Charles Bukowski - Women

Then I had to read, and I had a luckier night. It was the same crowd, but my mind was on my work. The crowd got warmer and warmer, wilder and enthusiastic. Sometimes it was them who made it happen, sometimes it was you. Usually the latter. It was like climbing into the prize ring: you should feel you owed them something or you shouldn't be in there. I jabbbed and crossed and shuffled, and in the last round I really opened up and knocked out the referee. Performance is performance. Because I had bombed the night before my success must have seemed very strange to them. It certainly seemed strange to me.

Cassie was waiting in the bar. Sara slipped me a love note with her phone number. Debra was not as inventive-she just wrote down her phone number. For a moment-strangely-I thought about Katherine, then I bought Cassie a drink. I'd never see Katherine again. My little Texas girl, my beauty of beauties. Goodbye, Katherine.

"Look, Cassie, can you drive me home? I'm too drunk to drive. One more drunk driving rap and I've had it."

"All right, I'll drive you home. How about your car?"

"Fuck it. I'll leave it."

We left together in her M.G. It was like a movie. At any moment I expected her to drop me off at the next corner. She was in her mid-twenties. She talked as we drove. She worked for a music company, loved it, didn't have to be at work until 10:30 am and she left at 3 pm. "Not bad," she said, "and I like it. I can hire and fire, I've moved up, but I haven't had to fire anybody yet. They're good folks and we've put out some great records…"

We arrived at my place. I broke out the vodka. Cassie's hair came down almost to her ass. I had always been a hair and leg man.

"You really read well tonight," she said. "You were a totally different person than the night before. I don't know how to explain it, but at your best you have this… humanness. Most poets are such little prigs and shits."

"I don't like them either."

"And they don't like you."

We drank some more and then went to bed. Her body was amazing, glorious, Playboy style, but unfortunately I was drunk. I did get it up, however, and I pumped and pumped, I grabbed her long hair, I got it out from under her and ran my hands through it, I was excited but I couldn't finally do it. I rolled off, told Cassie goodnight, and slept a guilty sleep.

In the morning I was embarrassed. I was sure I would never see Cassie again. We dressed. It was about 10 am. We walked to the M. G. and got in. I didn't talk, she didn't talk. I felt the fool, but there was nothing to say. We drove back to The Lancer and there was the blue Volks.

"Thanks for all of it, Cassie. Think nice thoughts about Chinaski."

She didn't answer. I kissed her on the cheek and got out. She drove off in the M.G. It was, after all, as Lydia had often said, "If you want to drink, drink; if you want to fuck, throw the bottle away."

My problem was that I wanted to do both.

So I was surprised when the phone rang a couple of nights later and it was Cassie.

"What are you doing, Hank?"

"Just sitting around…"

"Why don't you come over?"

"I'd like to…"

She gave me the address, it was either Westwood or West L. A.

"I have plenty to drink," she said. "You needn't bring anything."

"Maybe I shouldn't drink anything?"

"It's all right."

"If you pour it, I'll drink it. If you don't, I won't."

"Don't worry about it," she said.

I got dressed, jumped into the Volks, and drove to the address. How many breaks did a man have coming? The gods were good to me, of late. Maybe it was a test? Maybe it was a trick? Fatten Chinaski up, then slice him in half. I knew that might be coming too. But what can you do after a couple of 8-counts with only 2 rounds left to go?

Cassie's apartment was on the second floor. She seemed glad to see me. A large black dog leaped on me. He was huge and floppy and male. He stood with his paws on my shoulders and licked my face. I pushed him off. He stood there wiggling his butt and making begging sounds. He had long black hair and appeared to be a mongrel, but what a big one he was.

"That's Elton," said Cassie.

She went to the refrigerator and got the wine.

"This is what you should drink. I've got plenty of it."

She was dressed in an all-green gown which clung tightly to her. She was like a snake. She had on shoes sequined with green stones, and once again I noticed how long her hair was, not only long but full, there was such a mass of it. It came down at least to her ass. Her eyes were large and blue-green, sometimes more blue than green, sometimes the other way around, depending upon how the light hit them. I noticed two of my books in her bookcase, two of the better ones.

Cassie sat down, opened the wine and poured two.

"We kind of met somehow during that last encounter, we touched somewhere. I didn't want to let it go," she said.

"I enjoyed it," I said.

"Want an upper?"

"All right," I said.

She brought out two. Black cap. The best. I sent mine down with the wine.

"I've got the best dealer in town. He doesn't rip me off," she said.

"Good."

"You ever been hooked?" she asked.

"I tried coke for a while, but I couldn't stand the comedown. I was afraid to go into the kitchen the next day because there was a butcher knife in there. Besides, 50 to 75 bucks a day is beyond me.

"I've got some coke." I pass.

She poured more wine.

I don't know why, but with each new woman it seemed like the first time, almost as if I had never been with a woman before. I kissed Cassie. As I kissed her I let one hand run through all that long hair.

"Want some music?"

"No, not really."

"You knew Dee Dee Bronson, didn't you?" Cassie asked.

"Yes, we split."

"You heard what happened to her?"

"No."

"First she lost her job, then she went to Mexico. She met a retired bullfighter. The bullfighter beat the shit out of her and took her life savings, $7,000."

"Poor Dee Dee: from me to that."

Cassie got up. I watched her walk across the room. Her ass moved and shimmered under that tight green gown. She came back with papers and some grass. She rolled a joint.

"Then she got in a car crash."

"She never could drive. Do you know her well?"

"No. But we hear about things in the industry."

"Just living until you die is hard work," I said.

Cassie passed the joint. "Your life seems in order," she said.

"Really?"

"I mean, you don't come on or try to impress like some men. And you seem naturally funny."

"I like your ass and your hair," I said, "and your lips and your eyes and your wine and your place and your joints. But I'm not in order."

"You write a lot about women."

"I know. I wonder sometimes what I will write about after that."

"Maybe it won't stop."

"Everything stops."

"Let me have some of that joint."

"Sure, Cassie."

She took a hit and then I kissed her. I pulled her head back by the hair. I forced her lips open. It was a long one. Then I let her go.

"You like that, don't you?" she asked.

"To me it's more personal and sexual than fucking."

"I think you're right," she said.

We smoked and drank for several hours, then went to bed. We kissed and played. I was good and hard and I stroked her well, but after ten minutes I knew I wasn't going to make it. Too much to drink again. I began to sweat and strain. I stroked some more, then rolled off.

"I'm sorry, Cassie…"

I watched her head move down to my penis. It was still hard. She began licking it. The dog jumped up on the bed and I kicked him off. I watched Cassie licking my cock. The moonlight came through the window and I could see her clearly. She took the end of my dick in her mouth and just nibbled at it. Suddenly she went for it all and she worked well, running her tongue up and down the length of my cock as she sucked. It was glorious.