The Most Beautiful Woman in Town & Other Stories

  Then Martin placed her body upon that garage floor. Unhooked the doors. Walked out. Went back to his place. Pushed the elevator button. Got off at his floor, got to the refrigerator, got a bottle, poured a glass of port, sat down and waited, watched.

  Soon there were people everywhere. Twenty, twenty-five, thirty people. Outside the garage. Inside the garage.

  Then an ambulance ran up the driveway.

  Martin watched as they carried her out on a stretcher. Then the ambulance was gone. Just more people. More people. He drank the wine, poured another.

  Maybe they don’t know who I am, he thought. I seldom leave this place.

  It wasn’t somehow so. He hadn’t locked the door. Two cops came in. Big boys, rather handsome. He almost liked them.

  “Okay, shit!”

  One of them ripped him a good one across the face. As Martin stood up to hold his hands out for the handcuffs the other one took his billyclub and ripped him full in the belly. Martin fell to the floor. He couldn’t breathe or move. They got him up. The other one hit him in the face again.

  There were people everywhere. They didn’t take him down the elevator, they walked, pushed him down the steps.

  Faces, faces, faces, out of doors, faces on the street.

  In the squad car it was very strange — there were two cops up front and two cops in the back seat with him. Martin was being given special treatment.

  “I could kill a son of a bitch like you,” one of the cops in the rear said to him. “I could kill a son of a bitch like you without even trying. .. .”

  Martin began to cry without sound, the ticks of tears running down like wild things.

  “I’ve got a five-year-old daughter,” said one of the cops in back. “I could kill you without even thinking about it!”

  “I couldn’t help it,” said Martin, “I tell you, so help me Christ, I couldn’t help —”

  The cop started beating Martin across the head with his club. Nobody stopped him. Martin fell forward, vomited wine and blood, the cop straightened him up, clubbed him across the face, the mouth, knocked out most of Martin’s front teeth.

  Then they left him alone for a while, driving toward the station.

  THE MURDER OF RAMON VASQUEZ

  They rang the doorbell. Two brothers, Lincoln, 23 and Andrew, 17.

  He came to the door himself.

  There he was. Ramon Vasquez, the old star of the silent screen and the beginning of the talkies. He was in his 60’s now, but still had the same delicate look. In those days, on screen and off, his hair was smeared heavily with vaseline and combed straight back, hard. And with the long thin nose and the tiny mustache and the way he looked deeply into the ladies’ eyes, well, it was too much. He had been called “The Great Lover.” The ladies swooned when they saw him on the screen. “Swooned,” that’s what the movie columnists said. But actually, Ramon Vasquez was a homosexual. Now his hair was a stately white and the mustache a bit thicker.

  It was a chilly California night and Ramon’s place was set off in a hilly area by itself. The boys were dressed in army pants and white T-shirts. Both of them were on the muscular side and had rather pleasant faces, pleasant and apologetic faces.

  Lincoln did the talking. “We’ve read about you, Mr. Vasquez. I’m sorry to bother you but we’re deeply interested in Hollywood idols, and we found out where you lived, and we were driving by and just couldn’t help ringing your doorbell.”

  “Isn’t it cold out there, boys?”

  “Yes, yes, it is.”

  “Won’t you step in for a moment?”

  “We don’t want to disturb you, we don’t want to interrupt anything.”

  “That’s all right. Do come in. I’m alone.”

  The boys walked in. Stood in the center of the room, looking rather awkward and confused.

  “Ah, please sit down!” said Ramon. He pointed to a couch. The boys walked over, sat down, rather stiffly. There was a small fire going in the fireplace. “I’ll get you something to warm you up. Just a moment, please.”

  Ramon came back with some good French wine, opened the bottle, left again, then returned with 3 chilled glasses. He poured 3 drinks.

  “Have a bit. Very nice stuff.”

  Lincoln downed his rather quickly. Andrew, watching, did the same thing. Ramon refilled the glasses.

  “You are brothers?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so.”

  “I’m Lincoln. He’s my younger brother, Andrew.”

  “Ah, yes. Andrew has a very delicate and fascinating face. A brooding face. Something a bit cruel about it too. Perhaps just the right amount of cruel. Hmmm, might get him into the movies. I still have a bit of pull, you know.”

  “How about my face, Mr. Vasquez?” asked Lincoln.

  “Not as delicate, and crueler. So cruel as to have almost an animal beauty; that, and with your … body. Forgive, but you are built like some damned ape who has had most of his hair shaven off. But… I like you very much — you radiate … something.”

