, well yes okay . . .
—And like you better go back and look at your sink, I mean it’s coming over the side again . . .
—Oh, yes okay . . . he slid off the volumes, over the bank of papers to push past lampshades and pull back a sleeve.
—Wow like too much, he just put her . . . wait man you know who that is over there?
—No I, I didn’t see her face and . . .
—No come on not the chick man him, he’s the one that night the cops were here he was running around stoned with one shoe on giving them a hard time . . . She crossed Vol III GRIN-LOC descending,—like he just sat up and put her panties on his head rocking around like he’s pretending he’s some aviator and down he goes in a nosedive, man is this place really dirty . . . she came on over the Morning Telegraphs to pause behind 36 Boxes 200 2-Ply and flap a hand against her front before she came in to pick up her raincoat and shake it,—like I mean really dirty . . . she threw it in to the armless sofa, pushing past film cans for the box she’d brought in.—Where . . . she looked up, ripping it open,—are you back there again?
—Yes I, I forgot to get the mop . . .
—Well like don’t you want to eat? I mean I got this pizza.
—Yes I, I just wanted to see if she was somebody I . . .
—Man you must be kidding, I mean look at this.
—What . . . he plied through lampshades with the mop.
—I mean like what’s all this in the oven.
—Oh that’s mail yes, I put Mister . . .
—Well like take it out so we can make this pizza okay?
—Yes but, no but the oven doesn’t work, they turned off the . . .
—Like what do you mean it doesn’t work, I mean when I went out you said you use the oven to . . .
—No I was going to say the gas is turned off so I just use it to keep Mister Grynszpan’s mail separate I, I didn’t know you meant a frozen pizza why did you . . .
—Look man I get a frozen pizza so I can slip a couple of records in, okay? So like now what are we going to . . .
—I don’t know I, I mean there’s no place here to play them but if you . . .
—Like I just mean eating okay? She was squeezing past cartons along a chipped porcelained edge toward a handle once chromed,—like I’ll put this in the refrigerator till you get your . . . the door came open to her tug.—Man I don’t believe it. I mean I don’t believe it man.
—Yes well, well that’s where I keep some scores and, and business mail to keep it clean, he said looking up from mopping,—because there’s no other . . .
—Like it doesn’t work too?
—Yes well, I don’t know but I haven’t had anything else to put in it, he said wringing out the mop as she reached high to shelve the pizza on FLAKES 24–8 Oz Pkgs and squeezed her way back,—but these other things you got . . .
—Well like turn on the light so we can see them.
—No this bulb burned out but . . .
—So like bring them in there, and that bag on the floor, it’s got grape drink. Like now where can we put it.
—Yes well just a . . . he let the things go on the sofa beside her—here’s an opener and, wait . . . he pulled Moody’s Industrials over between them and sat down on Hoppin’ With Flavor!—there . . . he reached.
—Like this is mushrooms in oil, what’s that one.
—Well it, it says yeast extract but . . .
—Wait this is pate of anchovies . . .
—Don’t cut yourself, I . . .
—I mean I didn’t see a can opener like this since my grandmother.
—Wait let me . . .
—What’s that one.
—It says smoked frog legs in cottonseed oil, I don’t think I’ve ever taste . . .
—Like what’s marinade, lemon pepper marinade.
—I don’t know, I think it’s something you . . .
—And like napkins, I mean you don’t have any?
—Well no I, there’s an old shirt I use . . .
—Like these frogs’ legs are weird man.
—Yes I, I wondered why you chose them and these cocktail onions and, and capers . . .
—Are you kidding? I mean you think I’m going to drop a roast beef in my pocket?
—Oh . . . he handed over the shirt, reached for a frog leg from the tin she’d placed on Moody’s in a pool of cottonseed oil.
—Like you’ve got these dumb clerks wandering around all over the place you think I’m going to stop and read every fucking label? She caught up the sleeve of the shirt for her lips and the mail slid toward her weight on the sofa.—I mean like you really read these magazines? Textile World, Forest Industries, I mean Supervisory Management like does somebody really read that?
—Yes well those are just, they’re in connection with some business I’ve been, I mean I think they just entered these subscriptions so I could, read up . . .
—And like this . . . cottonseed oil ran down the diploma from her thumb—I mean like it says you graduated from the Alabama College of Business?
