“Mista, I’ll suck your dick for a quarter!”
They were supposed to take all your change, bills, ident, keys, knives, so forth, plus cigarettes, and then you had the property slip. Which you either lost or sold or had stolen from you. But there was always still money and cigarettes about.
“Sorry, lad,” I told him, “they took my last penny.”
Four hours later I managed to sleep.
There.
Best man at a Zen wedding, and I’d bet they, the bride and groom, hadn’t even fucked that night. But somebody had been.
REUNION
I got off the bus at Rampart, then walked one block back to Coronado, went up the little hill, went up the steps to the walk, walked along the walk to the doorway of my upper court. I stood in front of that door quite a while, feeling the sun on my arms. Then I found the key, opened the door and began climbing the stairway.
“Hello?” I heard Madge.
I didn’t answer. I walked slowly up. I was very white and somewhat weak.
“Hello? Who is it?”
“Don’t get jumpy, Madge, it’s just me.”
I stood at the top of the stairway. She was sitting on the couch in an old green silk dress. She had a glass of port in her hand, port with ice cubes, the way she liked it.
“Baby!” she jumped up. She seemed glad, kissing me.
“Oh Harry, are you really back?”
“Maybe. If I last. Anybody in the bedroom?”
“Don’t be silly! Want a drink?”
“They say I can’t. Have to eat boiled chicken, soft boiled eggs. They gave me a list.”
“Oh, the bastards. Sit down. You want a bath? Something to eat?”
“No, just let me sit down.”
I walked over and sat in the rocker.
“How much money is left?” I asked her.
“Fifteen dollars.”
“You spent it fast.”
“Well –”
“How much time we got on the rent?”
“Two weeks. I couldn’t find a job.”
“I know. Look, where’s the car? I didn’t see it out there.”
“Oh God, bad news. I loaned it to somebody. They crashed in the front. I was hoping to get it fixed for you before you got back. It’s down at the corner garage.”
“Does the car still run?”
“Yeah but I wanted to get the front fixed for you.”
“You drive a car like that with a banged-up front. It doesn’t matter as long as the radiator is okay, and you have headlights.”
“Well, Jesus! I was just trying to do the right thing!”
“I’ll be right back,” I told her.
“Harry, where ya going?”
“To check on the car.”
“Why don’t you wait until tomorrow, Harry? You don’t look good. Stay with me. Let’s talk.”
“I’ll be back. You know me. I don’t like unfinished business.”
“Oh shit, Harry!”
I began to walk down the stairway. Then I walked back up.
“Give me the fifteen dollars.”
“Oh shit, Harry!”
“Look, somebody’s got to keep this boat from sinking. You’re not going to do it, we know that.”
“Honesta Christ, Harry, I got off my can. I got out of the sack every morning while you were gone. I couldn’t find a damn thing.”
“Give me the fifteen dollars.”
Madge picked up her purse, looked into it.
“Look, Harry, leave me enough money for a bottle of wine tonight, this one’s about gone. I wanta celebrate your being back.”
“I know you do, Madge.”
She reached into the purse and gave me a ten and four ones. I grabbed the purse and turned it upside-down on the couch. All her shit came out. Plus change, a small bottle of port, a dollar bill and a five dollar bill. She reached for the five but I got there first, straightened up and slapped her across the face.
“You bastard! You’re still a mean son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t die.”
“You hit me again and I’m pulling out!”
“You know I don’t like to hit you, baby.”
“Yeah, you’d hit me but you wouldn’t hit a man, would you?”
“What the hell’s that got to do with it?”
I took the five, walked down the stairway again.
The garage was around the corner. As I walked onto the lot this Japanese guy was putting silver paint on a newly installed grille. I stood there.
“Jesus, you’re making a Rembrandt out of it,” I told him.
“This your car, mister?”
“Yeah. What do I owe you?”
“Seventy-five dollars.”
“What?”
“Seventy-five dollars. A lady brought it in here.”
