Hot Water Music

  I ran out of the lot, walked south a few feet, and said, “Shit!” I turned and ran back to the lot and the garbage cans. I had left my whiskey there. A fifth in a paper bag. I got it.

  I went south again to the corner, crossed the street, found a mailbox, looked around. Nobody. I took the bills out of the wallet, dropped the wallet into the box.

  Next I walked north until I came to the Hotel Helen. I went in, went up the stairway, knocked on the door.

  “BETTY, IT’S BENNY! FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, OPEN UP!”

  The door opened.

  “Shit…what is it?” she asked.

  “I’ve got some whiskey.”

  I got inside, put the chain on the door. She had the lights on. I marched around cutting them off. Then it was dark.

  “What’s the matter,” she asked, “you crazy?”

  I found the glasses and with a shaking hand poured two.

  I took her to the window. The police cars were already there, lights blinking.

  “What the hell happened?” she asked.

  “Some guy busted Jimmy’s sack,” I said.

  You could hear the ambulance coming. Then it was in the parking lot. They loaded the girl in first. Then they got Jimmy.

  “Who got the girl?” Betty asked.

  “Jimmy…”

  “Who got Jimmy?”

  “What the hell does it matter?”

  I set my drink on the window sill and reached into my pocket. I counted out the bills. $480.

  “Here, baby…”

  I handed her $50.

  “Jesus, thanks, Benny!”

  “It’s nothing…”

  “Those horses must really be coming in!”

  “Better than ever, baby…”

  “Cheers!” she said lifting her glass.

  “Cheers,” I said, lifting mine.

  We clicked glasses, then drank them off as the ambulance backed out, turned south, siren on.

  It just wasn’t our turn yet.

  FOOLING MARIE

  It was a warm night at the quarterhorse races. Ted had arrived carrying $200 and now going into the third race he was carrying $530. He knew his horses. Maybe he wasn’t much good at anything else but he knew his horses. Ted stood watching the toteboard and looking at the people. They lacked any ability to rate a horse. But they still brought their money and their dreams to the track. The track ran a $2 exacta almost every race to lure them in. That and the Pick-6. Ted never touched the Pick-6 or the exactas or the doubles. Just straight win on the best horse, which wasn’t necessarily the favorite.

  Marie bitched so much about his going to the track that he only went two or three times a week. He had sold his company and retired early from the construction business. There really wasn’t much else for him to do.

  The four horse looked good at six-to-one but there was still 18 minutes to post. He felt a tug at his coat sleeve.

  “Pardon me, sir, but I’ve lost the first two races. I saw you cashing in your tickets. You look like a guy who knows what he’s doing. Who do you like in this next race?”

  She was a strawberry blonde, about 24, slender hips, surprisingly big breasts; long legs, a cute turned-up nose, flower mouth; dressed in a pale blue dress, wearing white high-heeled shoes. Her blue eyes looked up at him.

  “Well,” Ted smiled at her, “I’ve usually got the winner.”

  “I’m used to betting on thoroughbreds,” said the strawberry blonde. “These quarterhorse races are so fast!”

  “Yeah. Most of them are run in under 18 seconds. You find out pretty quick whether you’re right or wrong.”

  “If my mother knew I was out here losing my money she’d belt-whip me.”

  “I’d like to belt-whip you myself,” said Ted.

  “You’re not one of those, are you?” she asked.

  “Just joking,” said Ted. “Come on, let’s go to the bar. Maybe we can pick you a winner.”

  “All right, Mr.—?”

  “Just call me Ted. What’s your name?”

  “Victoria.”

  They walked into the bar. “What’ll you have?” Ted asked.

  “Whatever you’re having,” said Victoria.

  Ted ordered two Jack Daniels. He stood and knocked his off and she sipped at hers, looking straight ahead. Ted checked her ass: perfect. She was better than some god damned movie starlet, and she didn’t look spoiled.

  “Now,” said Ted, pointing to his program, “in the next race the four horse figures best and they are giving six-to-one odds…”

  Victoria let out a very sexy, “Oooh…?” She leaned over to look at his program, touching him with her arm. Then he felt her leg press against his.

  “People just don’t know how to rate a horse,” he told her. “Show me a man who can rate a horse and I’ll show you a man who can win all the money he can carry.”

  She smiled at him. “I wish I had going what you’ve got going.”

  “You’ve got plenty going, baby. Want another drink?”

  “Oh no, thank you…”

  “Well, listen,” said Ted, “we better bet.”

  “All right, I’ll bet $2 to win. Which is it, the number four horse?”

  “Yeah, baby, it’s the four…”

  They placed their bets and went out to watch the race. The four didn’t break well, got bumped on both sides, righted himself, was running fifth in a nine horse field, but then began to accelerate and came down to the wire bobbing heads with the two-to-one favorite. Photo.

  God damn, thought Ted, I’ve got to have this one. Please give me this one!

  “Oh,” said Victoria, “I’m so excited!”

  The toteboard flashed the number. Four.

  Victoria screamed and jumped up and down gleefully. “We won, we won, we WON!”

