Women - Charles Bukowski [92]
“Henry,” she asked, “what are you doing on Thanksgiving?”
“Nothing.”
“Why don’t you have Thanksgiving with me? I’ll get the turkey. I’ll have 2 or 3 friends over.”
“All right, it sounds good.”
Debra leaned forward and snapped the set off. She looked very happy. Then the light went off. She went to the bathroom and came out with something flimsy wrapped around her. Then she was in bed next to me. We pressed together. My cock rose. Her tongue flicked in and out of my mouth. She had a large tongue and it was warm. I went on down. I spread the hair and worked my tongue. Then I gave her a bit of a nose job. She was responding. I climbed back up, mounted her and stuck it in.
…I worked and I worked. I tried to think of Tessie in her short red skirt. It didn’t help. I had given it all to Tessie. I pumped on and on.
“Sorry, baby, too much to drink. Ah, feel my heart!”
She put her hand on my chest. “It’s really going,” she said.
“Am I still invited for Thanksgiving?”
“Sure, my poor dear, don’t worry, please.”
I kissed her goodnight, then rolled away and tried to sleep.
91
After Debra left for work the next morning I bathed, then tried to watch t.v. I walked around naked and noticed that I could be seen from the street through the front window. So I had a glass of grapefruit juice and dressed. Finally there was nothing to do but go back to my place. There’d be some mail, maybe a letter from someone. I made sure that all the doors were locked, then I walked out to the Volks, started it, and drove back to Los Angeles.
On the way in I remembered Sara, the third girl I had met during the reading at The Lancer. I had her phone number in my wallet. I drove home, took a crap, then phoned her.
“Hello,” I said, “this is Chinaski, Henry Chinaski….”
“Yes, I remember you.”
“What are you doing? I thought I might drive out to see you.”
“I have to be at my restaurant today. Why don’t you come down here?”
“It’s a health food place, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’ll make you a good healthy sandwich.”
“Oh?”
“I close at 4. Why don’t you get here a little before that?”
“All right. How do I get there?”
“Get a pen and I’ll give you directions.”
I wrote the directions down. “See you about 3:30,” I said.
About 2:30 I got into the Volks. Somewhere on the freeway the instructions got confusing or I became confused. I have a great dislike both for freeways and for instructions. I turned off and found myself in Lakewood. I pulled into a gas station and phoned Sara. “Drop On Inn,” she answered.
“Shit!” I said.
“What’s the matter? You sound angry.”
“I’m in Lakewood! Your instructions are fucked!”
“Lakewood? Wait.”
“I’m going back. I need a drink.”
“Now hold on. I want to see you! Tell me what street in Lakewood and the nearest cross street.”
I let the phone hang and went to see where I was. I gave Sara the information. She redirected me.
“It’s easy,” she said. “Now promise you’ll come.”
“All right.”
“And if you get lost again, phone me.”
“I’m sorry, you see, I have no sense of direction. I’ve always had nightmares about getting lost. I believe I belong on another planet.”
“It’s all right. Just follow my new instructions.”
I got back in the car, and this time it was easy. Soon I was on the Pacific Coast Highway looking for the turn-off. I found it. It led me into a snob shopping district near the ocean. I drove slowly and spotted it: Drop On Inn, a large hand-painted sign. There were photos and small cards pasted in the window. An honest-to-god health food place, Jesus Christ. I didn’t want to go in. I drove around the block and past the Drop On Inn slowly. I took a right, then another right. I saw a bar, Crab Haven. I parked outside and went in.
It was 3:45 in the afternoon and every seat was taken. Most of the clients were well on the way. I stood and ordered a vodka-7. I took it to the telephone and phoned Sara. “O.K., it’s Henry. I’m here.”
“I saw you drive past twice. Don’t be afraid. Where are you?”
“Crab Haven. I’m having a drink. I