Women - Charles Bukowski [51]
“I take a cold shower and then I towel myself off,” Bobby continued, “then I read a magazine or something. Then I’m ready for the day.”
“I just take a cold shower, but I don’t wipe myself off,” said Tammie, “I just let the little drops stay there.”
Bobby said, “Sometimes I take a real hot bath. The water’s so hot that I’ve got to slip in real slow.”
Then Bobby got up and demonstrated how he slipped into his real hot bath.
The conversation moved on to movies and television programs. They both seemed to love movies and television programs.
They talked for 2 or 3 hours, nonstop.
Then Bobby got up. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got to go.”
“Oh, please don’t go, Bobby,” said Tammie.
“No, I’ve got to go.”
Valerie was due home from work.
53
On Thursday night Bobby phoned again. “Hey, man, what are you doing?”
“Not much.”
“Mind if I come down and have a few beers?”
“I’d rather not have any visitors tonight.”
“Oh, come on, man, I’ll just stay for a few beers….”
“No, I’d rather not.”
“WELL, FUCK YOU THEN!” he screamed.
I hung up and went into the other room.
“Who was that?” Tammie asked.
“Just somebody who wanted to come by.”
“That was Bobby, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You treat him mean. He gets lonely when his wife is at work. What the hell’s the matter with you?”
Tammie jumped up and ran into the bedroom and started dialing. I had just bought her a fifth of champagne. She hadn’t opened it. I took it and hid it in the broom closet.
“Bobby,” she said over the phone, “this is Tammie. Did you just phone? Where’s your wife? Listen, I’ll be right down.”
She hung up and came out of the bedroom. “Where’s the champagne?”
“Fuck off,” I said, “you’re not taking it down there and drinking it with him.”
“I want that champagne. Where is it?”
“Let him furnish his own.”
Tammie picked up a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table and ran out the door.
I got out the champagne, uncorked it and poured myself a glass. I was no longer writing love poems. In fact, I wasn’t writing at all. I didn’t feel like writing.
The champagne went down easy. I drank glass after glass.
Then I took my shoes off and walked down to Bobby’s place. I looked through the blinds. They were sitting very close together on the couch, talking.
I walked back. I finished the last of the champagne and started in on the beer.
The phone rang. It was Bobby. “Look,” he said, “Why don’t you come down and have a beer with Tammie and me?”
I hung up.
I drank some more beer and smoked a couple of cheap cigars. I got drunker and drunker. I walked down to Bobby’s apartment. I knocked. He opened the door.
Tammie was down at the end of the couch snorting coke, using a McDonald’s spoon. Bobby put a beer in my hand.
“The trouble,” he told me, “is that you’re insecure, you lack confidence in yourself.”
I sucked at the beer.
“That’s right, Bobby’s right,” said Tammy.
“Something hurts inside of me.”
“You’re just insecure,” said Bobby, “it’s quite simple.”
I had two phone numbers for Joanna Dover. I tried the one in Galveston. She answered.
“It’s me, Henry.”
“You sound drunk.”
“I am. I want to come see you.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“All right.”
“Will you meet me at the airport?”
“Sure, baby.”
“I’ll get a flight and call you back.”
I got flight 707, leaving L. A. International the next day at 12:15 PM. I relayed the information to Joanna Dover. She said she’d be there.
The phone rang. It was Lydia.
“I thought I’d tell you,” she said, “that I sold the house. I’m moving to Phoenix. I’ll be gone in the morning.”
“All right, Lydia. Good luck.”
“I had a miscarriage. I almost died, it was awful. I lost so much blood. I didn’t want to bother you about it.”
“Are you all right now?”
“I’m all right. I just want to get out of this town, I’m sick of this town.”
We said goodbye.
I opened another beer. The front door opened and Tammie walked in. She walked in wild circles, looking at me.
“Did Valerie get home?” I asked. “Did you cure Bobby’s loneliness?”
Tammie just kept circling around. She looked very good in her long gown, whether she had