I don’t remember much about the reading but I awakened in bed the next day, alone. Joe Washington knocked about 11 AM.
“Hey, man, that was one of your best readings!”
“Really? You’re not shitting me?”
“No, you were right there. Here’s the check.”
“Thanks, Joe.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to meet Burroughs?”
“I’m sure.”
“He’s reading tonight. You going to stay for his reading?”
“I gotta get back to L.A., Joe.”
“You ever heard him read?”
“Joe, I want to take a shower and get out of here. You’re going to drive me to the airport?”
“Sure.”
When we left Burroughs was sitting in his chair by the window. He gave no indication of having seen me. I glanced at him and walked on. I had my check. I was anxious to make the racetrack….
84
I had been corresponding with a lady in San Francisco for several months. Her name was Liza Weston and she survived by giving dance lessons, including ballet, in her own studio. She was 32, had been married once, and all her letters were long and typed flawlessly on pinkish paper. She wrote well, with intelligence and with very little exaggeration. I enjoyed her letters and answered them. Liza stayed away from literature, she stayed away from the so-called larger questions. She wrote me about small ordinary happenings but described them with insight and humor. And so it came about that she wrote to say that she was coming to Los Angeles to buy some dancing costumes and would I like to see her? I told her most certainly, and that she could stay at my place, but due to the difference in our ages she would have to sleep on the couch while I slept in the bed. I’ll phone you when I get in, she wrote back.
Three or four days later the phone rang. It was Liza. “I’m in town,” she said.
“Are you at the airport? I’ll pick you up.”
“I’ll take a cab in.”
“It costs.”
“It’ll be easier this way.”
“What do you drink?”
“I don’t much. So whatever you want….”
I sat and waited for her. I always became uneasy in these situations. When they actually arrived I almost didn’t want them to happen. Liza had mentioned that she was pretty but I hadn’t seen any photographs. I had once married a woman, promised to marry her sight unseen, through the mails. She too had written intelligent letters, but my 2-and-one-half years of marriage proved to be a disaster. People were usually much better in their letters than in reality. They were much like poets in this way.
I paced the room. Then I heard footsteps coming up the court walk. I went to the blinds and peeked out. Not bad. Dark hair, neatly dressed in a long skirt that fell to her ankles. She walked gracefully, holding her head high. Nice nose, ordinary mouth. I liked women in dresses, it reminded me of bygone days. She carried a small bag. She knocked. I opened the door. “Come in.”
Liza put her suitcase on the floor. “Sit down.”
She had on very little makeup. She was pretty. Her hair was stylish and short.
I got her a vodka-7 and made myself one. She seemed calm. There was a touch of suffering in her face—she had been through one or two difficult periods in her life. So had I.
“I’m going to buy some costumes tomorrow. There’s a shop in L.A. that’s very unusual.”
“I like that dress you have on. A fully covered woman is exciting, I think. Of course, it’s hard to tell about her figure but one can make a judgment.”
“You’re like I thought you’d be. You’re not afraid at all.”
“Thanks.”
“You seem almost diffident.”
“I’m on my third drink.”
“What happens after the fourth?”
“Not much. I drink it and wait for the fifth.”
I walked out to get the newspaper. When I came back Liza had that long skirt hiked up to just above the knees. It looked good. She had fine knees, good legs. The day (actually the night) was brightening. From her letters I knew she was a health food addict like Cecelia. Only she didn’t act like Cecelia at all. I sat at the other end of the couch and kept sneaking looks at her legs. I had always been a leg man.
“You have nice legs,” I told Liza.
“You like them?”
She hitched her skirt up another inch. It was maddening. All that good leg coming out of all that cloth. It was so much better than a mini-skirt.
After the next drink I moved down next to Liza.
“You ought to come see my dance studio,” she said.
“I can’t dance.”
“You can. I’ll teach you.”
“Free?”
“Of course. You’re very light on your feet for a big guy. I can tell by the way you walk that you could dance very well.”
“It’s a deal. I’ll sleep on your couch.”
“I have a nice apartment but all I have is a waterbed.”
“All right.”
“But you have to let me cook for you. Good food.”
“Sounds all right.” I looked at her legs. Then I fondled one of her knees. I kissed her. She kissed me back like a lonely woman.
“Do you find me attractive?” Liza asked.
“Yes, of course. But what I like best is your style. You have a certain high tone.”
“You’ve got a good line, Chinaski.”
“I have to. I’m almost 60 years old.”
“You seem more like 40, Hank.”
“You have a good line too, Liza.”
“I have to. I’m 32.”
“I’m glad you’re not 22.”
“And I’m glad you’re not 32.”
“This is one glad night,” I said.
We each sipped our drinks.
“What do you think of women?” she asked.
“I’m not a thinker. Every woman is different. Basically they seem to be a combination of the best and the worst—both magic and terrible. I’m glad that they exist, however.”
“How do you treat them?”
“They are better to me than I am to them.”
“Do you think that’s fair?”
“Not fair, but that’s the way it is.”
