Women: A Novel

  I began to think about Debra and Tessie in the antique shop. I really didn’t like Debra, but there I was entering her life. It made me feel like a peep-freak.

  I sat drinking the beer. I was down to the last can when they finally came out.

  “Oh Henry,” said Debra, “I found the nicest marble top table for only $200!”

  “It’s really fabulous!” said Tessie.

  They climbed into the car. Debra pressed her leg against mine, “Have you been bored with all this?” she asked.

  I started the engine and drove to a liquor store and bought 3 or 4 bottles of wine, cigarettes.

  That bitch Tessie in her short red skirt with her nylons, I thought to myself as I paid the liquor store man. I bet she has done in at least a dozen good men without even thinking about it. I decided her problem was not thinking. She didn’t like to think. And that was all right because there weren’t any laws or rules about it. But when she reached 50 in a few years she’d begin to think! Then she’d be a bitter woman in a supermarket, jamming her shopping cart into people’s backs and ankles in the check-out line, her dark shades on, her face puffed and unhappy, her cart filled with cottage cheese, potato chips, pork chops, red onions and a quart of Jim Beam.

  I went back to the car and we drove to Debra’s place. The girls sat down. I opened a bottle and poured 3 glasses.

  “Henry,” said Debra, “I’m going to get Larry. He’ll drive me down in his van to pick up my table. You needn’t endure that, aren’t you glad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tessie will keep you company.”

  “All right.”

  “You two behave yourselves now!”

  Larry came in through the back door and he and Debra walked out the front. Larry warmed up the van, and they drove off. “Well, we’re alone,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Tessie. She sat very still, looking straight ahead. I finished my drink and went to the bathroom to take a piss. When I came out Tessie was still sitting quietly on the couch.

  I walked along behind the couch. When I reached her I took her under the chin and tipped her face up. I pressed my mouth against hers. She had a very large head. She had purple makeup smeared under her eyes and she smelled like stale fruit juice, apricots. She had thin silver chains dangling from each ear and at the end of each chain hung one ball—symbolic. As we kissed I reached down into her blouse. I found a breast and cupped my hand on it and rolled it around. No brassiere. Then I straightened up and pulled my hand away. I walked around the couch and sat down next to her. I poured two drinks.

  “For an ugly old son of a bitch, you’ve got a lot of balls,” she said.

  “How about a quickie before Debra gets back?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t hate me. I’m just trying to enliven the party.”

  “I think you stepped out of bounds. What you just did was gross and obvious.”

  “I guess I lack imagination.”

  “And you’re a writer?”

  “I write. But mostly I take photographs.”

  “I think you fuck women just in order to write about fucking them.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do.”

  “O.K., O.K., forget it. Drink up.”

  Tessie went back to her drink. She finished it and put her cigarette down. She looked at me, blinking her long false eyelashes. She was like Debra with a big lipstick mouth. Only Debra’s mouth was darker and didn’t glisten as much. Tessie’s was a bright red and her lips glistened, she held her mouth open, continually licking her lower lip. Suddenly Tessie grabbed me. That mouth opened over my mouth. It was exciting. I felt as if I was being raped. My cock began to rise. I reached down while she was kissing me and flipped her skirt back, ran my hand up her left leg as we continued to kiss.

  “Come on,” I said, after the kiss.

  I took her by the hand and led her into Debra’s bedroom. I pushed her down on the bed. The bedspread was on. I pulled off my shoes and pants, then pulled her shoes off. I kissed her a long one, then I pulled the red skirt up over her hips. No pantyhose. Nylons and pink panties. I pulled the panties off. Tessie had her eyes closed. Somewhere in the neighborhood I could hear a stereo playing symphony music. I rubbed a finger along her cunt. Soon it got wet and began to open. I sank my finger in. Then I pulled it out and rubbed the clit. She was nice and juicy. I mounted. I hit her a few swift, vicious jolts, then I went slow, then I ripped again. I looked into that depraved and simple face. It really excited me. I pounded away.

