Women (14 page)

“I wish I had, you’d have it now.”

I thought of 2 or 3 young kids racing my blue baby down along the Coast Highway, smoking dope, laughing, opening it up. Then I thought of all the junkyards along Santa Fe Avenue. Mountains of bumpers, windshields, doorhandles, wiper motors, engine parts, tires, wheels, hoods, jacks, bucket seats, front wheel bearings, brake shoes, radios, pistons, valves, carburetors, cam shafts, transmissions, axles—my car soon would be just a pile of accessories.

That night I slept up against Katherine, but my heart was sad and cold.

38

Luckily I had auto insurance that paid for a rental car. I drove Katherine to the racetrack in it. We sat in the sundeck at Hollywood Park near the stretch turn. Katherine said she didn’t want to bet but I took her inside and showed her the toteboard and the betting windows.

I put 5 win on a 7 to 2 shot with early lick, my favorite kind of horse. I always figured if you’re going to lose you might as well lose in front; you had the race won until somebody beat you. The horse went wire to wire, pulling away at the end. It paid $9.40 and I was $17.50 ahead.

The next race she remained in her seat while I went to make my bet. When I came back she pointed to a man two rows below us. “See that man there?”

“Yes.”

“He told me he won $2,000 yesterday and that he’s $25,000 ahead for the meet.”

“Don’t you want to bet? Maybe we all can win.”

“Oh no, I don’t know anything about it.”

“It’s simple: you give them a dollar and they give you 84 cents back. It’s called the 'take.’ The state and the track split it about even. They don’t care who wins the race, their take is out of the total mutual pool.”

In the second race my horse, the 8 to 5 favorite, ran second. A longshot had nosed me at the wire. It paid $45.80.

The man two rows down turned and looked at Katherine. “I had it,” he told her, “I had ten on the nose.”

“Oooh,” she told him, smiling, “that’s good.”

I turned to the third race, an affair for 2-year-old maiden colts and geldings. At 5 minutes to post I checked the tote and went to bet. As I walked away I saw the man two rows down turn and begin talking to Katherine. There were at least a dozen of them at the track every day, who told attractive women what big winners they were, hoping that somehow they would end up in bed with them. Maybe they didn’t even think that far; maybe they only hoped vaguely for something without being quite sure what it was. They were addled and dizzied, taking the 10-count. Who could hate them? Big winners, but if you watched them bet, they were usually at the 2 dollar window, their shoes down at the heels and their clothing dirty. The lowest of the breed.

I took the even money shot and he won by 6 and paid $4.00. Not much, but I had him ten win. The man turned around and looked at Katherine. “I had it,” he told her. “$100 to win.”

Katherine didn’t answer. She was beginning to understand. Winners didn’t shoot off their mouths. They were afraid of getting murdered in the parking lot.

After the fourth race, a $22.80 winner, he turned again and told Katherine, “I had that one, ten across.”

She turned away. “His face is yellow, Hank. Did you see his eyes? He’s sick.”

“He’s sick on the dream. We’re all sick on the dream, that’s why we’re out here.”

“Hank, let’s go.”

“All right.”

That night she drank half a bottle of red wine, good red wine, and she was sad and quiet. I knew she was connecting me with the racetrack people and the boxing crowd, and it was true, I was with them, I was one of them. Katherine knew that there was something about me that was not wholesome in the sense of wholesome is as wholesome does. I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn’t have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. It didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone. On the other hand, when I got drunk I screamed, went crazy, got all out of hand. One kind of behavior didn’t fit the other. I didn’t care.

The fucking was very good that night, but it was the night I lost her. There was nothing I could do about it. I rolled off and wiped myself on the sheet as she went into the bathroom. Overhead a police helicopter circled over Hollywood.

39

The next night Bobby and Valerie came over. They had recently moved into my apartment building and now lived across the court. Bobby had on his tight knit shirt. Everything always fitted Bobby perfectly, his pants were snug and just the right length, he wore the right shoes and his hair was styled. Valerie also dressed mod but not quite as consciously. People called them the “Barbie Dolls.” Valerie was all right when you got her alone, she was intelligent and very energetic and damned honest. Bobby, too, was more human when he and I were alone, but when a new woman was around he became very dull and obvious. He would direct all his attention and conversation to the woman, as if his very presence was an interesting and marvelous thing, but his conversation became predictable and dull. I wondered how Katherine would handle him.

