The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [116]
And if you get through it there's Relief after a while, and even a couple of jobs. Dishwasher, short-order cook, a shingler, a farm hand, a house painter, a plumber, even a gasoline pump.
In 'thirty-five he works in a restaurant for almost a year, the best dishwasher they ever had. (The rush hour lasts from twelve to three at that end of the kitchen. The dishes come clanking down the dumbwaiter, and the tray man mops the food and grease with his hand, fingers the lipstick on the glasses to loosen it, and drops them in a rack. In the machine, the steam vibrates and sings, whips out at the other end, where the finish man pulls out the tray with tongs, and wiggles the plates with his fingertips as he flips them on a pile. You don't grab it with your bare hand, Jack.)
After work Red goes back to his furnished room (two-fifty a week, the carpeting on the stairs has thickened with age and springs underfoot like soft dusty turf) and lies down on his bed. If he's not too pooped, he gets up after a while, and drifts down to the bar around the corner. (The gray cracked asphalt, the garbage cans spilling over in the areaways, the stippled light of the neon sign, two letters are missing.)
A man always has philosophy. I'll tell ya, Red, I used to think for a time I made a mistake gettin' married. I used to get mad, you know, I'd start wondering what am I workin' for, but, aah, you get over it. You take those two kids over there feeling each other in that booth. Right now one of them can't even breathe without the other -- my old lady used to be like that with me. I don't get mad, I know what the score is, those kids are gonna end up like you, like me, like everybody.
(The beer is flat and tastes like pennies.) Me, Red says, I never horse around much with the women. They just want to trap ya, I seen enough of it.
Aw, it ain't that bad, there's good things about marriage and women, but it ain't what you think you're gonna get when you start off. You know a married man has worries, I'll tell ya, Red, sometimes I wish I been the places you have.
Yeah, I'll take Two-bit Annie.
In the brothel the girls wear halters and trim panties with a tropical print, an actress has made the style famous this year. They gather like burlesque queens in the living room with the ashtrays and the chipped modernistic furniture.
Okay, Pearl, let's go.
He follows her up the gray spongy carpeting of the stairs, watching the automatic waggle of her hips.
Haven't seen ya in a long time, Red.
Just two weeks.
Yeah, ya went to Roberta last time. She reproves him, Dearie.
In the cubicle, the blanket is folded at the foot of the bed, smudged with the shoes of other men. Pearl is humming. (BETTY COED HAS LIPS OF RED FOR HARVARD.) She slips his dollar under the pillow. Easy, Red, momma's had a long hard day.
The throe quivers along his back, leaves his loins charged and sickly.
How about one on the house?
Aw, now, honey, you know what Eddie would do if he found us girls givin' it away.
He dresses quickly, feeling her arm on his shoulder. I'm sorry, Red, listen, you come up next time, and I'll talk a little French to you, just between you and me, okay?
At this moment her mouth is soft, and her breasts seem swollen. He touches her nipple for a moment; counterfeit of passion, it strains against his finger. You're a good kid, Pearl.
One of the best.
The light bulb is naked, and it flares in his eyes cruelly. He inhales her powder, the sweet sweat of her armpits. . .
How'd you get started, Pearl?
I'll tell ya over a glass of beer someday.
Outside, the air is cold like a tart and icy apple. He feels a deep melancholy, pleasurable and extensive, but when he is in his room he cannot sleep.
I been in this town too long. (The brown bare