Women (23 page)

She was against the killing of animals, she didn’t eat meat. I guess she had enough meat. Everything was beautiful, she told me, we had all this beauty in the world and all we had to do was reach out and touch it, it was all there and all ours for the taking.

“You’re right, Cecelia,” I said. “Have another drink.”

“It makes me giddy.”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of giddy?”

Cecelia crossed her legs again and her thighs flashed. They flashed way up high.

Bill, you can’t use it now. You were a good poet, Bill, but what the hell, you left more behind than your writing. And your writing never had thighs and flanks like this.

Cecelia had another drink, then stopped. I kept going.

Where did all the women come from? The supply was endless. Each one of them was individual, different. Their pussies were different, their kisses were different, their breasts were different, but no man could drink them all, there were too many of them, crossing their legs, driving men mad. What a feast!

“I want to go to the beach. Will you take me to the beach, Hank?” Cecelia asked.

“Tonight?”

“No, not tonight. But sometime before I leave.”

“All right.”

Cecelia talked about how the American Indian had been abused. Then she told me that she wrote, but she never submitted it, she just kept a notebook. Bill had encouraged and helped her with some of her things. She’d helped Bill get through the university. Of course, the G.I. Bill had helped, too. And there had always been codeine, he had always been hooked on codeine. She’d threatened to leave him again and again, but it didn’t help. Now—

“Drink this, Cecelia,” I said, “it will help you forget.”

I poured her a tall one.

“Oh, I couldn’t drink all that!”

“Cross your legs higher. Let me see more of your legs.”

“Bill never talked to me like that.”

I continued to drink. Cecelia continued to talk. After a while I didn’t listen. Midnight came and left.

“Listen, Cecelia, let’s go to bed. I’m bombed.”

I walked into the bedroom and undressed, got under the covers. I heard her walk by and go into the bathroom. I switched the bedroom light off. She came out soon and I felt her getting into the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Cecelia,” I said.

I pulled her to me. She was naked. Jesus, I thought. We kissed.

She kissed very well. It was a long, hot one. We finished. “Cecelia?” “Yes?”

“I’ll fuck you some other time.” I rolled over and went to sleep.

79

Bobby and Valerie came by and I introduced everybody around.

“Valerie and I are going to take a vacation and rent rooms by the seashore in Manhattan Beach,” said Bobby. “Why don’t you guys come along? We could split the rent. There are two bedrooms.”

“No, Bobby, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, Hank, please!” said Cecelia. “I just love the ocean! Hank, if we go down there I’ll even drink with you. I promise!”

“All right, Cecelia.”

“Fine,” said Bobby. “We leave this evening. We’ll pick you guys up around 6 pm. We’ll have dinner together.”

“That sounds real good,” said Cecelia.

“Hank’s fun to eat with,” said Valerie. “Last time we went out with him we walked into this fancy place and he told the head waiter right off, 'I want cole slaw and french fries for my friends here! A double order of each, and don’t water the drinks or I’ll have your coat and tie!’”

“I can’t wait!” said Cecelia.

Cecelia wanted to go for a constitutional around 2 pm. We walked through the court. She noticed the poinsettias. She walked right up to a bush and stuck her face into the flowers, caressing them with her fingers.

“Oh, they’re so beautiful!”

“They’re dying, Cecelia. Can’t you see how shriveled they are? The smog is killing them.”

We walked along under the palms.

“And there are birds everywhere! Hundreds of birds, Hank!”

“And dozens of cats.”

We drove to Manhattan Beach with Bobby and Valerie, moved into our waterfront apartment and went out to eat. The dinner was fair. Cecelia had one drink with her dinner and explained all about her vegetarianism. She had soup, salad and yogurt; the remainder of us had steaks, french fries, french bread, and salad. Bobby and Valerie stole the salt and pepper shakers, two steak knives and the tip I had left for the waiter.

We stopped for liquor, ice and smokes, then went back to the apartment. Her one drink had Cecelia giggling and talking and she was explaining that animals had souls too. Nobody challenged her opinion. It was possible, we knew. What we weren’t sure of was if we had any.