They sat down. I was in a chair near the window and Valerie sat between Bobby and Katherine on the couch. Bobby began. He bent forward and ignoring Valerie directed his attention to Katherine.

“Do you like Los Angeles?” he asked.

“It’s all right,” answered Katherine.

“Are you going to stay here much longer?”

“A while longer.”

“You’re from Texas?”

“Yes.”

“Are your parents from Texas?”

“Yes.”

“Anything good on t.v. out there?”

“It’s about the same.”

“I’ve got an uncle in Texas.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, he lives in Dallas.”

Katherine didn’t answer. Then she said, “Excuse me, I’m going to make a sandwich. Does anybody want anything?”

We said we didn’t. Katherine got up and went into the kitchen. Bobby got up and followed her. You couldn’t quite hear his words, but you could tell that he was asking more questions. Valerie stared at the floor. Katherine and Bobby were in the kitchen a long time. Suddenly Valerie raised her head and began talking to me. She spoke very rapidly and nervously.

“Valerie,” I stopped her, “we needn’t talk, we don’t have to talk.”

She put her head down again.

Then I said, “Hey, you guys have been in there a long time. Are you waxing the floor?”

Bobby laughed and began tapping his foot in rhythm on the floor.

Finally Katherine came out followed by Bobby. She walked over to me and showed me her sandwich: peanut butter on cracked wheat with sliced bananas and sesame seeds.

“It looks good,” I told her.

She sat down and began eating her sandwich. It became quiet. It remained quiet. Then Bobby said, “Well, I think we’d better go. . . .”

They left. After the door closed Katherine looked at me and said, “Don’t think anything, Hank. He was just trying to impress me.”

“He’s done that with every woman I’ve known since I’ve known him.”

The phone rang. It was Bobby. “Hey, man, what have you done to my wife?”

“What’s the matter?”

“She just sits here, she’s completely depressed, she won’t talk!”

“I haven’t done anything to your wife.”

“I don’t understand it!”

“Goodnight, Bobby.”

I hung up.

“It was Bobby,” I told Katherine. “His wife is depressed.”

“Really?”

“It seems so.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a sandwich?”

“Can you make me one just like yours?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I’ll take it.”

40

Katherine stayed 4 or 5 more days. We had reached the time of the month when it was risky for Katherine to fuck. I couldn’t stand rubbers. Katherine got some contraceptive foam. Meanwhile, the police had recovered my Volks. We went down to where it was impounded. It was intact and in good shape except for a dead battery. I had it hauled to a Hollywood garage where they put it in order. After a last goodbye in bed I drove Katherine to the airport in the blue Volks,
TRV
469.

It wasn’t a happy day for me. We sat not saying much. Then they called her flight and we kissed.

“Hey, they all saw this young girl kissing this old man.”

“I don’t give a damn. . . .”

Katherine kissed me again.

“You’re going to miss your flight,” I said.

“Come see me, Hank. I have a nice house. I live alone. Come see me.”

“I will.”

“Write!”

“I will. . . .”

Katherine walked into the boarding tunnel and was gone.

I walked back to the parking lot, got in the Volks, thinking, I’ve still got this. What the hell, I haven’t lost everything.

It started.

41

That evening I started drinking. It wasn’t going to be easy without Katherine. I found some things she had left behind— earrings, a bracelet.

I’ve got to get back to the typewriter, I thought. Art takes discipline. Any asshole can chase a skirt. I drank, thinking about it.

At 2:10 am the phone rang. I was drinking my last beer.

“Hello?”

“Hello.” It was a woman’s voice, a young woman.

“Yes?”

“Are you Henry Chinaski?”

“Yes.”

“My girlfriend admires your writing. It’s her birthday and I told her I’d phone you. We were surprised to find you in the phonebook.”

“I’m listed.”

“Well, it’s her birthday and I thought it might be nice if we could come to see you.”

“All right.”