—Well I, no not exactly, I mean that came in the mail too and I haven’t found out what . . .
—Man like you keep saying you write this music but like everything I see you say it’s some business you’re in.
—No I do, all that over there is, wait don’t touch it . . .! she dropped a cherry wood smoked oyster.—No I’m sorry it’s just, those are scores I’ve copied over and if spots get on them these musicians can be so temperamental that . . .
—Look man like don’t keep being sorry you know? She poured grape drink.—And like then who’s this Hyman Grynszpan? She tore open the top one,—Dear WHO’S WHO IN AMERICA Biographee your generous cooperation, I mean like he’s in Who’s Who?
—I don’t know but he . . .
—I mean like he’s just going to walk in here?
—Oh no, no I don’t think so no in fact I’ve never . . .
—Man look at that, like he owes Consolidated Edison twelve hundred sixty-seven dollars and nine cents, like no wonder he split . . . she took the last frog’s leg, put the tin back in its puddle on Moody’s.—And like what are these?
—Oh those are just, just slides, pictures of . . .
—I mean like what’s this supposed to be?
He held it to the light looking through her cottonseed oil thumbprint.—Yes that’s, a dik-dik I think, a little . . .
—Like a what?
—It’s a small breed of antelope someone I, I’m writing some music for a film and those slides are just . . .
—Man you must write some music . . . she came down to one elbow as he took the last smoked oyster.
—Oh I’m sorry did you, I mean did you want that? or, or anything else?
—Like if you have something to smoke man.
—No, no I’m afraid I, wait right under you . . . he came forward over Moody’s—no I meant under the sofa, there’s an old package of Chesterfields that . . .
—Of what? Like I mean are you kidding?
—No I, I don’t . . . he sank back on Hoppin’ With Flavor!
—Like to turn on man. I mean I have this stash right over there he didn’t even know about if I could get in there and get it.
—Oh in the, over in the other apartment? maybe you could . . .
—What like just walk in while they’re balling and ask the chick move your ass please while I reach under you? Like they’d think I came in for a double bill, I mean like if I knew them that’s something else.
—No I just meant . . .
—But like man you must be kidding, I mean I never knew a musician that doesn’t turn on. Like you must write some music.
—Ye
s well recently I haven’t had much chance to do what I . . .
—I mean some music. I mean like that’s what everybody I know is in, music. Like I mean you ought to talk to Al.
—Oh, oh yes well, well who’s Al.
—Like he’s just Al, okay? Like some time he could bring up his guitar.
—Oh, yes well that might be . . .
—Because like I mean he really can talk about it, you know?
—Yes well I’d . . .
—I mean he can really talk about it.
—Yes well I’ve missed talking to, having Mister Schramm to talk to, he had insights in music that I’ve never . . .
—Look like will you just do me this favor and . . .
—No I’m, I was just going to say when I was working on an opera . . . he turned to get a knee on H-O, reach up to 12–38 Oz Btls Won’t Burn, Smoke or Smell,—the problem was I didn’t have a very clear picture of the libretto I didn’t really have a libretto . . . he opened the manila folder,—and so when I . . .
She stared at it.—Like that’s an opera?
—No well this is, I’m working on this cantata now and, do you read music?
—Like read that?
—Yes it’s still very rough but . . .
—Man like nobody could read that, I mean like that’s supposed to mean something right there?
—Yes well this is, you see these are the strings that come in behind the soprano and . . . pages turned—here, the woodwinds come in here behind the tenor and then when the brass . . .
—Like you said a what?
—The brass, it comes in behind the . . .
—No like what did you call it?
—Oh a cantata yes that’s, it’s a choral work voices and a large chorus with an orchestra, it’s a sort of dramatic arrangement of a musical idea that . . .
—I mean it’s all this messy?
—Yes well this is just the, it’s like a sketch a painter does before he starts painting, to work out the form and structure so every note and measure will . . .
—So like you never heard this, right? I mean how do you know what it even sounds like.
—You don’t yes that’s one of the, you don’t really know till you hear it performed that’s one of the . . .
—Man like you really better talk to Al some time he can really, what was that . . .! she was over Moody’s past him, parting the blind—oh wow, I mean like three, five of them, like these five Porto Ricans down there pushing this car across the street this bus almost wiped them out.
J R Page 54