80

We continued drinking. Cecelia had just one more and stopped.

“I want to go out and look at the moon and stars,” she said. “It’s so beautiful out!”

“All right, Cecelia.”

She went outside by the swimming pool and sat in.a deck chair.

“No wonder Bill died,” I said. “He starved. She never gives it away.”

“She talked the same way about you at dinner when you went to the men’s room,” said Valerie. “She said, 'Oh, Hank’s poems are so full of passion, but as a person he’s not that way at all!’”

“Me and God don’t always pick the same horse.”

“You fucked her yet?” asked Bobby.

“No.”

“What was Keesing like?”

“All right. But I really wonder how he stood being with her. Maybe the codeine and pills helped. Maybe she was like a big flower-child-nurse to him.”

“Fuck it,” said Bobby, “let’s drink.”

“Yeah. If I had to choose between drinking and fucking I think I’d have to stop fucking.”

“Fucking can cause problems,” said Valerie.

“When my wife is out fucking somebody else I put on my pyjamas, pull the covers up and go to sleep,” said Bobby.

“He’s cool,” said Valerie.

“None of us quite know how to use sex, what to do with it,” I said. “With most people sex is just a toy—wind it up and let it run.”

“What about love?” asked Valerie.

“Love is all right for those who can handle the psychic overload. It’s like trying to carry a full garbage can on your back over a rushing river of piss.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad!”

“Love is a form of prejudice. I have too many other prejudices.”

Valerie went to the window.

“People are having fun, jumping into the pool, and she’s out there looking at the moon.”

“Her old man just died,” said Bobby. “Give her a break.”

I took my bottle and went to my bedroom. I undressed down to my shorts and went to bed. Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegetarianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Bach, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice.

I took my choice. I raised the fifth of vodka and drank it straight. The Russians knew something.

The door opened and Cecelia walked in. She looked good with her low-slung powerful body. Most American women were either too thin or without stamina. If you gave them rough use something broke in them and they became neurotic and their men became sport freaks or alcoholics or obsessed with cars. The Norwegians, the Icelanders, the Finns knew how a woman should be built: wide and solid, a big ass, big hips, big white flanks, big heads, big mouths, big tits, plenty of hair, big eyes, big nostrils, and down in the center—big enough and small enough.

“Hello, Cecelia. Come on to bed.”

“It was nice out tonight.”

“I suppose. Come say hello.”

She went into the bathroom. I switched off the bedroom light.

She came out after a while. I felt her climb into bed. It was dark but some light came in through the curtains. I handed her the fifth. She took a tiny sip, then handed the bottle back. We were sitting up, our backs against the headboard and the pillows. We were thigh to thigh.

“Hank, the moon was just a tiny sliver. But the stars were brilliant and beautiful. It makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Some of those stars have been dead for millions of light-years and yet we can still see them.”

I reached around and pulled Cecelia’s head toward me. Her mouth opened. It was wet and it was good.

“Cecelia, let’s fuck.”

“I don’t want to.”

In a way I didn’t want to either. Which is why I had asked.

“You don’t want to? Then why do you kiss like that?”

“I think that people should take the time to get to know each other.”

“Sometimes there’s not that much time.”

“I don’t want to do it.”

I got out of bed. I walked down in my shorts and knocked on Bobby and Valerie’s door.

“What is it?” Bobby asked.

“She won’t fuck me.”

“So?”

“Let’s go for a swim.”

“It’s late. The pool is closed.”

“Closed? There’s water, isn’t there?”

“I mean, the lights are off.”

“That’s all right. She won’t fuck me.”

“You don’t have a bathing suit.”

“I have my shorts.”

“All right, wait a minute. . . .”

Bobby and Valerie came out dressed beautifully in new tight-fitting swim suits. Bobby handed me a Columbian and I took a hit. “What’s wrong with Cecelia?” “Christian chemistry.”

We walked to the pool. It was true, the lights were out. Bobby and Valerie dove into the pool in tandem. I sat at the edge of the pool, my legs dangling in. I sucked from the fifth of vodka.

Bobby and Valerie surfaced together. Bobby swam over to the edge of the pool. He pulled at one of my ankles.

