Hot Water Music (5 page)

Eric Knowles awakened in the motel room and looked around. There were Louie and Gloria wrapped around each other on the other half of the king-size bed. Eric found a warm bottle of beer, opened it, took it into the bathroom and drank it while under the shower. He was damned sick. He’d heard about the warm beer theory from experts. It didn’t work. He stepped out of the shower and vomited into the toilet. Then he stepped back into the shower. That was the trouble with being a writer, that was the main trouble—leisure time, excessive leisure time. You had to wait around for the buildup until you could write and while you were waiting you went crazy, and while you were going crazy you drank and the more you drank the crazier you got. There was nothing glorious about the life of a writer or the life of a drinker. Eric toweled off, got into his shorts and walked into the other room. Louie and Gloria were awakening.

“Oh, shit,” said Louie, “my god.”

Louie was another writer. He didn’t pay the rent with it like Eric did, Gloria paid Louie’s rent. Three-fourths of the writers Eric knew in Los Angeles and Hollywood were supported by women; those writers were not as talented with the typewriter as they were with their women. They sold themselves to their women spiritually and physically.

He heard Louie in the bathroom vomiting and hearing it started Eric going again. He found an empty paper bag and each time Louie heaved Eric heaved. It was some close harmony.

Gloria was rather nice. She had just hooked on as an assistant professor at a northern California college. She stretched out on the
bed and said, “You guys are something else. The vomit twins.”

Louie stepped out of the bathroom. “Hey, are you makng fun of me?”

“No way, kiddo. It was just a hard night for me.”

“It was a hard night for all of us.”

“I think I’ll try the warm beer cure again,” said Eric. He twisted the top off a bottle and tried it again.

“That was something, the way you subdued her,” said Louie.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when she came at you over the top of the coffee table, you did it all in slow motion. You weren’t excited at all. You just got her by one of her arms, then the other, and rolled her over. Then you got on top of her and said, ‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’”

“This beer is working,” said Eric. “You ought to try it.”

Louie twisted the top off a bottle and sat down on the edge of the bed. Louie edited a little magazine,
Riot of the Rats
. It was a mimeo. As a little magazine it was no better or worse than the rest of them. They all got very tiresome; the talent was thin and inconsistent. Louie was now on his 15th or 16th issue.

“It was her house,” said Louie, thinking about the night before. “She said it was her house and for us all to get out of there.”

“Diverging viewpoints and ideals. They always cause trouble and there are always diverging viewpoints and ideals. Besides, it
was
her house,” said Eric.

“I think I’ll try one of those beers,” said Gloria. She got up and got into her dress and found a warm beer. Nice looking professor, thought Eric.

They sat there trying to force the beers down.

“Anybody for television?” asked Louie.

“Don’t you dare,” said Gloria.

Suddenly there was an enormous explosion, it shook the walls.

“Jesus!” said Eric.

“What was that?” asked Gloria.

Louie walked to the door and opened it. They were on the second floor. There was a balcony and the motel was built around a swimming pool. Louie looked down. “You’re not going to believe this but there’s a five hundred pound guy down there in the swimming pool. That explosion you heard was when he jumped into
the water. I never saw a guy so big. He’s enormous. And he’s got someone with him, weighs about four hundred pounds. Looks like his son. Now the son is going to jump in. Hold on!”

There was another explosion. The walls shook again. Fountains of water leaped out of the pool.

“Now they’re swimming side by side. What a sight!”

Eric and Gloria walked to the door and looked out.

“This is a dangerous situation,” said Eric.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, looking down at all that fat we’re apt to holler something at them. All very childish, you know. But hungover like this anything can happen.”

“Yeah, I can just see them running up here and pounding on the door,” said Louie. “How are we going to handle nine hundred pounds?”

“No way, even in good health.”

“In bad health, no chance at all.”

“Right.”

“HEY FAT BOY!” Louie yelled down.

“Oh, no,” said Eric, “oh no, please. I’m sick…”

Both of the fat men looked up from the swimming pool. They were both wearing light blue trunks.

“
Hey, fat boy
!” yelled Louie. “
I bet if you farted, you’d blow seaweed from here to Bermuda
!”

