Women - Charles Bukowski [45]
“It seems so.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a sandwich?”
“Can you make me one just like yours?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I’ll take it.”
40
Katherine stayed 4 or 5 more days. We had reached the time of the month when it was risky for Katherine to fuck. I couldn’t stand rubbers. Katherine got some contraceptive foam. Meanwhile, the police had recovered my Volks. We went down to where it was impounded. It was intact and in good shape except for a dead battery. I had it hauled to a Hollywood garage where they put it in order. After a last goodbye in bed I drove Katherine to the airport in the blue Volks, TRV 469.
It wasn’t a happy day for me. We sat not saying much. Then they called her flight and we kissed.
“Hey, they all saw this young girl kissing this old man.”
“I don’t give a damn….”
Katherine kissed me again.
“You’re going to miss your flight,” I said.
“Come see me, Hank. I have a nice house. I live alone. Come see me.”
“I will.”
“Write!”
“I will….”
Katherine walked into the boarding tunnel and was gone.
I walked back to the parking lot, got in the Volks, thinking, I’ve still got this. What the hell, I haven’t lost everything.
It started.
41
That evening I started drinking. It wasn’t going to be easy without Katherine. I found some things she had left behind—earrings, a bracelet.
I’ve got to get back to the typewriter, I thought. Art takes discipline. Any asshole can chase a skirt. I drank, thinking about it.
At 2:10 AM the phone rang. I was drinking my last beer.
“Hello?”
“Hello.” It was a woman’s voice, a young woman.
“Yes?”
“Are you Henry Chinaski?”
“Yes.”
“My girlfriend admires your writing. It’s her birthday and I told her I’d phone you. We were surprised to find you in the phonebook.”
“I’m listed.”
“Well, it’s her birthday and I thought it might be nice if we could come to see you.”
“All right.”
“I told Arlene that you probably had women all over the place.”
“I’m a recluse.”
“Then it’s all right if we come over?”
I gave them the address and directions.
“Only one thing, I’m out of beer.”
“We’ll get you some beer. My name’s Tammie.”
“It’s after 2 AM.”
“We’ll get some beer. Cleavage can work wonders.”
They arrived in 20 minutes with the cleavage but without the beer.
“That son-of-a-bitch,” said Arlene. “He always gave it to us before. This time he seemed scared.”
“Fuck him,” said Tammie.
They both sat down and announced their ages.
“I’m 32,” said Arlene.
“I’m 23,” said Tammie.
“Add your ages together,” I said, “and you’ve got me.”
Arlene’s hair was long and black. She sat in the chair by the window combing her hair, making up her face, looking into a large silver mirror, and talking. She was obviously high on pills. Tammie had a near-perfect body and long natural red hair. She was on pills too, but wasn’t as high.
“It will cost you $100 for a piece of ass,” Tammie told me.
“I’ll pass.”
Tammie was hard like so many women in their early twenties. Her face was shark-like. I disliked her, right off.
They left around 3:30 AM and I went to bed alone.
42
Two mornings later, at 4 AM, somebody beat on the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s a redheaded floozie.”
I let Tammie in. She sat down and I opened a couple of beers.
“I’ve got bad breath, I have these two bad teeth. You can’t kiss me.”
“All right.”
We talked. Well, I listened. Tammie was on speed. I listened and looked at her long red hair and when she was preoccupied I looked and looked at that body. It was bursting out of her clothing, begging to get out. She talked on and on. I didn’t touch her.
At 6 AM Tammie gave me her address and phone number.
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
It was a bright red Camaro, completely wrecked. The front was smashed in, one side was ripped open and the windows were gone. Inside were rags and shirts and Kleenex boxes and newspapers and milk cartons and Coke bottles and wire and rope and paper napkins and magazines and paper cups and shoes and bent colored drinking straws. This mass of stuff was piled above seat level and covered the seats. Only the driver