Ham On Rye - Charles Bukowski [71]
“O.K.”
“Maybe after a few beers I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
“We’re friends, Hank.”
“I don’t have any friends. Drink up!”
“All right. What’s the hurry?”
“You’ve got to slam them down to get the effect.”
We opened some more cans of beer.
“If I was a woman I’d go around with my skirt hiked up giving all the men hard-ons,” Jimmy said.
“You make me sick.”
“My mother knew a guy who drank her piss.”
“What?”
“Yeah. They’d drink all night and then he’d lay down in the bathtub and she’d piss in his mouth. Then he’d give her twenty-five dollars.”
“She told you that?”
“Since my father died she confides in me. It’s like I’ve taken his place.”
“You mean…?”
“Oh, no. She just confides.”
“Like the guy in the tub?”
“Yeah, like him.”
“Tell me some more stuff.”
“No.”
“Come on, drink up. Does anybody eat your mother’s shit?”
“Don’t talk that way.”
I finished the can of beer in my hand and threw it across the room.
“I like this joint. I might move in here.”
I walked to the refrigerator and brought back a new six-pack.
“I’m one tough son-of-a-bitch,” I said. “You’re lucky I let you hang around me.”
“We’re friends, Hank.”
I jammed a can of beer under his nose.
“Here, drink this!”
I went to the bathroom to piss. It was a very ladylike bathroom, brightly colored towels, deep pink floormats. Even the toilet seat was pink. She sat her big white ass on there and her name was Clare. I looked at my virgin cock.
“I’m a man,” I said. “I can whip anybody’s ass.”
“I need the bathroom, Hank…” Jim was at the door.
He went into the bathroom. I heard him puking.
“Ah, shit…” I said and opened a new can of beer.
After a few minutes, Jim came out and sat in a chair. He looked very pale. I stuck a can of beer under his nose.
“Drink up! Be a man! You were man enough to steal it, now be man enough to drink it!”
“Just let me rest a while.”
“Drink it!”
I sat down on the couch. Getting drunk was good. I decided that I would always like getting drunk. It took away the obvious and maybe if you could get away from the obvious often enough, you wouldn’t become obvious yourself.
I looked over at Jimmy.
“Drink up, punk.”
I threw my empty beer can across the room.
“Tell me some more about your mother, Jimmy boy. What did she say about the man who drank her piss in the bathtub?”
“She said, ‘There’s a sucker born every minute.’”
“Jim.”
“Uh?”
“Drink up. Be a man!”
He lifted his beer can. Then he ran to the bathroom and I heard him puking again. He came out after a while and sat in his chair. He didn’t look well. “I’ve got to lay down,” he said.
“Jimmy,” I said, “I’m going to wait around until your mother comes home.”
Jimmy got up from his chair and started walking toward the bedroom.
“When she comes home I’m going to fuck her, Jimmy.”
He didn’t hear me. He just walked into the bedroom.
I went into the kitchen and came back with more beer.
I sat and drank the beer and waited for Clare. Where was that whore? I couldn’t allow this kind of thing. I ran a tight ship.
I got up and walked into the bedroom. Jim was face down on the bed, all his clothes on, his shoes on. I walked back out.
Well, it was obvious that boy had no belly for booze. Clare needed a man. I sat down and opened another can of beer. I took a good hit. I found a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table and lit one.
I don’t know how many more beers I drank waiting for Clare but finally I heard the key in the door and it opened. There was Clare of the body and the bright blond hair. That body stood on those high heels and it swayed just a little. No artist could have imagined it better. Even the walls stared at her, the lampshades, the chairs, the rug. Magic. Standing there…
“Who the hell are you? What is this?”
“Clare, we’ve met. I’m Hank. Jimmy’s friend.”
“Get out of here!”
I laughed. “I’m movin’ in, baby, it’s you and me!”
“Where’s Jimmy?”
She ran into the bedroom, then came back out.
“You little prick! What’s going on here?”
I picked up a cigarette, lit it. I grinned.
“You’re beautiful when you’re angry…”
“You’re nothing but a god-damned