  Then Tessie pushed me away. “Get off!”

  “What? What?”

  “I hear the van! I’ll get fired! I’ll lose my job!”

  “No, no, you WHORE!”

  I ripped away without mercy, pressed my lips against that glistening, horrible mouth and came inside of her, good. I jumped off. Tessie picked up her shoes and panties and ran to the bathroom. I wiped off with my handkerchief and straightened the bedspread, fluffed up the pillows. As I was zipping up the door opened. I walked into the front room.

  “Henry, would you help Larry carry in the table? It’s heavy.”

  “Sure.”

  “Where’s Tessie?”

  “I think she’s in the bathroom.”

  I followed Debra out to the truck. We slid the table out of the van, grabbed it and carried it back to the house. As we came back in Tessie was sitting on the couch with a cigarette.

  “Don’t drop the merchandise, boys!” she said.

  “No way!” I said.

  We carried it into Debra’s bedroom and put it by the bedside. She had another table there which she removed. Then we stood around and looked at the marble top.

  “Oh, Henry … just $200 … do you like it?”

  “Oh, it’s fine, Debra, just fine.”

  I went to the bathroom. I washed my face, combed my hair. Then I dropped my pants and shorts and quietly washed my parts. I pissed, flushed, and walked back out.

  “Care for a wine, Larry?” I asked.

  “Oh no, but thanks….”

  “Thanks for helping, Larry,” said Debra.

  Larry went out the back door.

  “Oh, I’m so excited!” said Debra.

  Tessie sat and drank and talked with us for 10 or 15 minutes then she said, “I’ve got to go.”

  “Stay if you want to,” said Debra.

  “No, no, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to clean my apartment, it’s a mess.”

  “Clean your apartment? Today? When you’ve got two nice friends to drink with?” asked Debra.

  “I just sit here thinking about that mess over there and I can’t feel relaxed. Don’t take it personally.”

  “All right, Tessie, you go now. We’ll forgive you.”

  “All right, darling….”

  They kissed in the doorway and then Tessie was gone. Debra took my by the hand and led me into the bedroom. We looked at the marble tabletop.

  “What do you really think of it, Henry?”

  “Well, I’ve lost $200 at the track and I’ve had nothing to show for it, so I think it’s all right.”

  “It will be here next to us tonight while we sleep together.”

  “Maybe I ought to stand there and you can go to bed with the table?”

  “You’re jealous!”

  “Of course.”

  Debra walked back to the kitchen and came back with some rags and some kind of cleaning fluid. She began wiping off the marble.

  “You see, there is a special way to treat marble to accent the veins.”

  I got undressed and sat on the edge of the bed in my shorts. Then I lay back on the pillows and on the bedspread. Then I sat up. “Oh Christ, Debra, I’m messing up your bedspread.”

  “That’s all right.”

  I went and got two drinks, gave one to Debra. I watched her working on the table. Then she looked at me:

  “You know, you have the most beautiful legs I’ve ever seen on a man.”

  “Not bad for an ol
d guy, huh, kid?”

  “Not at all.”

  She rubbed at the table some more, then gave it up.

  “How did you get along with Tessie?”

  “She’s all right. I really like her.”

  “She’s a good worker.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “I feel bad that she left. I think she just wanted to give us some privacy. I ought to phone her.”

  “Why not?”

  Debra got on the phone. She talked to Tessie for quite some time. It began to get dark. What about dinner? She had the phone in the center of the bed and she was sitting on her legs. She had a nice behind. Debra laughed and then she said goodbye. She looked at me.

  “Tessie says that you’re sweet.”

  I went out for more drinks. When I got back the large color television was on. We sat side by side on the bed watching t.v. We sat with our backs to the wall, drinking.

  “Henry,” she asked, “what are you doing on Thanksgiving?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why don’t you have Thanksgiving with me? I’ll get the turkey. I’ll have 2 or 3 friends over.”