  “Maybe it’s hunger,” said Andrew, speaking for the first time, “We just got into town. We drove in from Kansas. Flat tires. Then we threw a god damned piston. It ate up all our money — tires and repairs. It’s sitting outside now — a ’56 Plymouth — we couldn’t even junk it for ten bucks.”

  “You’re hungry?”

  “And how!”

  “Well, wait, good heavens, I’ll get you something, I’ll fix you something. Meanwhile, drink up!”

  Ramon went into the kitchen.

  Lincoln picked up the bottle, drank from it. For a long time. Then handed it to Andrew: “Finish it off.”

  Andrew had just emptied the bottle when Ramon came back with a large platter — pitted and stuffed olives; cheese, salami, pastrami, white crackers, green onions, ham and deviled eggs.

  “Oh, the wine! You’ve finished it! Fine!”

  Ramon left, came back with two chilled bottles. Opened them both.

  The boys snatched at the food. It didn’t take them long. The plate was clean.

  Then they started on the wine.

  “Did you know Bogart?”

  “Ah, only slightly.”

  “How about Garbo?”

  “Of course, don’t be silly.”

  “How about Gable?”

  “Only slightly.”

  “Cagney?”

  “I never knew Cagney. You see, most of those you mention came from different eras. I sometimes believe that some of the later Stars resented, do resent that I made most of my money before the tax-bite became too deep. But they forget, that in terms of money-earned, I have never earned their kind of inflationary money. Which they are now learning to protect through the advice of tax-experts who show them all the tax-loopholes — re-investment, all that. Anyhow, at parties, all that, it makes for mixed feelings. They think that I am rich; I think that they are rich. We all worry too much about money and fame and power. Me, I only have enough left to live comfortably upon until I die.”

  “We’ve read up on you, Ramon,” said Lincoln. “One writer, no, two writers claim you always keep 5 grand in cash hid in your house. A kind of pocket-money. And that you really have this mistrust of banks and the banking system.”

  “I don’t know where you got that. It’s not true.”

  “SCREEN,” said Lincoln, “September issue, 1968; THE HOLLYWOOD STAR, YOUNG AND OLD, January issue, 1969. We have the magazines in the car right now.”

  “It’s untrue. The only money I have in the house is what I have in my wallet, and that’s it. 20 or 30 dollars.”

  “Let’s see.”

  “Surely.”

  Ramon took out his wallet. There was one twenty and three ones.

  Lincoln grabbed the wallet. “I’ll take that!”

  “What’s the matter with you, Lincoln? If you want the money take it. Only give me my wallet back. There are my things in there — a driver’s license, all those necessary things.”

  “Fuck yo
u!”

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘FUCK YOU!’”

  “Listen, I’ll have to ask you boys to leave the house. You are becoming unruly!”

  “Is there more wine?”

  “Yes, yes, there’s more wine! You can have it all, ten or twelve bottles of the best French wines. Please take them and leave! I beg you!”

  “Worried about your 5 grand?”

  “I tell you sincerely, that there isn’t any hidden 5 grand. I tell you sincerely from my heart that there isn’t any 5 grand!”

  “You lying cocksucker!”

  “Why must you be so rude!”

  “Cocksucker! COCKSUCKER!”

  “I offered my hospitality, my kindness to you. Now you become brutal and unkindly.”

  “That plate of fucking food you gave us! You call that food?”

  “What was wrong with it?”

  “QUEER FOOD!”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “Little pickled olives … stuffed eggs. Men don’t eat that kinda shit!”

  “You ate it.”

  “Oh, you giving me lip, COCKSUCKER?”

  Lincoln got up from the couch, walked over to Ramon in his chair, slapped him across the face, hard, with his open palm. 3 times. Lincoln had big hands.

  Ramon dropped his head, began to weep. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to do what I could.”

  Lincoln looked at his brother. “See him? Fucking pansy! CRYING LIKE A BABY! MAN, I’LL MAKE HIM CRY! I’LL REALLY MAKE HIM CRY UNLESS HE COUGHS UP THAT 5 GRAND!”

  Lincoln picked up a wine bottle, drank heavily from it.

  “Drink up,” he told Andrew. “We got work to do.”

  Andrew drank from his bottle, heavily.

  Then while Ramon wept, they each sat sipping at the wine, looking at each other, and thinking.

