Women - Charles Bukowski [49]
I didn’t know where any of her friends lived, where her mother lived, where her lovers lived.
I went back to my court and wrote some love poems.
48
I was sitting with an anarchist from Beverly Hills, Ben Solvnag, who was writing my biography when I heard her footsteps on the court walk. I knew the sound—they were always fast and frantic and sexy—those tiny feet. I lived near the rear of the court. My door was open. Tammie ran in.
We were both into each other’s arms, hugging and kissing.
Ben Solvnag said goodbye and was gone.
“Those sons of bitches confiscated my stuff, all my stuff! I couldn’t make the rent! That dirty son-of-a-bitch!”
“I’ll go over there and kick his ass. We’ll get your stuff back.”
“No, he has guns! All kinds of guns!”
“Oh.”
“My daughter is at my mother’s.”
“How about something to drink?”
“Sure.”
“What?”
“Extra dry champagne.”
“O.K.”
The door was still open and the afternoon sunlight came in through her hair—it was so long and so red it burned.
“Can I take a bath?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Wait for me,” she said.
In the morning we talked about her finances. She had money coming in: child support plus a couple of unemployment checks with more to come.
“There’s a vacancy in the place in back, right above me.”
“How much is it?”
“$105 with half of the utilities paid.”
“Oh hell, I can make that. Do they take children? A child?”
“They will. I’ve got pull. I know the managers.”
By Sunday she was moved in. She was right above me. She could look into my kitchen where I typed my things on the breakfast nook table.
49
That Tuesday night we were sitting at my place drinking; Tammie, me and her brother, Jay. The phone rang. It was Bobby.
“Louie and his wife are down here and she’d like to meet you.”
Louie was the one who had just vacated Tammie’s place. He played in jazz groups at small clubs and wasn’t having much luck. But he was an interesting sort.
“I’d rather just forget it, Bobby.”
“Louie will be hurt if you don’t come down here.”
“O.K., Bobby, but I’m bringing a couple of friends.”
We went down and the introductions went around. Then Bobby brought out some of his bargain beer. There was stereo music going, and it was loud.
“I read your story in Knight,” said Louie. “It was a strange one. You’ve never fucked a dead woman, have you?”
“It just seemed like some of them were dead.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I hate that music,” said Tammie.
“How is the music going, Louie?”
“Well, I’ve got a new group now. If we can hang together long enough we might make it.”
“I think I’ll suck somebody off,” said Tammie, “I think I’ll suck off Bobby, I think I’ll suck off Louie, I think I’ll suck off my brother!”
Tammie was dressed in a long outfit that looked something like an evening dress and something like a nightgown.
Valerie, Bobby’s wife, was at work. She worked two nights a week as a barmaid. Louie and his wife, Paula, and Bobby had been drinking for some time.
Louie took a gulp of the bargain beer, started to get sick, jumped up and ran out the front door. Tammie jumped up and ran out the door after him. After a bit they both walked in together.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Louie said to Paula.
“All right,” she said.
They got up and left together.
Bobby got out some more beer. Jay and I talked about something. Then I heard Bobby:
“Don’t blame me! Hey, man, don’t blame me!”
I looked. Tammie had her head in Bobby’s lap and she had her hand on his balls and then she moved it up and grabbed his cock and held his cock, and all the time her eyes looked directly at me.
I took a hit of my beer, put it down, got up and walked out.
50
I saw Bobby out front the next day when I went to buy a newspaper. “Louie phoned,” he said, “he told me what happened to him.”
“Yeah?”
“He