“Come on, shit head! Show some guts! DIVE!”

I took another hit of vodka, then set the bottle down. I didn’t dive. I carefully lowered myself over the edge. Then I dropped in. It was strange in the dark water. I sank slowly towards the bottom of the pool. I was 6 feet tall and weighed 225 pounds. I waited to touch bottom and push off. Where was the bottom? There it was, and I was almost out of oxygen. I pushed off. I went back up slowly. Finally I broke the surface of the water.

“Death to all whores who keep their legs closed against me!” I screamed.

A door opened and a man came running out of a ground floor apartment. He was the manager.

“Hey, there is no swimming allowed this time of night! The pool lights are off!”

I paddled toward him, reached the pool edge and looked up at him. “Look, motherfucker, I drink two barrels of beer a day and I’m a professional wrestler. I’m a kindly sou! by nature. But I intend to swim and I want those lights turned ON! NOW! I’m only asking you one time!”

I paddled off.

The lights went on. The pool was brilliantly lit. It was magic. I paddled toward the vodka, took it down from the pool edge and had a good one. The bottle was almost empty. I looked down and Valerie and Bobby were swimming in circles around each other underwater. They were good at it, they were lithe and graceful. How odd that everybody was younger than I.

We finished with the pool. I walked to the manager’s door in my wet shorts and knocked. He opened the door. I liked him.

“Hey, buddy, you can flick out the lights now. I’m through swimming. You’re O.K., baby, you’re O.K.”

We walked back to our apartment.

“Have a drink with us,” said Bobby. “I know that you’re unhappy.”

I went in and had two drinks.

Valerie said, “Look, Hank, you and your women! You can’t fuck them all, don’t you know that?” “Victory or death!” “Sleep it off, Hank.” “Goodnight, folks, and thanks. . . .”

I went back to my bedroom. Cecelia was flat on her back and she was snoring, “Guzzz, guzzz, guzzz. ...”

She looked fat to me. I took off my wet shorts, climbed into bed. I shook her.

“Cecelia, you’re SNORING!”

“Oooh, oooh. . . . I’m sorry. ...”

“O.K., Cecelia. This is just like being married. I’ll get you in the morning when I’m fresh.”

81

A sound awakened me. It was not quite daylight. Cecelia was moving around getting dressed.

I looked at my watch.

“It’s 5 am. What are you doing?”

“I want to watch the sun come up. I love sunrises!”

“No wonder you don’t drink.”

“I’ll be back. We can have breakfast together.”

“I haven’t been able to eat breakfast for 40 years.”

“I’m going to watch the sunrise, Hank.”

I found a capped bottle of beer. It was warm. I opened it, drank it. Then I slept.

At 10:30 am there was a knock on the door.

“Come in. ...”

It was Bobby, Valerie and Cecelia.

“We just had breakfast together,” said Bobby.

“Now Cecelia wants to take her shoes off and walk along the beach,” said Valerie.

“I’ve never seen the Pacific Ocean before, Hank. It’s so beautiful!”

“I’ll get dressed. . . .”

We walked along the shoreline. Cecelia was happy. When the waves came in and ran over her bare feet she screamed. “You people go ahead,” I said, “I’m going to find a bar.” “I’ll come with you,” said Bobby. “I’ll watch over Cecelia,” Valerie said. . . .

We found the nearest bar. There were only two empty stools. We sat down. Bobby drew a male. I drew a female. Bobby and I ordered our drinks.

The woman next to me was 26, 27. Something had wearied her—her eyes and mouth looked tired—but she still held together in spite of it. Her hair was dark and well-kept. She had on a skirt and she had good legs. Her soul was topaz and you could see it in her eyes. I laid my leg against hers. She didn’t move away. I drained my drink.

“Buy me a drink,” I asked her.

She nodded to the barkeep. He came over.

“Vodka-7 for the gentleman.”

“Thanks. . . .”

“Babette.”

“Thanks, Babette. My name’s Henry Chinaski, alcoholic writer.”

“Never heard of you.”

“Likewise.”

“I run a shop near the beach. Trinkets and crap, mostly crap.”