“A whore brought it in here. Now look, that whole car wasn’t worth seventy-five dollars. It still isn’t. You bought that grille for five bucks at the junkyard.”
“Look, mister, the lady said –”
“Who?”
“Well, that woman said –”
“I’m not responsible for her, man. I just got out of the hospital. Now I’ll pay you what I can when I can, but I don’t have a job and I need that car to get a job. I’m going to need it now. If I get a job I can pay you. If I don’t, I can’t. Now, if you don’t trust me you’ll just have to keep the car. I’ll give you the pink slip. You know where I live. I’ll walk up there and get it if you say so.”
“How much money can you give me now?”
“Five bucks.”
“That’s not much.”
“I told you, I just got out of the hospital. After I get a job I can pay you off. Either that, or you keep the car.”
“All right,” he said, “I trust you. Give me the five.”
“You don’t know how hard I worked for that five.”
“What do you mean?”
“Forget it.”
He took the five and I took the car. It started. The tank was even half-full. I didn’t worry about the oil and water. I drove it around the block a couple of times just to see how it felt to drive a car again. It felt good. Then I drove it up outside the liquor store.
“Harry!” said the old guy in the dirty white apron.
“Oh, Harry!” said his wife.
“Where you been?” asked the old guy in the dirty white apron.
“Arizona. Working on a land deal.”
“See, Sol,” said the old gal, “I always told you he was a smart man. He looks like brains.”
“All right,” I said, “I want two six-packs of Miller’s in the bottle, on the tab.”
“Now wait a minute,” said the old guy.
“What’s wrong? Haven’t I always paid my tab? What’s this shit?”
“Oh, you’ve been fine, Harry. It’s her. She’s run up a tab for ... let me see here ... it’s thirteen-seventy-five.”
“Thirteen-seventy-five, that’s nothing. I’ve had that thing up to twenty-eight bucks and cleaned it up, haven’t I?”
“Yes, Harry but –”
“But what? You want me to take it somewhere else? You want me to leave the tab? You won’t trust me for two lousy six-packs after all these years?”
“All right, Harry,” said the old guy.
“Okay, throw it in the bag. And a pack of Pall Malls and two Dutch Masters.”
“Okay, Harry, okay ...”
Then I was going up the steps again. I reached the top.
“Oh, Harry, you got beer! Don’t drink it, Harry. I don’t want you to die, baby!”
“I know you don’t, Madge. But the medics never know shit. Now open me a beer. I’m tired. I’ve been doing too much. I’ve only been out of that place two hours.”
Madge came out with the beer and a glass of wine for herself. She’d put on her high heels and she crossed her legs high. She still had it. As far as body went.
“Did you get the car?”
“Yeah.”
“That little Jap is a nice guy, isn’t he?”
“He had to be.”
“What do you mean? Didn’t he fix the car?”
“Yeah. He’s a nice guy. He been up here?”
“Harry, don’t start shit now! I don’t fuck them Japs!”
She stood up. Her belly was still flat. Her haunches, hips, ass, just right. What a whore. I drained a half a bottle of beer, walked up to her.
“You know I’m crazy about you, Madge, babe, I’d kill for you, you know that don’t you?”
I was up real close to her. She gave me a little smile. I tossed my beer bottle off, then took the wine glass out of her hand and drained it. I was feeling like a decent human being for the first time in weeks. We got real close. She pursed those red wild lips. Then I pushed against her, hard, with both hands. She fell back on the couch.
“You whore! You ran up a tab at Goldbarth’s for thirteen-seventy-five, didn’t you?”
“I dunno.”
Her dress was pulled back high over her legs.
“You whore!”
“Don’t call me a whore!”
“Thirteen-seventy-five!”
“I dunno whatcher talkin’ about!”
I climbed up on her, got her head back and started kissing her, feeling her breasts, her legs, her hips. She was crying.
“Don’t ... call me ... a ... whore ... don’t, don’t ... You know I love you, Harry!”