  She grabbed Ted and he felt the kiss on his cheek.

  “Take it easy, baby, the best horse won, that’s all.”

  They waited for the official sign and then the tote flashed the payoff. $14.60.

  “How much did you bet?” Victoria asked.

  “Forty win,” said Ted.

  “How much do you get back?”

  “$292. Let’s collect.”

  They began walking toward the windows. Then Ted felt Victoria’s hand in his. She pulled him to a stop.

  “Bend over,” she said, “I want to whisper something in your ear.”

  Ted leaned over, felt her cool pink lips up against his ear. “You’re a…magic man…I want to…fuck you…”

  Ted stood there grinning weakly at her. “My god,” he said.

  “What’s the matter? Are you afraid?”

  “No, no, it’s not that…”

  “What is the matter then?”

  “It’s Marie…my wife…I’m married…and she has me timed down to the minute. She knows when the races are over and when I’m due in.”

  Victoria laughed: “We’ll leave now! We’ll go to a motel!”

  “Well, sure,” said Ted…

  They cashed their tickets and walked out to the parking lot. “We’ll take my car. I’ll drive you back when we’re finished,” Victoria said.

  They found her car, a blue 1982 Fiat, it matched her dress. The license plate read: VICKY. As she put her key in the door, Victoria hesitated. “You’re really not one of those kind, are you?”

  “What kind?” Ted asked.

  “A belt-whipper, one of those. My mother had a terrible experience once…”

  “Relax,” said Ted. “I’m harmless.”

  They found a motel about a mile and a half from the track. The Blue Moon. Only The Blue Moon was painted green. Victoria parked and they got out, went in, signed in, were given Room 302. They had stopped for a bottle of Cutty Sark on the way.

  Ted peeled the cellophane from the glasses, lit a cigarette, and poured a couple as Victoria undressed. The panties and the bra were pink, and the body was pink and white and beautiful. It was amazing how now and then a woman was created who looked like that, wh
en all the others, most of the others, had nothing, or next to nothing. It was maddening. Victoria was a beautiful, maddening dream.

  Victoria was naked. She came over and sat on the edge of the bed next to Ted. She crossed her legs. Her breasts were very firm and she looked as if she was already aroused. He really couldn’t believe his luck. Then she giggled.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Are you thinking about your wife?”

  “Well, no, I was thinking about something else.”

  “Well, you should think about your wife…”

  “Hell,” said Ted, “you were the one who suggested fucking!”

  “I wish you wouldn’t use that word…”

  “Are you backing out?”

  “Well, no. Listen, you got a cigarette?”

  “Sure…”

  Ted pulled one out, handed it to her, lighted it as she held it in her mouth.

  “You’ve got the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen,” said Ted.

  “I don’t doubt that,” she said, smiling.

  “Hey, are you backing out of this thing?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” she answered, “get your clothes off.”

  Ted began undressing, feeling fat and old and ugly, but he also felt lucky—it had been his best day at the track, in many ways. He draped his clothes over a chair and sat down next to Victoria.

  Ted poured a new drink for each of them.

  “You know,” he told her, “you’re a class act but I’m a class act too. We each have our own way of showing it. I made it big in the construction business and I’m still making it big with the horses. Not everybody has that instinct.”

  Victoria drank half of her Cutty Sark and smiled at him. “Oh, you’re my big fat Buddha!”

  Ted drained his drink. “Listen, if you don’t want to do it, we won’t do it. Forget it.”

  “Lemme see what Buddha’s got…”

  Victoria reached down and slid her hand between his legs. She got it, she held it.

  “Oh oh…I feel something…” Victoria said.

  “Sure…So what?”

  Then her head ducked down. She kissed it at first. Then he felt her open mouth and her tongue.

  “You cunt!” he said.

  Victoria lifted her head up and looked at him. “Please, I don’t like dirty talk.”

  “All right, Vicky, all right. No dirty talk.”

  “Get under the sheets, Buddha!”

  Ted got under there and he felt her body next to his. Her skin was cool and her mouth opened and he kissed her and pushed his tongue in. He liked it like that, fresh, spring fresh, young, new, good. What a god damned delight. He’d rip her! He played with her down there, she was a long time coming around. Then he felt her open up and he forced his finger in. He had her, the bitch. He pulled his finger out and rubbed the clit. You want foreplay, you’ll get foreplay! he thought.

  He felt her teeth dig into his lower lip, the pain was terrible. Ted pulled away, tasting the blood and feeling the wound on his lip. He half rose and slapped Victoria hard across the side of her face, then backhanded her across the other side of the face. He found her, down there, slid it in, rammed it in her while putting his mouth back on hers. Ted worked away in wild vengeance, now and then pulling his head back, looking at her. He tried to save it, to hold back, and then he saw that cloud of strawberry hair fanned across the pillow in the moonlight.

  Ted was sweating and moaning like a high school boy. This was it. Nirvana. The place to be. Victoria was silent. Ted’s moans lessened and then after a moment he rolled off.

  He stared into the darkness.

  I forgot to suck her tits, he thought.

