Charles Bukowski - Women

I didn't take a shower. I took a bath.

We drove quite a distance. I had never realized that Galveston was an island.

"The dope runners are hijacking the shrimp boats these days. They kill everybody on board and then run the stuffin. That's one reason the price of shrimp is going up-it's become a hazardous occupation. How's your occupation going?"

"I haven't been writing. I think it's over for me."

"How long has it been?"

"Six or seven days."

"This is the place…"

Joanna pulled into a parking lot. She drove very fast, but she didn't drive fast as if she meant to break the law. She drove fast as if it were her given right. There was a difference and I appreciated it.

We got a table away from the crowd. It was cool and quiet and dark in there. I liked it. I went for the lobster. Joanna went for something strange. She ordered it in French. She was sophisticated, traveled. In a sense, as much as I disliked it, education helped when you were looking at a menu or for a job, especially when you were looking at a menu. I always felt inferior to waiters. I had arrived too late and with too little. The waiters all read Truman Capote. I read the race results.

The dinner was good and out on the gulf were the shrimp boats, the patrol boats and the pirates. The lobster tasted good in my mouth, and I drank him down with fine wine. Good fellow. I always liked you in your pink-red shell, dangerous and slow.

Back at Joanna Dover's place we had a delicious bottle of red wine. We sat in the dark watching the few cars pass in the street below. We were quiet. Then Joanna spoke.

"Hank?"

"Yes?"

"Was it some woman who drove you here?"

"Yes."

"Is it over with her?"

"I'd like to think so. But if I said 'no'…"

"Then you don't know?"

"Not really."

"Does anybody ever know?"

"I don't think so." "That's what makes it all stink so." "It does stink." "Let's fuck." "I've drunk too much." "Let's go to bed." "I want to drink some more." "You won't be able to…"

"I know. I hope you'll let me stay four or five days." "It will depend on your performance," she said. "That's fair enough."

By the time we finished the wine I could barely make it to bed. I was asleep by the time Joanna came out of the bathroom…

Upon awakening I got up and used Joanna's toothbrush, drank a couple of glasses of water, washed my hands and face and got back into bed. Joanna turned around and my mouth found hers. My cock began to rise. I put her hand on my cock. I grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, kissing her, savagely. I played with her cunt. I teased her clit for a long time. She was very wet. I mounted and buried it. I held it in. I could feel her responding. I was able to work a long time. Finally I was unable to hold back any longer. I was wet with sweat and my heart beat so loudly that I could hear it.

"I'm not in very good shape," I told her.

"I liked it. Let's have a joint."

She produced a joint, already rolled. We passed it back and forth. "Joanna," I told her, "I'm still sleepy. I could use another hour."

"Sure. As soon as we finish this joint."

We finished the joint and stretched out in bed again. I slept.

That evening after dinner Joanna produced some mescaline.

"You ever tried this stuff?"

"No."

"Want to try some?"

"All right."

Joanna had some paints and brushes and paper spread on the table. Then I remembered she was an art collector. And that she had bought some of my paintings. We had been drinking Heine-kens most of the evening, but were still sober.

"This is very powerful stuff."

"What does it do?"

"It gives you a strange kind of high. You might get sick. When you vomit you get higher but I prefer not to vomit so we take a little baking soda along with it. I guess the main thing about mescaline is that it makes you feel terror."

"I've felt that without any help at all."

I began painting. Joanna turned the stereo on. It was very strange music, but I liked it. I looked around and Joanna was gone. I didn't care. I painted a man who had just committed suicide, he had hung himself from the rafters with a rope. I used many yellows, the dead man was so bright and pretty. Then something said, "Hank…"

It was right behind me. I leaped out of my chair, "JESUS CHRIST! OH, JESUS SHIT CHRIST!"

Tiny icy bubbles ran from my wrists to my shoulders and down my back. I shivered and trembled. I looked around. Joanna was standing there.

"Never do that to me again," I told her. "Never sneak up on me like that or I'll kill you!"

"Hank, I just went to get some cigarettes."

"Look at this painting."

"Oh, it's great," she said, "I really love it!"

"It's the mescaline, I guess."

"Yes, it is."

"All right, give me a smoke, lady."

Joanna laughed and lit us up two.

I began painting again. This time I really did it: A huge, green wolf fucking a redhead, her red hair flowing back while the green wolf slammed it to her through lifted legs. She was helpless and submissive. The wolf sawed away and overhead the night burned, it was outdoors, and long-armed stars and the moon watched them. It was hot, hot, and full of color.

"Hank…"

I leaped up. And turned. It was Joanna behind me. I got her by the throat. "I told you, goddamn you, not to sneak up…"

I stayed five days and nights. Then I couldn't get it up any more. Joanna drove me to the airport. She had bought me a new piece of luggage and some new clothing. I hated that Dallas-Fort Worth airport. It was the most inhuman airport in the U.S. Joanna waved me off and I was in the air…

The trip to Los Angeles was without incident. I disembarked, wondering about the Volks. I took the elevator up in the parking area and didn't see it. I figured it must have been towed away. Then I walked around to the other side-and there it was. All I had was a parking ticket.

I drove home. The apartment looked the way it always had- bottles and trash everywhere. I'd have to clean it up a bit. If anybody saw it that way they'd have me committed.

There was a knock. I opened the door. It was Tammie. "Hi!" she said.

"Hello."

"You must have been in an awful hurry when you left. All the doors were unlocked. The back door was wide open. Listen, promise you won't tell if I tell you something?"

"All right."

"Arlene went in and used your phone, long distance."

"All right."

"I tried to stop her but I couldn't. She was on pills."

"All right."

"Where've you been?"

"Galveston."

"Why did you go flying off like that? You're crazy."

"I've got to leave again Saturday."

"Saturday? What's today?"

"Thursday."

"Where are you going?"

"New York City."

"Why?"

"A reading. They sent the tickets two weeks ago. And I get a percentage of the gate."

"Oh, take me with you! I'll leave Dancy with Mother. I want to go!"

"I can't afford to take you. It'll eat up my profits. I've had some heavy expenses lately."

"I'll be good! I'll be so good! I'll never leave your side! I really missed you."

"I can't do it, Tammie."

She went to the refrigerator and got a beer. "You just don't give a fuck. All those love poems, you didn't mean it."

"I meant it when I wrote them."

The phone rang. It was my editor. "Where've you been?"

"Galveston. Research."

"I hear you're reading in New York City this Saturday."

"Yes, Tammie wants to go, my girl."

"Are you taking her?"

"No, I can't afford it."

"How much is it?"

"$316 round trip."

"Do you really want to take her?"

"Yes, I think so."

"All right, go ahead. I'll mail you a check."