“Louie,” said Eric, “there’s no seaweed down there.”

“
There’s no seaweed down there, fat boy
!” yelled Louie. “
You must have sucked it up your ass
!”

“Oh, my god,” said Eric, “I’m a writer because I’m a coward and now I face sudden and violent death.”

The biggest fat man climbed out of the pool and the smaller one followed him. They could hear them coming up the stairway, plop, plop, plop. The walls shook.

Louie shut the door and hooked the chain.

“What has any of this got to do with a decent and abiding literature?” asked Eric.

“Nothing, I guess,” answered Louie.

“You and your fucking little mimeo machine,” said Eric.

“I’m scared,” said Gloria.

“We’re all scared,” said Louie.

Then they were at the door. BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM!

“Yeah?” answered Louie. “What is it?”

“
Open the fucking door
!”

“There’s nobody in here,” said Eric.

“
I’ll teach you bastards
!”

“Oh, please
do
teach me, sir!” said Eric.

“Now what did you say that for?” asked Gloria.

“Damn,” said Eric, “I’m just trying to agree with him.”

“
Open up or I’m coming through
!”

“We might as well make you work for it,” said Louie. “Let’s see what you can do.”

They heard the sound of flesh straining against the door. They could see the door bend and give.

“You and your fucking mimeo machine,” said Eric.

“It was a good machine.”

“Help me brace this door,” said Eric.

They stood bracing the door against the massive weight. The door weakened. Then they heard another voice. “
Hey, what the hell’s going on up there
?”

“
I’m going to teach these punks a lesson, that’s what’s going on
!”

“
You break that door and I’m going to call the police
!”

“
What
?”

There was one more lunge, then it was quiet. Except for the voices.

“I’m on parole for assault and battery. Maybe I better go easy here.”

“Yeah, cool off, you don’t want to hurt nobody.”

“But they spoiled my swim.”

“There are things more important than swimming, man.”

“Yeah, like eating,” said Louie through the door.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

“What do you want?” asked Eric.

“
Listen you guys! If I hear one more sound out of you, just one sound, I’m coming in
!”

Eric and Louie were silent. They could hear the two fat men going down the stairway.

“I think we could have taken them,” said Eric. “Fat guys can’t move. They’re easy.”

“Yeah,” said Louie, “I think we could have taken them. I mean, if we had really wanted to.”

“We’re out of beer,” said Gloria, “I sure could use a cold beer. My nerves are completely shot.”

“O.K., Louie,” said Eric, “you go out and get the beers, I’ll pay for them.”

“No,” said Louie, “you go get them. I’ll pay.”

“I’ll pay,” said Eric, “and we’ll send Gloria.”

“O.K.” said Louie.

Eric gave Gloria the money and the instructions and they opened the door and let her out. The swimming pool was empty. It was a nice California morning, smoggy, stale and listless.

“You and your fucking mimeo machine,” said Eric.

“It’s a good magazine,” said Louie, “it’s as good as most.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Then they stood and sat and sat and stood waiting for Gloria to get back with the cold beer.

It was a Monday afternoon in The Hungry Diamond. There were only two people in there, Mel and the bartender. Monday afternoon in Los Angeles is nowhere—even Friday night is nowhere—but especially Monday afternoon. The bartender, whose name was Carl, was drinking from under the bar and standing near Mel, who was humped leisurely over a stale green beer. “I gotta tell you something,” said Mel. “Go ahead,” said the bartender.

“Well, I got this phone call the other night from a guy I used to work with in Akron. He lost his job drinking and he married a nurse and this nurse supports him. I don’t have much feeling for these people—but you know how people are, they kind of hang on to you.”

“Yeah,” said the bartender.

“Anyhow, they phone me—listen, give me another beer, this shit tastes awful.”

“Okay, just drink it a little faster; it begins to lose body after an hour.”

“All right…They tell me they’ve solved the meat shortage—I think ‘What meat shortage?’—and to come on over. I’ve got nothing to do so I go over. The Rams are playing and this guy, Al, he turns on the tv and we watch. Erica, her name is, she’s in the kitchen mixing a salad and I’ve brought a couple of six-packs. I say hello, Al opens a few bottles, it’s nice and warm in there, the oven’s on.