  “All right, it sounds good.”

  Debra leaned forward and snapped the set off. She looked very happy. Then the light went off. She went to the bathroom and came out with something flimsy wrapped around her. Then she was in bed next to me. We pressed together. My cock rose. Her tongue flicked in and out of my mouth. She had a large tongue and it was warm. I went on down. I spread the hair and worked my tongue. Then I gave her a bit of a nose job. She was responding. I climbed back up, mounted her and stuck it in.

  … I worked and I worked. I tried to think of Tessie in her short red skirt. It didn’t help. I had given it all to Tessie. I pumped on and on.

  “Sorry, baby, too much to drink. Ah, feel my heart!”

  She put her hand on my chest. “It’s really going,” she said.

  “Am I still invited for Thanksgiving?”

  “Sure, my poor dear, don’t worry, please.”

  I kissed her goodnight, then rolled away and tried to sleep.

  91

  After Debra left for work the next morning I bathed, then tried to watch t.v. I walked around naked and noticed that I could be seen from the street through the front window. So I had a glass of grapefruit juice and dressed. Finally there was nothing to do but go back to my place. There’d be some mail, maybe a letter from someone. I made sure that all the doors were locked, then I walked out to the Volks, started it, and drove back to Los Angeles.

  On the way in I remembered Sara, the third girl I had met during the reading at The Lancer. I had her phone number in my wallet. I drove home, took a crap, then phoned her.

  “Hello,” I said, “this is Chinaski, Henry Chinaski….”

  “Yes, I remember you.”

  “What are you doing? I thought I might drive out to see you.”

  “I have to be at my restaurant today. Why don’t you come down here?”

  “It’s a health food place, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I’ll make you a good healthy sandwich.”

  “Oh?”

  “I close at 4. Why don’t you get here a little before that?”

  “All right. How do I get there?”

  “Get a pen and I’ll give you directions.”

  I wrote the directions down. “See you about 3:30,” I said.

  About 2:30 I got into the Volks. Somewhere on the freeway the instructions got confusing or I became confused. I have a great dislike both for freeways and for instructions. I turned off and found myself in Lakewood. I pulled into a gas station and phoned Sara. “Drop On Inn,” she answered.

  “Shit!” I said.

  “What’s the matter? You sound angry.”

  “I’m in Lakewood! Your instructions are fucked!”

  “Lakewood? Wait.”

  “I’m going back. I need a drink.”

  “Now hold on. I want to see you! Tell me what street in Lakewood and the nearest cross street.”

  I let the phone hang and went to see where I was. I gave Sara the information. She redirected me.

  “It’s easy,” she said. “Now promise you’ll come.”

  “All right.”

  “And if you get lost again, phone me.”

  “I’m sorry, you see, I have no sense of direction. I’ve always had nightmares about getting lost. I believe I belong on another planet.”

  “It’s all right. Just follow my new instructions.”

  I got back in the car, and this time it was easy. Soon I was on the

  Pacific Coast Highway looking for the turn-off. I found it. It led me into a snob shopping district near the ocean. I drove slowly and spotted it: Drop On Inn, a large hand-painted sign. There were photos and small cards pasted in the window. An honest-to-god health food place, Jesus Christ. I didn’t want to go in. I drove around the block and past the Drop On Inn slowly. I took a right, then another right. I saw a bar, Crab Haven. I parked outside and went in.

  It was 3:45 in the afternoon and every seat was taken. Most of the clients were well on the way. I stood and ordered a vodka-7. I took it to the telephone and phoned Sara. “O.K., it’s Henry. I’m here.”

  “I saw you drive past twice. Don’t be afraid. Where are you?”

  “Crab Haven. I’m having a drink. I’ll be there soon.”

  “All right. Don’t have too many.”

  I had that one and another. I found a small empty booth and sat there. I really didn’t want to go. I hardly remembered what Sara looked like.