“You’re honest.”
“Not quite.”
“After I buy those new costumes tomorrow I want to try them on. You can tell me which one you like best.”
“Sure. But I like the long type of gown. Class.”
“I buy all kinds.”
“I don’t buy clothes until they fall apart.”
“Your expenditures are of a different kind.”
“Liza, I’m going to bed after this drink, all right?”
“Of course.”
I had piled her bedding on the floor. “Will you have enough blankets?”
“Yes.”
“Pillow O.K.?”
“I’m sure.”
I finished my drink, got up and bolted the front door. “I’m not locking you in. Feel safe.”
“I do….”
I walked into the bedroom, switched off the light, undressed, and got under the covers. “You see,” I called to her, “I didn’t rape you.
“Oh,” she answered, “I wish you would!” I didn’t quite believe that but it was good to hear. I had played a pretty fair hand. Liza would keep overnight.
When I awakened I heard her in the bathroom. Maybe I should have slammed her? How did a man know what to do? Generally, I decided, it was better to wait, if you had any feeling for the individual. If you hated her right off, it was better to fuck her right off; if you didn’t, it was better to wait, then fuck her and hate her later on.
Liza came out of the bathroom in a medium-length red dress. It fit her well. She was slim and classy. She stood in front of my bedroom mirror playing with her hair.
“Hank, I’m going to buy the costumes now. You stay in bed. You’re probably sick from all that drinking.”
“Why?
We both drank the same.”
“I heard you sneaking some in the kitchen. Why did you do that?”
“I was afraid, I guess.”
“You? Afraid? I thought you were the big, tough, drinking, woman-fucker?”
“Did I let you down?”
“No.”
“I was afraid. My art is my fear. I rocket off from it.”
“I’m going to get the costumes, Hank.”
“You’re angry. I let you down.”
“Not at all. I’ll be back.”
“Where’s this shop at?”
“87th Street.”
“87th Street? Great Christ, that’s Watts!”
“They have the best costumes on the coast.”
“It’s black down there!”
“Are you anti-black?”
“I’m anti-everything.”
“I’ll take a cab. I’ll be back in 3 hours.”
“Is this your idea of vengeance?”
“I said I’d be back. I’m leaving my things.”
“You’ll never come back.”
“I’ll be back. I can handle myself.”
“All right, but look … don’t take a cab.”
I got up and found my bluejeans, found my car keys.
“Here, take my Volks. It’s TRV 469, right outside. But go easy on the clutch, and second gear is shot, especially coming back down it grinds….”
She took the keys and I got back into bed and pulled the sheet up. Liza bent over me. I grabbed her, kissed her along the neck. My breath was bad.
“Cheer up,” she said. “Trust. We’ll celebrate tonight and there’ll be a fashion parade.”
“I can’t wait.”
“You will.”
“The silver key opens the door on the driver’s side. The gold key is the ignition….”
She walked off in her medium-length red dress. I heard the door close. I looked around. Her suitcase was still there. And there was a pair of her shoes on the rug.
85
When I awakened it was 1:30 PM. I took a bath, got dressed, checked the mail. A letter from a young man in Glendale. “Dear Mr. Chinaski: I am a young writer and I think that I am a good one, a very good one, but my poems keep coming back. How does one break into this game? What is the secret? Who do you have to know? I very much admire your writing and I would like to come over and talk to you. I’ll bring a couple of 6-packs and we can talk. I’d also like to read you some of my work….”
The poor fucker didn’t have a cunt. I threw his letter into the wastebasket.
An hour or so later Liza returned. “Oh, I’ve found the most marvelous costumes!”
She had an armful of dresses. She went into the bedroom. Some time passed, then she walked out. She was in a high-necked long gown and she whirled in front of me. It fit her very nicely around the ass. It was gold and black and she had on black shoes. She did a subdued dance.
“You like it?”
“Oh, yes….” I sat and waited.
Liza went back into the bedroom. Then she came out in green and red with shots of silver. This one was a midriff job with her bellybutton showing. As she paraded in front of me she had this special way of looking into my eyes. It was neither coy nor sexy, it was perfect.
I don’t remember how many costumes she showed me, but the last one was just right. It clung to her and was slit up each side of the skirt. As she walked around, first one leg came out, then the other. The dress was black, it shimmered, and it was cut low in front.
I got up as she walked across the room and grabbed her. I kissed her viciously, bending her backwards. I continued to kiss her and began pulling up her long gown. I pulled the back of the skirt all the way up and saw her panties, yellow. I pulled the front of her gown up and began pushing my cock against her. Her tongue slipped into my mouth—it was as cool as if she had been drinking ice water. I walked her backwards into the bedroom, pushed her on to the bed and mauled her. I got those yellow panties off and got my own pants off. I let my imagination go. Her legs were around my neck as I stood over her. I spread her legs apart, moved up, and slid it in. I played around a little, using different speeds, then anger thrusts, thrusts of love, teasing thrusts, brutal thrusts. I would pull out from time to time, then begin again. Finally I let go, gave her the last few strokes, came, and sank down beside her. Liza continued to kiss me. I wasn’t sure whether she had gotten off or not. I had.