“I told Arlene that you probably had women all over the place.”

“I’m a recluse.”

“Then it’s all right if we come over?”

I gave them the address and directions.

“Only one thing, I’m out of beer.”

“We’ll get you some beer. My name’s Tammie.”

“It’s after 2 am.”

“We’ll get some beer. Cleavage can work wonders.”

They arrived in 20 minutes with the cleavage but without the beer.

“That son-of-a-bitch,” said Arlene. “He always gave it to us before. This time he seemed scared.”

“Fuck him,” said Tammie.

They both sat down and announced their ages.

“I’m 32,” said Arlene.

“I’m 23,” said Tammie.

“Add your ages together,” I said, “and you’ve got me.”

Arlene’s hair was long and black. She sat in the chair by the window combing her hair, making up her face, looking into a large silver mirror, and talking. She was obviously high on pills. Tammie had a near-perfect body and long natural red hair. She was on pills too, but wasn’t as high.

“It will cost you $100 for a piece of ass,” Tammie told me.

“I’ll pass.”

Tammie was hard like so many women in their early twenties. Her face was shark-like. I disliked her, right off.

They left around 3:30 am and I went to bed alone.

42

Two mornings later, at 4 am, somebody beat on the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s a redheaded floozie.”

I let Tammie in. She sat down and I opened a couple of beers.

“I’ve got bad breath, I have these two bad teeth. You can’t kiss me.”

“All right.”

We talked. Well, I listened. Tammie was on speed. I listened and looked at her long red hair and when she was preoccupied I looked and looked at that body. It was bursting out of her clothing, begging to get out. She talked on and on. I didn’t touch her.

At 6 am Tammie gave me her address and phone number.

“I’ve got to go,” she said.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

It was a bright red Camaro, completely wrecked. The front was smashed in, one side was ripped open and the windows were gone. Inside were rags and shirts and Kleenex boxes and newspapers and milk cartons and Coke bottles and wire and rope and paper napkins and magazines and paper cups and shoes and bent colored drinking straws. This mass of stuff was piled above seat level and covered the seats. Only the driver’s area had a little clear space.

Tammie stuck her head out the window and we kissed.

Then she tore away from the curb and by the time she reached the corner she was doing 45. She did hit the brakes and the Camaro bobbed up and down, up and down. I walked back inside.

I went to bed and thought about her hair. I’d never known a real redhead. It was fire.

Like lightning from heaven, I thought.

Somehow her face didn’t seem to be as hard anymore. . . .

43

I phoned her. It was 1 am. I went over.

Tammie lived in a small bungalow behind a house.

She let me in.

“Be quiet. Don’t wake Dancy. She’s my daughter. She’s 6 years

old and she’s asleep in the bedroom.”

I had a 6-pack of beer. Tammie put it in the refrigerator and came out with two bottles.

“My daughter mustn’t see anything. I still have the two bad teeth which makes my breath bad. We can’t kiss.”

“All right.”

The bedroom door was closed.

“Look,” she said, “I’ve got to take some vitamin B. And I’m going to have to pull my pants down and stab myself in the ass. Look the other way.”

“All right.”

I watched her draw liquid into the syringe. I looked the other way.

“I’ve got to get it all,” she said.

When it was done she turned on a small red radio.

“Nice place you got here.”

“I’m a month behind on the rent.”

“Oh …”

“It’s all right. The landlord—he lives in the place up front—I can hold him off.”

“Good.”

“He’s married, the old fuck. And guess what?”

“I can’t.”

“The other day his wife was gone somewhere and the old fuck asked me to come over. I went over and sat down and guess what?”

“He pulled it out.”

“No, he put on dirty movies. He thought that shit would turn me on.”

“It didn’t?”

“I said, 'Mr. Miller, I have to leave now. I have to pick Dancy up at school.’”

Tammie gave me an upper. We talked and talked. And drank beer.

At 6 am Tammie opened the couch we had been sitting on. There was a blanket. We took off our shoes and climbed under the blanket with our clothes on. I held her from the back, my face in all that red hair. I got hard. I dug it into her from behind, through her clothing. I heard her fingers clawing and digging into the edge of the couch.