“Well, it’s comfortable. They look like they haven’t had an argument in a couple of days and the state of affairs is calm. Al says something about Reagan and something about unemployment but
I can’t respond; it all bores me. You see, I don’t give a damn if the country is rotten or not, so long as I make it.”

“Right,” said the bartender, taking a drink from under the bar.

“All right. She comes out and sits and drinks her beer. Erica. The nurse. She says that all the doctors treat their patients like cattle. She says that all the damned doctors are on the make. They think their own shit doesn’t stink. She’d rather have Al than any doctor alive. Now that’s a silly statement, isn’t it?”

“I never met Al,” said the barkeep.

“So we’re playing cards and the Rams are losing and after a few hands Al says to me, ‘You know, I got a strange wife. She likes to have somebody watch while we do the thing.’ ‘That’s right,’ she says, ‘that’s what really stimulates me.’ And Al says, ‘But it’s so hard to get somebody to watch. You’d think it would be easy to get somebody to watch, but it’s hard as hell.’

“I don’t say anything. I ask for two cards and raise a nickel. She lays down her cards and Al lays down his cards and they both stand up. She starts to move back across the room and Al follows her. ‘You whore,’ he says, ‘you god-damned whore!’ Here’s this guy calling his wife a whore. ‘You whore!’ he screams. He corners her in one corner of the room and slaps her, rips her blouse off. ‘You whore!’ he screams again, and slaps her and knocks her down. Her skirt is torn and she kicks her legs and screams.

“He picks her up and kisses her, then throws her on the couch. He’s all over her, kissing her and ripping at her clothes. Then he’s got her panties off and he’s at work. While he’s doing this she’s looking out from underneath to see if I’m watching. She sees that I’m watching and she starts squirming like a mad snake. They really go to it, finish it off; she gets up and goes to the bathroom and Al goes into the kitchen for more beers. ‘Thanks,’ he says when he comes out, ‘you were a big help.’”

“Then what happened?” asked the barkeep.

“Well, then the Rams finally scored, and there was a lot of noise on the tv, and she comes out of the bathroom and goes into the kitchen.

“Al starts in on Reagan again. He says it is the beginning of the Decline and Fall of the West, just like Spengler said. Everybody is so greedy and decadent, the decay has really set in. He goes along that line for some time.

“Then Erica calls us into the breakfast nook where the table is all set and we sit down. It smells good—a roast. There are slices of pineapple on top of it. It looks like an upper shank; I can see what almost looks like a knee. ‘Al,’ I say, ‘that thing really looks like a human leg from the knee up.’ ‘That,’ says Al, ‘is exactly what it is.’”

“He said that?” asked the barkeep, taking a drink from under the bar.

“Yeah,” answered Mel, “and when you hear something like that you don’t know exactly what to think. What would
you
think?”

“I’d think,” said the barkeep, “that he was joking.”

“Of course. So I said, ‘Great, cut me a nice slice.’ And Al did. There was mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, heated bread and the salad. There were stuffed olives in the salad. Al said, ‘Try a little of that hot mustard on that meat, it goes good.’ So I put some on. The meat wasn’t bad.

“‘Listen Al,’ I said, ‘this isn’t really bad. What is it?’ ‘It’s like I told you, Mel,’ he answers, ‘it’s a human leg, the upper flank. It’s a 14-year-old boy we found hitchhiking on Hollywood Boulevard. We took him in and fed him and he watched Erica and me do the thing for three or four days and then we got tired of doing that, so we slaughtered him, cleaned out the innards, ran that down the garbage disposal and dropped him into the freezer. It’s a hell of a lot better than chicken, though actually I don’t prefer it to porterhouse.’”

“He said that?” asked the barkeep, reaching for another drink under the bar.

“He said that,” answered Mel. “Give me another beer.”

The barkeep gave Mel another beer. Mel said, “Well, I still thought that he was joking, you know, so I said, ‘All right, let me see your freezer.’ And Al says, ‘Sure—over here.’ And he pulls back the lid and there’s the torso in there, a leg and a half, two arms and the head. It’s chopped up like that. It looks very sanitary, but it still doesn’t look so good to me. The head is looking up at us and the eyes are open and blue, and the tongue is sticking out of the head—it’s frozen to the lower lip.

