“Three months in Paris! You can trust Rosenbaum.”
“Two months in Paris. I can’t trust Rosenbaum that much.”
“All right, two months in Paris. Listen to the Hemingway birds!”
“Listen to the Hemingway birds. They’re going to blow their brains out!”
They finished their drinks, made love and slept the remainder of the night.
Carl knocked three times and Billy opened the door. There was a big brunette on the couch (at least she looked big) with Billy in the room. Billy was a jock.
“Who’s this?” asked Carl.
“This is Joyce,” said Billy.
“Can I make you some coffee?” Joyce asked Carl.
“No way,” said Carl.
“Listen,” said Billy, “you don’t have to act nasty.”
Billy walked over and sat next to Joyce on the couch.
“Act nasty?” said Carl. “Act nasty? Listen, I’ve been hustling you rides, I got you mounts with the best trainers in the game, even Harry Desditch, and what do you do?”
“Desditch? All he gives me are dogs. When his mounts get hot, the Shoe gets right on or Pinky. My stuff goes off at 80-1.”
“All right, I get your rides, don’t I? You get your fee. You get more for one ride than a lot of men get working all day. I get you out of the bullring, I get you up where you get a chance to cut some purses and what do you do? You go for a ride with a battery! Where’d you try to sting him? Maybe you should have had an instruction kit.”
“I stung him on the bunghole,” said Billy.
The brunette giggled. Billy grinned.
“Oh, it’s funny, is it?” said Carl, walking up and down the floor. “You know how long you’re gonna get set down?”
“Six months,” said Billy, “I need a rest.”
“They’ll set you down for two years. You’ll be lucky to exercise horses.”
“Six months,” said Billy, “I’ll be able to do some eating.”
“Two years,” said Carl, “and if you eat up, you’ll never come down. Your bone structure is too large. You’ll be finished.”
“He can eat me then,” said Joyce.
“If he don’t eat any better than he’s been riding, you won’t know he’s there. Not unless he gets down there with his battery.”
Billy stood up from the couch. He weighed 112. Carl was 218.
“Listen, you can’t talk about my woman that way.”
“Maybe you ought to sting her on the bunghole too.”
Billy rushed Carl, swinging. Carl grabbed him by both wrists, then shouldered him back down on the couch.
“Bastard,” said Billy, “I’ll kill you!”
“You leave Billy alone,” said Joyce.
Carl walked back and forth across the room. They sat on the couch watching him.
“A battery! Great Jesus, a battery! Why don’t you use your brain? No matter what you do to a horse, burn him, tickle him or dope him, you can’t improve him over two and one-half lengths at six furlongs, you can’t get but three extra lengths out of him at a mile or over. If you’re riding a goddamned pig that’s eight lengths worse than the field, then what in the hell good are three lengths going to do you?”
“I didn’t know how it worked,” said Billy, “I didn’t consider that.”
Carl kept walking back and forth. “You didn’t consider that! After I pull you out of those bullrings and get you one-half a rep, after I give you a chance to finally cut a good purse, you didn’t consider that?”
“Well, if I had any brains, I’d be booking you.”
“You’d be booking me? At 218 pounds? Where?”
“Well, maybe doorman at the Biltmore.”
“Listen, I don’t see how you can be so glib about this. You made this dumb-ass error and you act like it’s a joke.”
“I’m sorry, Carl, I really don’t feel good about it.”
“Listen, Billy, where we had you, all you had to do was do your job. The human greed thing can be a killer. The whole game is set up so there’s enough for everybody, you don’t have to squeeze it. In the fifties back east they tried to set one up. They fixed the horse, they even fixed the jocks. It was all set. They bet the house, the car, the baby’s crib and grandma’s life savings. But something ailed the horse. He wouldn’t run. They backed up the pace and waited. Still he wouldn’t show up. That race cost those boys millions. And they didn’t need the money that bad. Everything was fixed and it still failed. And you got out there with a battery and a couple of wires and expect to conquer the world.”
“I wish you’d shut up about that goddamned battery,” said Billy.
“You got other boys to book,” said Joyce, “you’ll make it without booking Billy. You’re the one who’s greedy.”
“Yeah,” said Billy.
Carl stopped walking. He stood in front of the couch. “Well, maybe you’re right. I am being greedy. But, Billy, let me tell you this. If you don’t want to get barred for life, when you get up in front of that board, don’t act cute! Don’t crack wise. I think you got the makings of a damn good rider, I don’t want to see you blow it.
“O.K., Carl, O.K.”
“Billy, you were in this alone, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.”
“I mean, I didn’t notice any extra action on the board. When the books get an overload they dump it on the first flash. There wasn’t any action showing.”
“It was my idea.”
“O.K, Billy. Well, I’ll be going now. And remember, when you get in front of the board . . . ”
“I’ll remember,” said Billy.
Carl walked to the door, opened it, closed it and was gone.
“Well,” said Joyce, “he’s gone. He feels bad.”
“I feel bad, too. It was a dumb-ass trick.”
“O.K., let’s try to forget it. What’ll we do today?”
“I dunno, Joyce, let’s drive down to the beach.”
“It’s too cold to swim.”
