Pulp - Charles Bukowski [74]
Grovers stood up.
“Jeannie!”
She glided into the room like a strip teaser on roller skates. She paused before us as the walls trembled. She looked at Grovers.
“Hal, what are you doing with this 2nd rate dick?”
“Hey, hold it, bitch!” I said.
“Well, Jeannie, I got a little problem and I thought I might seek some help.”
“Help? From who?”
“Can’t say. Cat’s got my tongue.”
“Hal, you’ve got no problem as long as you have me. I can do anything better than this 2nd rate dick.”
I stood up. I was standing up anyhow.
“Yeah, wench? Let’s see you get a 7 inch hard-on.”
“Sexist pig!”
“See, I gotcha, gotcha!”
Jeannie wallowed about the room a bit, driving us all mad. Then she swung around. Looked at Grovers.
“Come here, dog! Crawl across the floor toward me! Now!”
“Don’t do it, Hal!” I screamed.
“Huh?”
He was crawling across the floor toward Jeannie. He got closer and closer. He crawled up to her feet, then stopped.
“Now,” she said, “lick the toes of my shoes with your tongue!”
Grovers did it. He licked away. He kept going. Jeannie looked at me and smirked. A real smirking smirk. I couldn’t handle it.
I leaped up.
“YOU FUCKING WHORE!” I screamed.
I unbuckled my belt, slipped it from my pants, walked around the desk with the belt doubled up.
“You fucking whore,” I said, “I AM GOING TO NAIL YOUR ASS!”
I rushed toward her. What was left of my soul quivered in a joyous excitement. Her miraculous buns blazed in my mind. Heaven turned upside-down and quivered.
“Drop that belt, jerkoff,” she said, snapping her fingers.
The belt dropped out of my hand. I stood frozen.
She turned to Grovers.
“Come on, silly boy, get up off your knees. We are leaving this stupid place.”
“Yes, darling.”
Grovers got up and followed her to the door, it opened, closed and they were gone. I still couldn’t move. The bitch must have used a ray gun on me. And I was still frozen. Maybe I had chosen the wrong profession? After about twenty minutes I began to feel a tingling all through my body. Then I found that I could move my eyebrows. Next my mouth.
“God damn it,” I said.
Then the other parts began to gradually loosen up. Finally I took one step. Two steps. Then more steps, toward my desk. I got around behind it. Opened a drawer. Found the pint of vodka. Unscrewed it. Had a good straight hit. Decided to call it a day and begin all over again tomorrow.
19
Back at the office, the next day, I was confused. I didn’t know who my clients were or what the hell. I decided to do something about it. I had the business number of Jack Bass. I rang him.
“Hello,” he said.
“Bass, this is Belane.”
“You son-of-a-bitch.”
“Take it easy, Bass, I got a black belt.”
“You’ll need it next time you bust in on one of my love sessions.”
“Jack, all I saw was a bobbing ass. I didn’t know it was you until you turned your head.”
“Who else do you think it was? You think some guy is going to slam her in my own home?”
“It’s been done plenty of times.”
“What?”
“I don’t mean your place, Jack.”
“Where then?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?”
“I mean, it doesn’t relate to your case. Let’s talk turkey.”
“What?”
“You want me on this case or not?”
“You’re not getting anywhere, just videoing my butt.”
“I’m right on your case, Jack.”
“Like what?”
“I got a tie-in.”
“What?”
“I got a link.”
“‘Tie-in?’ ‘Link?’ What are you talking about?”
“I can tie her in with this guy. I know him. A shady sort.