“‘Jesus Christ, Al,’ I say to him, ‘you’re a killer—this is unbelievable, this is sickening!’

“‘Grow up,’ he says, ‘they kill people by the millions in wars and
give out medals for it. Half the people in this world are gonna starve to death while we sit around and watch it on tv.’

“I tell you, Carl, those kitchen walls began to spin, I kept seeing that head, those arms, that chopped-up leg…There’s something so quiet about a murdered thing, somehow you get to thinking a murdered thing should keep screaming, I don’t know.

“Anyhow, I walked over to the kitchen sink and began vomiting. I vomited for a long time. Then I told Al that I had to get out of there. Wouldn’t you want to get out of there, Carl?”

“Fast,” said Carl. “Very fast.”

“Well, Al got in front of the door and he said, ‘Listen—that wasn’t murder. Nothing’s murder. All you’ve got to do is break through the ideas they’ve loaded on us and you’re a free man—
free
, you understand?’

“‘Get the hell away from that door, Al—I’m getting out of here!’

“He grabs me by the shirt and starts to rip my shirt. I hit him in the face but he keeps ripping at my shirt. I hit him again and again, but he doesn’t seem to feel anything. The Rams are still on tv. I step back from the door and then his wife runs up, she grabs me and starts to kiss me. I don’t know what to do. She’s a powerfully built woman. She knows all these nurses’ tricks. I try to push her off but can’t. Her mouth is on mine, she’s as crazy as he is. I begin to get a hard-on, I can’t help it. Her face isn’t so great but she has these legs and this big ass and she has on the tightest dress possible. She tastes like boiled onions and her tongue is fat and full of saliva, but she’s changed into this new dress—green—and as I pull the dress up I see her petticoat, blood-colored, and it really heats me up and I look over and Al has his cock out and watching.

“I threw her on the couch and soon we were at it, Al standing over us and breathing heavily. We all made it together, a real trio, then I got up and began getting my clothes straight. I went into the bathroom and threw water on my face, combed my hair and came out. When I did they were both sitting on the couch watching the football game. Al had a beer open for me and I sat down and drank it and smoked a cigarette. Then that was all.

“I got up and said I was going. They both said goodbye and Al told me to give them a call anytime. Then I was out of the apartment and into the street, and then I was in my car and driving away. And that was it.”

“You didn’t go to the police?” asked the barkeep.

“Well, you know, Carl, it’s hard—they kind of adopted me into the family. It wasn’t as if they were trying to hide anything from me.”

“The way I look at it is that you’re an accessory to a murder.”

“But what I got to thinking, Carl, is that those people really didn’t seem to be
bad
people. I’ve seen people I disliked a lot more who never killed anything. I don’t know, it’s really confusing. I even think of that guy in the freezer as some kind of big frozen rabbit…”

The barkeep pulled the Luger out from under the bar and pointed it at Mel.

“Okay,” he said, “you just freeze while I call the police.”

“Look, Carl—this thing isn’t for you to decide.”

“The
hell
it isn’t! I’m a citizen! You assholes just can’t go around popping people into freezers. I may be next!”

“Look, Carl, look at me! I want to tell you something…”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“It was just bullshit.”

“You mean what you told me?”

“Yeah, it was just bullshit. One big joke. I sucked you in. Now put your gun away and pour us both a scotch and water.”

“That story wasn’t bullshit.”

“I just told you it was.”

“That was no bullshit story—there was too much detail. Nobody tells a story like that. That’s no joke. Nobody jokes that way.”

“I tell you it was
bullshit
, Carl.”

“There’s no way I can believe that.”

Carl reached over to his left to slide the phone down toward him. The phone had been sitting on the bar. When Carl reached to his left Mel grabbed the beer bottle and got Carl across the face with it. Carl dropped the gun and held his face and Mel jumped over the bar, hit him again—this time behind the ear—and Carl dropped. Mel picked up the Luger, aimed carefully, squeezed the trigger once, then put the gun in a brown paper bag, jumped back over the bar, walked out the entrance and he was on the boulevard. The parking meter read “expired” in front of his car, but there was no ticket. He got in and drove off.