“I know. We can walk around. Eat something. Catch a drink. Look at the ocean. Relax.”
“All right, it sounds good.”
Joyce got up and walked to the bathroom and started combing her hair. Billy got up and walked to the window. The apartment was three floors up, facing toward the boulevard. Yeah, it had been a dumb-ass trick. But he had a bigger woman than any of them. Even Johnny. And when he put that 112 pounds on her he whipped her like a tiger.
When Joyce came out of the bathroom they went out of the apartment together. They waited for the elevator together. As the elevator came up Joyce said, “Don’t worry, Billy, you’ll make it.”
“I know I will,” he said.
They got on the elevator together, the door closed and they sank down toward the street.
Jimmy was walking up the right side of Alvarado Street about 8:30 p.m. that Wednesday night when the yellow late-model car slowed along the curbing beside him. There were three women in there. “Hey, kid,” said one of them, “can you tell us where Avandale Terrace is?”
“What?” asked Jimmy walking over to the car.
Two of the women sat in the back, and the one dyed platinum with the excessive lipstick on, the one nearest the curbing, opened the door and pointed the .32 and said, “Get in, kid, and now . . . ” Jimmy got in the back seat between them.
“Listen,” he told the women, “I’ve only got $2 or $3 . . . ”
“We don’t want your money, kid,” said the one who was driving. The one who was driving was the oldest; she had a very sad look on her face, a rather thick neck and wore very thick-rimmed glasses. The only attractive woman was the third, about 23, pale and sleepy-looking, but she lacked even fair breasts.
“What do you want with me then?” asked Jimmy. The platinum blonde kept the gun in his ribs.
“We want your cherry, kid,” said the one who was driving.
The thin one giggled. The one
with the gun twisted it a little into his side.
“We’re takin’ you to Sarah’s apartment and that’s where we’re going to get your cherry. You still got your cherry, ain’t you, kid?” asked the one who was driving.
“I haven’t been laid, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh, look how uppity he is! I like ’em uppity! Lots of spirit, it excites me!” said the platinum, continuing to twist the gun into his ribs. “But you ain’t a fairy, are ya?”
“Fairy?”
“You know what I mean! Queer, fag . . . ”
The car took a hard right throwing Jimmy against the platinum. She took the hand that wasn’t holding the gun and pressed Jimmy’s head towards hers, kissing him. “You make me hot, you son of a bitch. I’m going to suck all the cream out of you, Virgin cream . . . ”
“You women can’t get away with this, I’ll go to the police.”
“You’ll kiss my Aunt Minnie’s ass too. A hell of a lot they’re going to believe your story. We’ll claim you raped us. It’s our word against yours. Anyhow, you’re going to like it, you’re really going to like it.”
Thick neck pulled under an apartment near the hills and they got out in the parking ramp and platinum poked Jimmy toward the elevator. “Just be cool, kid. I just got out of the Women’s Jail, Marin County Civic Center, San Rafael, and I’m capable of going right back there if you pull any shit. So if you don’t want to die with your cherry, cool it.”
They stood there while the 23-year-old with the minor breasts pushed the elevator button. The elevator came down, the door opened, they got on. One of the women pushed the button and it began to rise.
“I’m sure glad,” said thick neck, “that those Arabs are going to let us have a little oil for a couple of months. Man, it got so bad there I had to give my service station man some pussy for a mere tank of gas, an oil change and lube job and a small can of STP.”
“It’s all this greed,” said the platinum, “it’s this terrible immense greed that’s ruining this country.”
“O, come on, Dolly,” said the minor breasts, “this country’s been greedy for a long time.”
“I mean,” said Dolly, “that it’s getting so much worse.”
“The Lakers are playing the Warriors tonight,” said platinum. “I’m taking the Lakers and giving 2 points.”
“You’re on,” said thick neck, “five bucks.”
“Five bucks,” said platinum.
They got out of the elevator together, platinum pointing Jimmy down the hall with the .32 which she now held inside her purse. They stopped at 402, minor breasts got out the key, and then they were in the apartment, it was a nice apartment, wall-to-wall, and air-conditioning, vented heating, plenty of closet space.
“Sit down, kid,” said platinum, “and make yourself at home. Drink?”
“No.”
“You better have a drink. It’ll loosen you up. You look a little nervous.”
“No, nothing to drink, please.”
“I believe you will have a little Grand-dad and water. Fix him a jolt, Sarah.”
Sarah was the one with the minor breasts. She walked into the kitchen. The other two women stood looking at Jimmy who sat on the couch. “I do believe he’s a real virgin,” said thick neck, “look at him.”
“You play with your pud, kid?” asked the platinum.
Jimmy didn’t answer.
“You shouldn’t play with your pud, kid, it’s not natural, it affects the brain waves.”
“Yeah,” said thick neck.
Sarah came out with the drink. She handed it to Jimmy.
“Drink it down,” said platinum, “it’ll loosen your exhibitions.”
Jimmy got it down in two tries, coughed a bit.
“Please, please . . . let me go,” he said.
“Oh, shit,” said Sarah, “Take off your clothes.”
“Please . . . ”
“The girl said take off your clothes, kid,” platinum exclaimed, “now take ’em off!”