Then I leaped back and stood in the center of the rug.
“I’m going to lay the works into you, baby!”
Madge just laughed.
Then I walked up and picked her up and carried her into the bedroom and dumped her on the bed.
“Harry, you just got outa the hospital!”
“Which means you got a couple weeks’ worth of sperm coming!”
“Don’t talk filthy!”
“Fuck you!”
I leaped into bed, my clothing already ripped off.
I worked her dress up, kissing and fondling her. She was a lot of meat-woman.
I got the pants down. Then, like old times, I was in.
I sliced it eight or ten good slow ones, easy. Then she said, “You don’t think I’d fuck a dirty Jap, do you?”
“I think you’d fuck a dirty anything.”
She pulled her box back and dropped me out.
“What the shit?” I screamed.
“I love you, Harry, you know I love you; it hurts me when you talk like that!”
“Okay, baby, I know you wouldn’t fuck a dirty Jap. I was just kidding.”
Madge’s legs opened up and I dropped back in.
“Oh, daddy, it’s been a long time!”
“Has it?”
“Whatcha mean? You’re starting some shit again!”
“No I’m not, baby! I love you, baby!”
I pulled my head up and kissed her, riding.
“Harry,” she said.
“Madge,” I said.
She was right.
It had been a long time.
I owed the liquor store thirteen-seventy-five plus two six-packs plus cigars and cigarettes and I owed the L.A. County General Hospital $225, and I owed the dirty Jap $70 and there were some minor utility bills, and we clutched each other and the walls closed in.
We made it.
CUNT AND KANT AND A HAPPY HOME
Jack Hendley took the escalator up into the clubhouse. he didn’t really take it into the clubhouse – he just rode up on the damn thing.
53rd. racing program. night. got the program from old grey – 40 cents, flipped to the first page – mile and one eighth pace, 25 hundred dollar claimer – you could get a horse cheaper than a new car.
Jack-stepped off the escalator and heaved into the trashcan nearby. god damn whiskey nights were killing him. should have got the reds from Eddie before Eddie left town. but it had been a good week anyhow, a $600 week, which was a long way from that 17 bucks a week he once worked for in New Orleans, 1940.
but his whole afternoon had been mutilated by a door-tapper and Jack had gotten out of bed and let the guy in – a snippet – and the snippet sat on his couch for 2 hours – talking about LIFE. only thing was, the snippet didn’t know anything about LIFE. the punk just talked about it, didn’t bother to live it.
the snippet did manage to drink Jack’s beer, smoke Jack’s smokes, and keep him from getting at the Form, from getting his pre-race work done.
the next guy who bothers me, so help me, the very next guy who bothers me, I am going to lay it into him. otherwise they will eat you up, one by one, one after the other, until you are done, he thought. I’m not the cruel type, but they are, and that’s the secret.
he hit for a coffee. there were the old men hanging about, staring and joking with the coffee girls. what miserable and lonely dead meat they were.
Jack lit a smoke, gagged, tossed it off. found a spot in the stands, down front, nobody around. with luck and nobody bothering him, he might be able to line up the card. But – there were always the dead dogs – guys with nothing but TIME, nothing to do – no knowledge, no program (the form at the harness was enclosed in the program); they had nothing to do but creep about, looking and sniffing. they came hours early, vacant, all vacant, and simply stood.
the coffee was good, hot. clear clean cold air. not even any fog. Jack was beginning to feel better. he got out his pen and began to mark up the first race. he might get out yet. that son of a bitch talking away his afternoon from his couch, that son of a bitch had put him on the cross. it was going to be close, very close – he had just an hour to first post to figure the whole card. it couldn’t be done between races – the crowd was too much there and you had to watch the lay-ins on the tote.
he got to inking up the first race. so far – fine.
then he heard it. a dead dog. Jack had seen him staring out over the parking lot as he came down the steps to his seat. now the dead dog was tired of playing “look-at-automobiles.” he was coming toward Jack, a step at a time, middle-aged guy in overcoat. no eyes, no vibration. dead meat. a dead dog in an overcoat.
the dead dog moved slowly toward him. one human being to another, yes. brotherhood, yes. Jack heard him. he’d reach a step, then stop. then take another step down.