We had dinner at a French place that also served good American food at fair prices. It was always overcrowded which gave us time at the bar. That night I left my name as Lancelot Lovejoy, and I was even sober enough to recognize the call 45 minutes later.
We ordered a bottle of wine. We decided to hold off dinner for a while. There isn’t a better way to drink than at a small table over a white tablecloth with a good-looking woman.
“You fuck,” Liza told me, “with the enthusiasm of a man who is fucking for the first time and yet you fuck with a lot of inventiveness.”
“May I write that down on my sleeve?”
“Sure.”
“I might use it sometimes.”
“Just don’t use me, that’s all I ask.
I don’t want to be just another one of your women.” I didn’t answer.
“My sister hates you,” she said. “She said that all you’ll do is use me.”
“What happened to your class, Liza? You’re talking just like everybody else.”
We never got around to dinner. When we got back home we drank some more. I did like her very much. I began to abuse her a bit, verbally. She looked surprised, her eyes filled with tears. She ran to the bathroom, stayed 10 minutes or so, then came out.
“My sister was right. You’re a bastard!”
“Let’s go to bed, Liza.”
We got ready for bed. We got into bed and I mounted her. Without foreplay it was much more difficult but I finally got it in. I began to work. I worked and I worked. It was another hot night. It was like a recurring bad dream. I began sweating. I humped and I pumped. It wouldn’t go down, it wouldn’t come off. I pumped and I humped. Finally I rolled off. “Sorry, baby, too much to drink.”
Liza slowly slid her head down my chest, across my belly, down, got to it, began licking and licking and licking, then took it into her mouth and worked on it….
I flew back to San Francisco with Liza. She had an apartment at the top of a steep hill. It was nice. The first thing I had to do was crap. I went into the bathroom and sat down. Green vines all around. What a pot. I liked it. When I came out Liza sat me down on some big pillows, put Mozart on the machine, and poured me a chilled wine. It was dinner time and she stood in the kitchen cooking. Every now and then she poured me another wine. I always enjoyed being at women’s places more than when they were at mine. When I was at their places I could always leave.
She called me in to dinner. There was salad, iced tea and a chicken stew. It was quite good. I was a terrible cook. All I could fry were steaks, although I made a good beef stew, especially when drunk. I liked to gamble with my beef stews. I put almost everything into them and sometimes got away with it.
After dinner we took a ride to Fisherman’s Wharf. Liza drove her car with great caution. It made me nervous. She would stop at a cross street and look in both directions for traffic. When there wasn’t any she still sat there. I waited.
“Liza, shit, let’s go. There isn’t anybody around.”
Then she would go. That was the way it was with people. The longer you knew them the more their eccentricities showed. Sometimes their eccentricities were humorous—in the beginning.
We walked along the wharf, then went and sat on the sand. It wasn’t much of a beach.
She told me she hadn’t had a boyfriend in some time. What the men she had known talked about, what was important to them, she found unbelievable.
“Women are much the same,” I told her. “When they asked Richard Burton what was the first thing he looked for in a woman, he said, ‘She must be at
least 30 years old.’”
It got dark and we went back to her apartment. Liza brought out the wine and we sat on pillows. She opened the shutters and we looked out on the night. We began kissing. Then we drank. And kissed some more.
“When are you going back to work?” I asked her.
“Do you want me to?”
“No, but you have to live.”
“But you’re not working.”
“In a way, I am.”
“You mean you live in order to write?”
“No, I just exist. Then later I try to remember and write some of it down.”
“I only run my dance studio three nights a week.”
“You make ends meet that way?”
“So far I have.”
We became more involved with kissing. She didn’t drink as much as I did. We moved to the waterbed, undressed and got to it. I’d heard about waterbed fucks. They were supposed to be great. I found it difficult. The water shuddered and shook beneath us, and as I was moving down, the water seemed to be rocking from side to side. Instead of bringing her to me, it seemed to take her away from me. Maybe I needed practice. I went into my savagery routine, grabbing her by the hair, thrusting as if it was a rape. She liked it, or seemed to, making little delightful sounds. I savaged her some more, then suddenly she appeared to climax, making all the right sounds. That excited me and I came just at the end of hers.
We cleaned up and went back to the pillows and the wine. Liza fell asleep with her head in my lap. I sat there an hour or so. Then I stretched out on my back and we slept that night on all those pillows.
The next day Liza took me to her dance studio. We got sandwiches from a place across the street and we took them up with our drinks to her studio and ate them. It was a very large room on a second floor. There was nothing but empty floor, some stereo equipment, a few chairs, and there were ropes strung high above, across the ceiling. I didn’t know what any of it meant.
“Shall I teach you to dance?” she asked.
“Somehow I’m not in the mood,” I said.
The following days and nights were similar. Not bad but not great. I learned to manage on the waterbed a bit better but I still preferred a normal bed for fucking.