William Vollmann - The Atlas

Oh, two or three times. Maybe four or five.

Listen, he said to the other white boy. Can you do me a favor? When she comes back, I need to speak with her, just for five minutes. Then you can take her home. I won't get in your way.

I don't wanna do that, the white boy said. He was out of crack, and so his hand was clenched around the crack pipe and his face was swearing.

OK, the john said.

They sat in silence on the bed, and then the black whore and the white whore came in to get toilet paper. — Your friend sure is keeping you waiting, they said. That's rude.

I'm gonna go talk to her, said the white boy. I need some rock. I gave her money. I need rock! Where's her room?

Number sixty-four, said the john. It's a real nice room. Lots of company scuttling up and down the walls.

The white boy went out, and the white whore sat down next to the john on the bed while her lover sat in the corner. The white whore (who had been going out with the black whore for eight years) was wearing a very lowcut dress that showed her rich plump breasts, and she bent toward him a little to make them move and said: You wanna like do anything?

Just then somebody knocked on the door. The black whore unlocked it, and the white boy came in. — She said she'll be down in a minute, he said unhappily.

So, the white whore was saying to the john, you think you might like a date?

You're beautiful, he replied, but I've already got a date.

Well, what if she don't come back?

Maybe then. I don't know. Maybe then.

Anybody got any rock? said the white boy.

She sure ain't showin' you no respect, said the black whore.

I don't like this, said the white boy. I'm getting very upset about this.

What makes you attracted to her? the john asked.

Oh, I don't even know her name exactly, the white boy yawned. It's just I run into her on the street sometimes.

Just let me know if I'm in your way.

No problem, dude. We can all hang out. Once she comes back, you and me and these other girls can go to my place and party.

You wanna date? the white whore cut in, her eyes lighting up. I'm sorry my face is kind of a mess. I got into an accident. But if you wanna date me I'll be real good.

You see, the white boy said, I gave her eighty dollars.

Eighty? laughed the black whore in the corner. You gave that bitch eighty? Shit.

I'm getting like tense now, said the white boy. I'm afraid I might do something.

I'll take care of it, the john said.

He went upstairs to sixty-four, and just as he was about to knock the door across the hall opened and an ancient Asian lady in a nightgown stuck her head out and flapped a moth-colored titty at him and he bowed with his hand on his heart, at which she closed the door. Behind the other door, the prostitute he'd come for was saying: Just gimme a dime bag, just this once. I swear I'll never ask for no more favors.

He knocked.

Who is it? the prostitute shouted in her fiercest voice.

It's me.

I'm comin', I'm comin! she cried impatiently.

I've got to go now, he called, smiling a little. I'll see you another time.

That worked wonders. The prostitute practically flew out the door in her eagerness to keep him, and they went downstairs.

These two girls are coming with us, the white boy said.

Oh no they are not! the prostitute cried. Ladies, I don't mean to disrespect you, but this is my business. We gonna go to his place and kinda get established, and then if we need you we'll come an' get you then .

So I'll meet you at two A.M. at the corner, the white boy was whispering to the white whore.

Come on! the prostitute said.

The two johns got up and followed her into the lobby where the manager studied them from within his glass cubicle, and the prostitute (who could tell by taste whether crack was good or not) opened the grating and they went downstairs past the black men and through the second grating and onto the street.

I wouldn't be doin' this for just anybody, the prostitute said to the white boy. But you're such a dynamite guy. You're my baby. I love white boys.

That was the first time that night that the john's heart ached. The prostitute always told him he was a dynamite guy, too.

The prostitute ran across the street and bought the white boy some of the crack she owed him. Then she called laughing: I love white boys!

The john put his arm around her while the white boy stood watching. — I love two kinds of crack, he told her, the kind I smoke and the kind between your legs. — She laughed and laughed.

Thanks for letting me come along to your house, he said to the white boy. I sure do appreciate it.

No problem, dude. We'll chill out and party, you know, just a couple of mellow crackheads.

Everything OK, baby? the prostitute said to him. Soon we'll all be doin' some really good rock. Danny here don't mind. He's quality, he really is.

They got to the white boy's house, and the prostitute and the white boy were kissing. The john looked away.

While the prostitute was in the bathroom the white boy said: Come into the bedroom for a minute. Why don't you sit down on the bed with me for a minute?

You sure I'm not in your way? the john said. You paid for her. I didn't. I can take off anytime.

Let's you and me do her together, the white boy whispered.

Sure, the john said. You go first. That's only fair. Besides, it's your place.

No no no, you don't get it. Let's do her together .

Oh, I'm not exactly into that, said the john, watching to see if the white boy might suddenly scream in rage and pull out a knife or gun. — I only do girls.

I'm not queer or anything, the white boy pleaded. There's nothing to it. We just turn out the lights, get under the covers, and you won't even know whose mouth it is.

Well, I'll have to think that one over, the john said, wondering if he would be able to knock the white boy down and run if the white boy turned out to be coeval with the white boy in the newspaper who kept other boys' heads in his refrigerator. He decided that he could take the white boy easily. The white boy was very pale and puffy and unhealthy. If he had a gun, of course, that would be different.

Please, the white boy said. If you don't do her with me, my whole evening will be ruined.

The white boy was weeping. Because he had broken so easily, the john felt fairly sure now that he must not be dangerous. He put his hand on the white boy's shoulder and said: I just don't think I can do what you ask. I'm really sorry. How can I make it up to you?

Never mind, the white boy said in a desolate voice.

The prostitute was still in the bathroom. The white boy went and opened the door.

Can't you see I'm tryin' to shit? said the prostitute.

I just wanted to give you this T-shirt, the white boy said, peering in eagerly. I thought you might like it.

Thank you, the prostitute said. I appreciate that. You're a real dynamite guy.

When she came out, the john said: Well, I have to go.

What's wrong, baby? said the prostitute. Come on. Smoke a little rock with us and relax.

She took some of the white boy's crack and gave him a nice big hit. He felt the feeling again, the happy excited feeling, and for a moment it was so strong that he couldn't talk. He exhaled through his nostrils, and his nose went numb. He could no longer feel the weight of his body's sadness.

Why don't you stay over? the white boy said. It's so late. You don't wanna be out on the street.

Maybe I'll just take a stroll around the block, he said.

He put his coat on, and the prostitute gave him another rock, holding him tighdy so that he could not get away. — He's my baby, she said to the white boy, embracing the John desperately. He's the best. He's dynamite.