Women - Charles Bukowski [177]
I looked at the clock. 11:15 AM. The airport was an hour away. I was dressed. I had on shoes but no stockings. All I took was a pair of reading glasses which I stuffed into my shirt pocket. I ran out the door without baggage.
The Volks was in front. I got in. The sunlight was very bright. I put my head down on the steering wheel a moment. I heard a voice from the court, “Where the hell does he think he’s going like that?”
I started the car, turned the radio on and drove off. I had trouble steering. My car kept pulling across the double yellow line and into the oncoming traffic. They honked and I pulled back.
I got to the airport. I had 15 minutes left. I had run red lights, stop signs, had exceeded the speed limit, grossly, all the way. I had 14 minutes. The parking lot was full. I couldn’t find a space. Then I saw a place in front of an elevator, just large enough for a Volks. A sign read, NO PARKING. I parked. As I locked the car my reading glasses fell out of my pocket and broke on the pavement.
I ran down the stairway and across the street to the airline reservations desk. It was hot. The sweat rolled off me. “Reservation for Henry Chinaski….” The clerk wrote out the ticket and I paid cash. “By the way,” said the clerk, “I’ve read your books.”
I ran up to security. The buzzer went off. Too much change, 7 keys and my pocketknife. I put them on the plate and walked through again.
Five minutes. Gate 42.
Everyone had boarded. I walked on. Three minutes. I found my seat, strapped in. The flight captain was talking over the intercom.
We taxied down the runway, we were in the air. We swung out over the ocean and made the big turn.
54
I was the last one off the plane and there was Joanna Dover.
“My god!” she laughed. “You look awful!”
“Joanna, let’s have a Bloody Mary while we wait for my baggage. Oh hell, I don’t have any baggage. But let’s have a Bloody Mary anyhow.”
We walked into the bar and sat down.
“You’ll never make Paris this way.”
“I’m not crazy about the French. Born in Germany, you know.”
“I hope you’ll like my place. It’s simple. Two floors and plenty of space.”
“As long as we’re in the same bed.”
“I’ve got paints.”
“Paints?”
“I mean, you can paint if you want.”
“Shit, but thanks, anyhow. Did I interrupt anything?”
“No. There was a garage mechanic. But he petered out. He couldn’t stand the pace.”
“Be kind to me, Joanna, sucking and fucking aren’t everything.”
“That’s why I got the paints. For when you’re resting.”
“You are a lot of woman, even forgetting the 6 feet.”
“Christ, don’t I know it.”
I liked her place. There were screens on every window and door. The windows swung open, large windows. There were no rugs on the floors, two bathrooms, old furniture, and lots of tables everywhere, large and small. It was simple and convenient.
“Take a shower,” said Joanna.
I laughed. “These are all the clothes I have, what I’m wearing.”
“We’ll get you some more tomorrow. After you have your shower we’ll go out and get a nice seafood meal. I know a good place.”
“They serve drinks?”
“You asshole.”
I didn’t take a shower. I took a bath.
We drove quite a distance. I had never realized that Galveston was an island.
“The dope runners are hijacking the shrimp boats these days. They kill everybody on board and then run the stuff in. That’s one reason the price of shrimp is going up—it’s become a hazardous occupation. How’s your occupation going?”
“I haven’t been writing. I think it’s over for me.”
“How long has it been?”
“Six or seven days.”
“This is the place….”
Joanna pulled into a parking lot. She drove very fast, but she didn’t drive fast as if she meant to break the law. She drove fast as if it were her given right. There was a difference and I appreciated it.
We got a table away from the crowd. It was cool and quiet and dark in there. I liked it. I went for the lobster. Joanna went for something strange. She ordered it in French. She was sophisticated, traveled.