Women - Charles Bukowski [164]
33
Within a day or two, about 1 PM in the afternoon there was a knock at my door. It was a painter, Monty Riff, or so he informed me. He also told me that I used to get drunk with him when I lived on DeLongpre Avenue.
“I don’t remember you,” I said.
“Dee Dee used to bring me over.”
“Oh yeah? Well, come on in.” Monty had a 6-pack with him and a tall stately woman.
“This is Joanna Dover,” he introduced me to her.
“I missed your reading in Houston,” she said.
“Laura Stanley told me all about you,” I said.
“You know her?”
“Yes. But I’ve renamed her Katherine, after Katherine Hepburn.”
“You really know her?”
“Fairly well.”
“How well?”
“She’s flying out to visit me in a day or two.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
We finished the 6-pack and I left to go get some more. When I got back Monty was gone. Joanna told me that he had an appointment. We got to talking about painting and I brought out some of mine. She looked at them and decided that she’d like to buy two of them. “How much?” she asked.
“Well, $40 for the small one and $60 for the large one.”
Joanna wrote me out a check for $100. Then she said, “I want you to live with me.”
“What? This is pretty sudden.”
“It would pay off. I have some money. Just don’t ask me how much. I’ve been thinking of some reasons why we should live together. Do you want to hear them?”
“No.”
“One thing, if we lived together I’d take you to Paris.”
“I hate to travel.”
“I’d show you a Paris you’d really like.”
“Let me think it over.”
I leaned over and gave her a kiss. Then I kissed her again, this time a little longer.
“Shit,” I said, “let’s go to bed.”
“All right,” said Joanna Dover.
We undressed and climbed in. She was 6 feet tall. I’d always had small women. It was strange—every place I reached there seemed to be more woman. We warmed up. I gave her 3 or 4 minutes of oral sex, then mounted. She was good, she was really good. We cleaned up, got dressed and then she took me to dinner in Malibu. She told me she lived in Galveston, Texas. She gave me her phone number, the address and told me to come and see her. I told her that I would. She told me that she was serious about Paris and the rest. It had been a good fuck and the dinner was excellent too.
34
The next day Katherine phoned me. She said she had the tickets and would be landing at L.A. International Friday at 2:30 PM.
“Katherine,” I said, “there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
“Hank, don’t you want to see me?”
“I want to see you more than anybody I know.”
“Then what is it?”
“Well, you know Joanna Dover…”
“Joanna Dover?”
“The one…you know…your husband…”
“What about her, Hank?”
“Well, she came to see me.”
“You mean she came to your place?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“We talked. She bought two of my paintings.”
“Anything else happen?”
“Yeah.”
Katherine was quiet. Then she said, “Hank, I don’t know if I want to see you now.”
“I understand. Look, why don’t you think it over and call me back? I’m sorry, Katherine. I’m sorry it happened. That’s all I can say.”
She hung up. She won’t phone back, I thought. The best woman I ever met and I blew it. I deserve defeat, I deserve to die alone in a madhouse.
I sat by the telephone. I read the newspaper, the sports section, the financial section, the funny papers. The phone rang. It was Katherine. “FUCK Joanna Dover!” she laughed. I’d never heard Katherine swear like that before.
“Then you’re coming?”
“Yes. Do you have the arrival time?”
“I have it all. I’ll be there.”
We said goodbye. Katherine was coming, she was coming for at least a week with that face, that body, that hair, those eyes, that laugh….
35
I came out of the bar and checked the message board. The plane was on time. Katherine was in the air and moving towards me. I sat down and waited. Across from me was a well-groomed woman reading a paperback. Her dress was up around her thighs, showing all that flank, that leg wrapped in nylon. Why did she insist on doing that? I had a newspaper, and I looked over