  I finished the drink and drove to her place. I got out, opened the screen door and walked in. Sara was behind the counter. She saw me. “Hi, Henry!” she said, “I’ll be with you in a minute.” She was preparing something. Four or five guys sat or stood around. Some sat on a couch. Others sat on the floor. They were all in their mid-twenties, they were all the same, they were dressed in little walking shorts, and they just sat. Now and then one of them would cross his legs or cough. Sara was a fairly handsome woman, lean, and she moved around briskly. Class. Her hair was red-blond. It looked very good.

  “We’ll take care of you,” she told me.

  “All right,” I said.

  There was a bookcase. Three or four of my books were in it. I found some Lorca and sat down and pretended to read. That way I wouldn’t have to see the guys in their walking shorts. They looked as if nothing had ever touched them—all well-mothered, protected, with a soft sheen of contentment. None of them had ever been in jail, or worked hard with their hands, or even gotten a traffic ticket. Skimmed-milk jollies, the whole bunch.

  Sara brought me a health food sandwich. “Here, try this.”

  I ate the sandwich as the guys lolled about. Soon one got up and walked out. Then another. Sara was cleaning up. There was only one left. He was about 22 and he sat on the floor. He was gangly, his back bent like a bow. He had on glasses with heavy black rims. He seemed more lonely and daft than the others. “Hey, Sara,” he said, “let’s go out and have some beers tonight.”

  “Not tonight, Mike. How about tomorrow night?”

  “All right, Sara.”

  He stood up and walked to the counter. He put a coin down and picked up a health food cookie. He stood at the counter eating the health food cookie. When he finished it he turned and walked out.

  “Did you like the sandwich?” Sara asked.

  “Yes, it wasn’t bad.”

  “Could you bring in the table and the chairs from the sidewalk?”

  I brought in the table and the chairs. “What do you want to do?” she asked.

  “Well, I don’t like bars. The air is bad. Let’s get something to drink and go to your place.”

  “All right. Help me carry the garbage out.”

  I helped her carry the garbage out. Then she locked up.

  “Follow my van. I know a store that stocks good wine. Then you can follow me to my place.”

  She had a Volks van and I foll
owed her. There was a poster of a man in the back window of her van. “Smile and rejoice,” he advised me, and at the bottom of the poster was his name, Drayer Baba.

  We opened a bottle of wine and sat on the couch in her house. I liked the way her house was furnished. She had built all her furniture herself, including the bed. Photos of Drayer Baba were everywhere. He was from India and had died in 1971, claiming to be God.

  While Sara and I sat there drinking the first bottle of wine the door opened and a young man with snaggled teeth, long hair and a very long beard walked in. “This is Ron, my roommate,” said Sara.

  “Hello, Ron. Want a wine?”

  Ron had a wine with us. Then a fat girl and a thin man with a shaved head walked in. They were Pearl and Jack. They sat down. Then another young man walked in. His name was Jean John. Jean John sat down. Then Pat walked in. Pat had a black beard and long hair. He sat down on the floor at my feet.

  “I’m a poet,” he said.

  I took a swallow of wine.

  “How do you go about getting published?” he asked me. “You submit it to the editors.”

  “But I’m unknown.”

  “Everybody starts out unknown.”

  “I give readings 3 nights a week. And I’m an actor so I read very well. I figure if I read my stuff enough somebody might want to publish it.”

  “It’s not impossible.”

  “The problem is that when I read nobody shows up.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “I’m going to print my own book.”

  “Whitman did.”

  “Will you read some of your poems?”

  “Christ, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just want to drink.”

  “You talk about drinking a lot in your books. Do you think drinking has helped your writing?”

  “No. I’m just an alcoholic who became a writer so that I would be able to stay in bed until noon.”

  I turned to Sara. “I didn’t know you had so many friends.”

  “This is unusual. It’s hardly ever like this.”

  “I’m glad we’ve got plenty of wine.”