Jack turned and looked at the bastard. the dead dog just stood there in his overcoat. there wasn’t another person within a hundred yards but the dog just had to come sniffing at him.
Jack put his pen back in his pocket. then the dog stepped right up behind him and looked over his shoulder at his program. Jack cursed, folded the program, got up and took a seat 30 yards to the left, over by the next aisle.
he opened the program and began again, at the same time thinking of the racetrack crowd – an immense and stupid animal, it was, greedy, lonely, vicious, impolite, dull, hostile, egotistical and hooked. unfortunately, the world was molested with billions of people who had nothing to do with their time except murder it and murder you.
he was halfway through the first race, inking it in, when he heard it again. the slow steps down toward him. he looked around. he couldn’t believe it. it was the same dog!
Jack folded the program, stood up.
“what do you want with me, Mr.?” he asked the dog.
“whatcha mean?”
“I mean, why do you come around poking over my shoulder? there are a couple of miles of space around here and you keep ending up next to me. now what the hell do you want?”
“it’s a free country, I ...”
“it’s not a free country – everything is bought and sold and owned.”
“I mean, I can walk around anywhere I want to. I paid to get in here just like you. I can walk anywhere I want.”
“sure you can as long as you don’t fuck with my privacy. you’re being rude and stupid. like they say, man, you’re BUGGING me.”
“I paid to get in here. you can’t tell me what to do.”
“all right,
it’s up to you. I’m moving my seat again. I’m doing all I can to control myself. but if you come up on me a THIRD TIME, I promise you this – I’m going to belt you out!”
Jack moved his seat again and he saw the dog move off in search of another victim. but the bastard was still laying across his mind and Jack had to move up to the bar and get a scotch and water.
when he got back the horses were already on the track warming up for the first race. he tried to line up the first race but the crowd was there now. some guy with a megaphone voice, drunk, telling people he hadn’t missed a Saturday at the races since 1945. a complete subnormal idiot. a good guy. wait until the fog came in some night and they sent him back to his lonely closet for a handjob.
well, thought Jack, I’m on the cross. be kind and they put you on the cross. that son of a bitch on his couch talking about Mahler and Kant and cunt and revolution, not really knowing about any of them.
he’d have to play the first race cold. 2 minutes to post. one minute. he pushed through the daily double mob. zero. “here they come!” came the call. a guy walked over both his feet. he was bayoneted by an elbow, a pickpocket bounced off his left haunch.
rat-dog crowd. he went for Windale Ladybird. shit, the morning line favorite. standard play. he was losing his head early.
Kant and cunt. dogs.
Jack moved on out toward the far end of the stands. the car had the rolling starting gate and the horses were just about up to the beginning of the mile and one eighth.
he hadn’t made his seat when here came another dog. in trance-like state. head staring up at something in the rafters. body moving directly at him. there was no way out. a crash. as they ran together Jack pushed his elbow out, dug it deep into the soft gut. the guy bounced off and groaned.
when he got to his seat, Windale Ladybird had opened up 4 lengths on the turn for home. Bobby Williams was going to try to steal a mile and an eighth. but the horse didn’t look live to Jack. after 15 years at the races he could instinctively tell by the stride whether a horse was running easy or hard. the Ladybird was straining – 4 lengths but she was praying.
3 at the top of the stretch. then Hobby’s Record moved out. that horse was stepping briskly and high. Jack was dead. at the top of the stretch with 3 lengths, he was dead. 15 yards from the wire Hobby’s Record rolled past by what looked like a length and one half. a good 7/2 second choice.
Tales of Ordinary Madness Page 7
