Women - Charles Bukowski [239]
“I said, ‘Stick it up your ass!’”
I hung up.
“Who was that?” asked Sara.
“I just lost 3 or 4 readers from Bel Air. But it was worth it.”
The turkey was done and I pulled it out of the oven, put it on a platter, moved the typer and all my papers off the kitchen table, and placed the turkey there. I began carving as Sara came in with the vegetables. We sat down. I filled my plate, Sara filled hers. It looked good.
“I hope that one with the tits doesn’t come by again,” said Sara. She looked very upset at the thought.
“If she does I’ll give her a piece.”
“What?”
I pointed to the turkey. “I said, ‘I’ll give her a piece.’ You can watch.”
Sara screamed. She stood up. She was trembling. Then she ran into the bedroom. I looked at my turkey. I couldn’t eat it. I had pushed the wrong button again. I walked into the front room with my drink and sat down. I waited 15 minutes and then I put the turkey and the vegetables in the refrigerator.
Sara went back to her place the next day and I had a cold turkey sandwich about 3 PM. About 5 PM there was a terrific pounding on the door. I opened it up. It was Tammie and Arlene. They were cruising on speed. They walked in and jumped around, both of them talking at once.
“Got anything to drink?”
“Shit, Hank, ya got anything to drink?”
“How was your fucking Christmas?”
“Yeah. How was your fucking Christmas, man?”
“There’s some beer and wine in the icebox,” I told them.
(You can always tell an old-timer: he calls a refrigerator an icebox.)
They danced into the kitchen and opened the icebox.
“Hey, here’s a turkey!”
“We’re hungry, Hank! Can we have some turkey?”
“Sure.”
Tammie came out with a leg and bit into it. “Hey, this is an awful turkey! It needs spices!”
Arlene came out with slices of meat in her hands. “Yeah, this needs spices. It’s too mellow! You got any spices?”
“In the cupboard,” I said.
They jumped back into the kitchen and began sprinkling on the spices.
“There! That’s better!”
“Yeah, it tastes like something now!”
“Organic turkey, shit!”
“Yeah, it’s shit!”
“I want some more!”
“Me too. But it needs spices.”
Tammie came out and sat down. She had just about finished the leg. Then she took the leg bone, bit and broke it in half, and started chewing the bone. I was astonished. She was eating the leg bone, spitting splinters out on the rug.
“Hey, you’re eating the bone!”
“Yeah, it’s good!”
Tammie ran back into the kitchen for some more.
Soon they both came out, each of them with a bottle of beer.
“Thanks, Hank.”
“Yeah, thanks, man.”
They sat there sucking at the beers.
“Well,” said Tammie, “we gotta get going.”
“Yeah, we’re going out to rape some junior high school boys!”
“Yeah!”
The both jumped up and they were gone out the door. I walked into the kitchen and looked into the refrig. That turkey looked like it had been mauled by a tiger—the carcass had simply been ripped apart. It looked obscene.
Sara drove over the next evening.
“How’s the turkey?” she asked.
“O.K.”
She walked in and opened the refrigerator door. She screamed. Then she ran out.
“My god, what happened?”
“Tammie and Arlene came by. I don’t think they had eaten for a week.”
“Oh, it’s sickening. It hurts my heart!”
“I’m sorry. I should have stopped them. They were on uppers.”
“Well, there’s just one thing I can do.”
“What’s that?”
“I can make you a nice turkey soup. I’ll go get some vegetables.”
“All right.” I gave her a twenty.
Sara prepared the soup that night. It was delicious. When she left in the morning she gave me instructions on how to heat it up.
Tammie knocked on the door around 4 PM. I let her in and she walked straight to the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened.
“Hey, soup, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it any good?”
“Yeah.”
“Mind if I try some?”
“O.K.”
I heard her put it on the stove. Then I heard her dipping in there.
“God! This stuff is mild! It needs spices!”
I heard her spooning the spices in. Then she tried it.
“That’s better! But it needs more! I’m Italian, you know. Now…there…that’s better! Now I’ll let it heat up. Can I have a beer?”
“All