  Then he heard her voice. “You know what?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “You remind me of one of those quarterhorses.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s all over in 18 seconds.”

  “We’ll race again, baby,” he said…

  She went to the bathroom. Ted wiped off on the sheet, the old pro. Victoria was rather a nasty number, in a way. But she could be handled. He had something going. How many men owned their own home and had 150 grand in the bank at his age? He was a class act and she damn well knew it.

  Victoria came walking out of the bathroom still looking cool, untouched, almost virginal. Ted switched on the bedlamp. He sat up and poured two more. She sat on the edge of the bed with her drink and he climbed out and sat on the edge of the bed next to her.

  “Victoria,” he said, “I can make things good for you.”

  “I guess you’ve got your ways, Buddha.”

  “And I’ll be a better lover.”

  “Sure.”

  “Listen, you should have known me when I was young. I was tough, but I was good. I had it. I still have it.”

  She smiled at him, “Come on, Buddha, it’s not all that bad. You’ve got a wife, you’ve got lots of things going for you.”

  “Except one thing,” he said, draining his drink and looking at her. “Except the one thing I really want…”

  “Look at your lip! You’re bleeding!”

  Ted looked down into his glass. There were drops of blood in his drink and he felt blood on his chin. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

  “I’m going to shower and clean up, baby, be right back.”

  He walked into the bathroom, slid the shower door open and began to run the water, testing it with his hand. It seemed about right and he stepped in, the water running off him. He could see the blood in the water running into the drain. Some wildcat. All she needed was a steadying hand.

  Marie was all right, she was kind, kind of dull actually. She had lost the intensity of youth. It wasn’t her fault. Maybe he could find a way to stay with Marie and have Victoria on the side. Victoria renewed his youth. He needed some fucking renewal. And he needed some more good fucking like that. Of course, women were all crazy, they demanded more than there was. They didn’t realize that making it was not a glorious experience, but only a necessary one.

  “Hurry up, Buddha!” he heard her call. “Don’t leave me all alone out here!”

  “I won’t be long, baby!” he yelled from under the shower.

  He soaped up good, washing it all away.

  Then Ted got out, toweled off, then opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom.

  The motel room was empty. She was gone.

  There was a distance between ordinary objects and between events that was remarkable. All at once, he saw the walls, the rug, the bed, two chairs, the coffee table, the dresser, and the ashtray with their cigarettes. The distance between these things was immense. Then and now were light years apart.

  On an impulse, he ran to the closet and pulled the door open. Nothing but coat hangers.

  Then Ted realized that his clothes were gone. His underwear, his shirt, his pants, his car keys and wallet, his cash, his shoes, his stockings, everything.

  On another impulse he looked under the bed. Nothing.

  Then Ted noticed the bottle of Cutty Sark, half full, standing on the dresser and he walked over, picked it up and poured himself a drink. And as he did he saw two words scrawled on the dresser mirror in pink lipstick: “GOODBYE BUDDHA!”

  Ted drank the drink, put the glass down and saw himself in the mirror—very fat, very old. He had no idea what to do next.

  He carried the Cutty Sark back to the bed, sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress where he and Victoria had sat together. He lifted the bottle and sucked at it as the bright neon lights from the boulevard came through the dusty blinds.

  He sat, looking out, not moving, watching the cars passing back and forth.

  About the Author

  CHARLES BUKOWSKI is one of America’s best-known contemporary writers of poetry and prose, and, many would claim, its most influential and imitated poet. He was born in Andernach, Germany, to an American soldier father and a German mother in 1920, and brought to the United States at
the age of three. He was raised in Los Angeles and lived there for fifty years. He published his first story in 1944 when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. He died in San Pedro, California, on March 9, 1994, at the age of seventy-three, shortly after completing his last novel, Pulp (1994).

  During his lifetime he published more than forty-five books of poetry and prose, including the novels Post Office (1971), Factotum (1975), Women (1978), Ham on Rye (1982), and Hollywood (1989). Among his most recent books are the posthumous editions of What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire (1999), Open All Night: New Poems (2000), Beerspit Night and Cursing: The Correspondence of Charles Bukowski and Sheri Martinelli, 1960—1967 (2001), and The Night Torn Mad with Footsteps: New Poems (2001).

  All of his books have now been published in translation in over a dozen languages and his worldwide popularity remains undiminished. In the years to come, Ecco will publish additional volumes of previously uncollected poetry and letters.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  BY CHARLES BUKOWSKI

  AVAILABLE FROM ECCO

  The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills (1969)

  Post Office (1971)

  Mockingbird Wish Me Luck (1972)

  South of No North (1973)

  Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame: Selected Poems 1955—1973 (1974)

  Factotum (1975)

  Love Is a Dog from Hell: Poems 1974—1977 (1977)

  Women (1978)

  Play the Piano Drunk /Like a Percussion Instrument/ Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit (1979)

  Shakespeare Never Did This (1979)

  Dangling in the Tournefortia (1981)

  Ham on Rye (1982)

  Bring Me Your Love (1983)

  Hot Water Music (1983)

  There’s No Business (1984)

  War All the Time: Poems 1981—1984 (1984)