Women - Charles Bukowski [82]
“Yes, it’s in the Westlake district where the art school used to be.”
“How did you know?”
“I drove another woman there once.”
“You bastard.”
“O.K., now….”
“I have a girlfriend who works there. I don’t know where her apartment is and I can’t find her in the phonebook. But I know she works at the Women’s Lib Building. I’ll stay with her for a couple of days. I just don’t want to go back to San Francisco feeling like I do….”
Liza got her things together and put them in her suitcase. We walked out to the car and I drove to the Westlake district. I had driven Lydia there once for a women’s art exhibit where she had entered some of her sculpture.
I parked outside.
“I’ll wait to make sure your friend is there.”
“It’s all right. You can go.”
“I’ll wait.”
I waited. Liza came out, waved. I waved back, started the engine and drove off.
86
I was sitting in my shorts one afternoon a week later. There was a tender little knock on the door. “Just a moment,” I said. I put on a robe and opened the door.
“We’re two girls from Germany. We’ve read your books.”
One looked to be about 19, the other maybe 22.
I had two or three books out in Germany in limited editions. I had been born in Germany in 1920, in Andernach. The house I had lived in during my childhood was now a brothel. I couldn’t speak German. But they spoke English.
“Come in.”
They sat on the couch.
“I’m Hilda,” said the 19 year old.
“I’m Gertrude,” said the 22 year old.
“I’m Hank.”
“We thought your books were very sad and very funny,” said Gertrude.
“Thank you.”
I went in and poured 3 vodka-7s. I loaded their drinks, and I loaded mine.
“We’re on our way to New York City. We thought we would stop by,” said Gertrude.
They went on to say they’d been in Mexico. They spoke good English. Gertrude was heavier, almost a butterball; she was all breasts and ass. Hilda was thin, looked like she was under some kind of strain…constipated and odd, but attractive.
As I drank I crossed my legs. My robe fell apart.
“Oh,” said Gertrude, “you have sexy legs!”
“Yes,” said Hilda.
“I know it,” I said.
The girls stayed right along with me on the drinks. I went and concocted three more. When I sat down again I made sure that my robe covered me properly.
“You girls can stay here for a few days, rest up.”
They didn’t answer.
“Or you don’t have to stay,” I said. “It’s all right. We can just talk awhile. I don’t want to make any demands on you.”
“I’ll bet you know a lot of women,” said Hilda. “We’ve read your books.”
“I write fiction.”
“What’s fiction?”
“Fiction is an improvement on life.”
“You mean you lie?” asked Gertrude.
“A little. Not too much.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” asked Hilda.
“No. Not now.”
“We’ll stay,” said Gertrude.
“There’s only one bed.”
“That’s all right.”
“Just one other thing…”
“What?”
“I must sleep in the middle.”
“That’s all right.”
I kept mixing drinks and soon we ran out. I phoned the liquor store. “I want…”
“Wait, my friend,” he said, “we don’t start making home deliveries until 6 PM.”
“Really? I push $200 a month down your throat….”
“Who is this?”
“Chinaski.”
“Oh, Chinaski…. What is it you wanted?”
I told the man. Then, “You know how to get here?”
“Oh, yes.”
He arrived in 8 minutes. It was the fat Australian who was always sweating. I took the two cartons and set them on a chair.
“Hello, ladies,” said the fat Australian.
They didn’t answer.
“What’s the bill, Arbuckle?”
“Well, it comes to $17.94.”
I gave him a twenty. He started digging for change.
“You know better than that. Buy yourself a new home.”
“Thank you, sir!”
Then he leaned toward me and asked in a lower voice, “My God, how do you do it?”
“Typing,” I said.
“Typing?”
“Yes, about 18 words a minute.”
I pushed him back outside and closed the door.
That night I got in bed with them, with me in between. We were all drunk and first I grabbed one and kissed and fondled her, then I turned and grabbed the other. I went back and forth and it was very rewarding. Later I concentrated on one for a long time, then turned and went to the other.