Jimmy stood up and unbuttoned his shirt, took it off, then sat down, took off his shoes, then got out of his pants.
“Oh, shit! Look at them skivvies!”
“He’s real cherry!”
“Take them skivvies off, kid!”
“Oooh, look at that cute bum!”
“And look at his tiny . . . ”
“Yeah, but it will get big . . . ”
“Who gets him first?”
“We’ll match, it’s only fair . . . ”
“O.K., hurry . . . Who’s got some coins . . . ?”
“Here, I have three nickels . . . ”
“O.K., odd woman gets . . . ”
“One, two, three . . . flip . . . !”
“Whatcha got?”
“I got heads.”
“I got tails.”
“I got tails.”
“O.K., he’s mine . . . I got heads . . . I get head!”
Thick neck advanced across the wall-to-wall. The others watched. “Kid, I’m going to fuck you good . . . you’re going to be calling for your mother . . . ”
“Helen, can’t I tongue his bunghole while you do it?”
“No, he’s mine, all mine!”
She moved toward Jimmy, licking her lips slightly. Sud denly she grabbed him and tried to kiss him. He pulled his head away and Helen kissed him along the neck. He got a hand around and pushed her head away. “Oooh,” said Helen, “I like this type! Real feisty!” Then she grabbed his head with both hands and kissed him long and hard on the lips, her tongue going in and out. Then she reached down and pulled his balls.
“Oh, Helen, look! HE’S GETTING HARD! HE CAN’T HELP HIMSELF! OH, HOW LOVELY!”
Helen already had her dress up and was working her panties down at the same time trying to hold Jimmy in reach. Sarah walked into the kitchen and poured herself a Grand-dad, drank it down. Dolly put on a Frank Sinatra record. Then they both stood there and watched as Helen forced Jimmy back on the couch and climbed on top of him, pulling her dress back out of the way.
He was sitting up at his place one night. He hadn’t had a woman in three or four years. He engaged in masturbation, drinking, and a grim yet comfortable isolation. He had often thought of being a writer and had bought a second-hand typewriter, but no writing had come of it. He was drinking wine and looking at the typewriter. He got up, walked over to it, sat down and typed:
I wish I had a woman. I wish a woman would knock on my door.
Then he got up, turned on the radio and poured another glass of wine. It was an early evening in July. Both of his parents had died within the last five years, plus his last girlfriend. He was in middle-age, tired, without hope, even without anger or resentment. He felt that the world was mostly for other people; what remained for him were merely matters of eating, sleeping, working, and waiting for death. He sat down on the sofa and waited.
There was a knock on the door. He got up and opened it. It was a woman in her mid-30s. Her eyes were very blue, almost frighteningly so. Her hair was a light red, a bit straggly; she was in a short black dress with red stripes revolving about the dress in barberpole fashion. She seemed neat, but casual. “Come in,” he said, “and sit down.”
He motioned her to the couch, went into the kitchen and poured her a glass of wine.
“Thank you. My name is Ms. Evans.”
“Thank you. My name is Fantoconni. Samuel Fantoconni.”
“Yes, we know, Mr. Fantoconni. We received your application and we’re here to ask you some questions.”
Ms. Evans crossed her legs and he could see flashes of upper thighs. He quickly memorized the upper thighs so that he could use them in his masturbation fantasies. Ms. Evans examined the piece of paper she held in front of her.
“Now, Mr. Fantoconni, how long have you been on your present job, the one with Carploa and Sons?”
“Twenty-two years.”
“How long were you married?” Ms. Evans crossed her legs again.
“T
hirteen years.”
“Did you like your marriage?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Yes, I don’t know.”
“You do know that you were divorced?”
“Do you need the bathroom?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you need the bathroom you go right through that door there.”
“I don’t need the bathroom, Mr. Fantoconni. Who divorced who?”
“She divorced me.”
“I see.”
He took her glass into the kitchen and refilled and refilled his own and brought them both out.
“Thank you,” she said taking her drink. “Now why didn’t your marriage work, Mr. Fantoconni?”
“Just call me Sam.”
“Mr. Fantoconni, why didn’t your marriage work?”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“Please! But what do you mean?”
“I mean that the structural relationship of marriage within our society is impossible.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I don’t have the time.”
“You don’t have the time? Why?”
“You’ve just answered my question.”
Ms. Evans lifted her drink and looked at him over her drink with her too-extremely blue eyes. “I don’t understand you.”
“I’m sorry. But you ask these questions.”
“We must query our prospective clients, Mr. Fantoconni.”
“Query, then.”
“Are you bashful?”
“Oh, Christ . . . ”
“Answer, please.”
“Yes.”
“Have you been hurt by women?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think women are hurt by men?”
“Yes.”
“What’s to be done?”
“Nothing.”
Ms. Evans finished her drink. “May I have another?”
“Of course.” He walked into the kitchen and poured two drinks. When he walked out again her skirt was hiked very high; the form of her haunches was unbelievably beautiful, much like magic. He felt frightened, yet pleased. She drank her drink immediately. “How old is your car?”
“Eleven years.”
“Eleven years?”