Women - Charles Bukowski [89]
The next day was Saturday and Debra cooked us breakfast.
“Are you coming antique hunting with us today?”
“All right.”
“Are you hungover?” she asked.
“Not too bad.”
We ate in silence for a while, then she said, “I liked your reading at The Lancer. You were drunk but it came through.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t.”
“When are you going to read again?”
“Somebody’s been phoning from Canada. They’re trying to raise funds.”
“Canada! Can I go with you?”
“We’ll see.”
“Are you staying tonight?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
“I will then.”
“Great…”
We finished breakfast and I went to the bathroom while Debra did the dishes. I flushed and wiped, flushed again, washed my hands, came out. Debra was cleaning up at the sink. I grabbed her from behind.
“You can use my toothbrush if you want,” she said.
“Is my breath bad?”
“It’s all right.”
“Like hell.”
“You can also shower if you want….”
“That too…?”
“Stop it. Tessie won’t be here for an hour. We can clear away the cobwebs.”
I went and let the bathwater run. The only time I liked to shower was in a motel. In the bathroom there was a photo of a man on the wall—dark, long hair, standard, handsome face run through with the usual idiocy. He smiled white teeth at me. I brushed what was left of my discolored teeth. Debra had mentioned that her ex-husband was a shrink.
Debra showered after I was through. I poured myself a small glass of wine and sat in a chair looking out the front window. Suddenly I remembered that I had forgotten to mail my ex-woman her child support money. Oh well. I’d do it Monday.
I felt peaceful in Playa del Rey. It was good to get out of the crowded, dirty court where I lived. There was no shade, and the sun beat down mercilessly on us. We were all insane in one way or another. Even the dogs and the cats were insane, and the birds and the newsboys and the hookers.
For us, in east Hollywood, the toilets never worked properly and the landlord’s cut-rate plumber could never quite fix them. We left the tank lids off and hand-manipulated the plunger. The faucets dripped, the roaches crawled, the dogs crapped everywhere, and the screens had large holes in them that let in flies and all manner of strange flying insects.
The bell bing-bonged and I got up and opened the door. It was Tessie. She was in her forties, a swinger, a redhead with obviously dyed hair.
“You’re Henry, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Debra’s in the bathroom. Please sit down.”
She had on a short red skirt. Her thighs were good. Her ankles and calves weren’t bad either. She looked like she loved to fuck.
I walked to the bathroom and knocked on the door.
“Debra, Tessie’s here….”
The first antique store was a block or two from the water. We drove down in the Volks and went in. I walked around with them. Everything was priced $800, $1500…old clocks, old chairs, old tables. The prices were unbelievable. Two or three clerks stood around and rubbed their hands. They evidently worked on salary plus commission. The owner certainly located the items for almost nothing in Europe or the Ozark Mountains. I got bored looking at huge price tags. I told the girls I’d wait in the car.
I found a bar across the street, went in, sat down. I ordered a bottle of beer. The bar was full of young men mostly under 25. The were blond and slim, or dark and slim, dressed in perfectly fitting slacks and shirts. They were expressionless and undisturbed. There were no women. A large television set was on. There was no sound. Nobody watched it. Nobody spoke. I finished my beer and left.
I found a liquor store and got a 6-pack. I went back to the car and sat there. The beer was good. The car was parked in the lot in back of the antique store. The street to my left was backed up with traffic and I watched the people waiting patiently in the cars. There was almost always a man and a woman, staring straight ahead, not talking. It was, finally, for everyone, a matter of waiting. You waited and you waited—for the hospital, the doctor, the plumber, the madhouse, the jail, papa death himself. First the signal was red, then