  “You know what I’m gonna do?” Lincoln asked his brother.

  “What?”

  “I’m gonna make him suck my cock!”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Just for laughs, that’s why!”

  Lincoln took another drink, then walked over to Ramon, got him under the chin and lifted his head.

  “Hey mother …”

  “What? Oh please, PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE!”

  “You are going to suck my cock, COCKSUCKER!”

  “Oh no, please!”

  “We know you are a homo! Get ready, mother!”

  “NO! PLEASE! PLEASE!”

  Lincoln ran down his fly.

  “OPEN YOUR MOUTH!”

  “Oh, no, please!”

  This time when Lincoln hit Ramon his fist was closed.

  “I love you, Ramon: Suck!”

  Ramon opened his mouth. Lincoln put the tip of his dick into the lips.

  “You bite me, mother, I’LL KILL you!”

  Ramon began to suck while weeping.

  Lincoln slapped him across the forehead.

  “Gimme some ACTION! Put some life into it!”

  Ramon bobbed harder, worked his tongue. Then just as Lincoln felt himself coming, he grabbed the back of Ramon’s head and jammed it all the way in. Ramon gagged, choked. Lincoln left it in there until it was emptied.

  “Now! Suck my brother!”

  Andrew said, “Linc, I’d rather not.”

  “You chickenshit?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “No guts?”

  “No, no …”

  “Have another drink.”

  Andrew drank. Thought a while. “O.K., he can suck my dick.”

  “MAKE HIM DO IT!”

  Andrew got up, unzipped.

  “Get ready to suck mother.”

  Ramon just sat there weeping.

  “Lift his head. He really likes it.”

  Andrew lifted Ramon’s head. “I don’t want to hit you, old man. Open your lips. It won’t take long.”

  Ramon opened his lips.

  “There,” said Lincoln, “see, he’s doing it. No trouble at all.”

  Ramon bobbed his head, tongued, and Andrew came.

  Ramon spit it out on the rug.

  “Bastard!” said Lincoln, “you’re supposed to swallow it!”

  He walked over and slapped Ramon, who had stopped crying, who looked as if he were in a trance of some sort.

  The brothers sat down again, finished their wine bottles. Found more in the kitchen. Brought them out, uncorked them, and drank some more.

  Ramon Vasquez already looked like a wax figure of a dead Star in the Hollywood Museum.

  “We’re gonna get the 5 grand and then we’re gonna split,” said Lincoln.

  “He said it ain’t here,” said Andrew.

  “Queers are natural-born liars. I’ll get it out of him. You just sit here and enjoy your wine. I’ll take care of this punk.”

  Lincoln picked up Ramon and threw him over one of his shoulders and carried him into the bedroom.

  Andrew sat there drinking the wine. He heard some talking and shouting from the bedroom. Then he saw the telephone. He dialed a New York City number, charged it to Ramon’s phone. That’s where his chick was. She’d left Kansas City for the big time. But she still wrote him letters. Long ones. She wasn’t making it yet.

  “Who?”

  “Andrew.”

  “Oh, Andrew, is something wrong?”

  “Were you asleep?”

  “I was just going to bed.”

  “Alone?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, there’s nothing wrong. This guy is going to get me into the movies. He says I have a delicate face.”

  “Oh wonderful, Andrew! You have a beautiful face, and I love you, you know that.”

  “Sure. How’s it going with you, kitten?”

  “Not so good, Andy. New York is a cold town. Everybody tries to get into your panties, that’s all they want. I’m working as a waitress, it’s hell, but I think I’m getting a part in an off-Broadway play.”

  “What kinda play?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It seems a little corny. Something written by a nigger.”

  “Don’t you trust those niggers, babe.”

  “I don’t. It’s just for the experience. And they’ve got some big name actress working her part for free.”

  “Well, that’s all right. But don’t trust those niggers!”

  “I’m no damn fool, Andy. I don’t trust anybody. It’s just for experience.”

  “Who’s the nigger?”

  “I don’t know. Some playwright. All he does is sit around and smoke grass and talk revolution. It’s the thing now. We gotta go with it until it blows over.”

  “That playwright, he ain’t fucking with you?”

  “Don’t be a damn fool, Andrew. I treat him nicely, but he’s nothing but a pagan, a beast… And I’m so tired of being a waitress. All these wise-guys pinching your ass because they left a quarter tip. It’s hell.”

  “I think of you all the time, baby.”

  “And I think of you, ol’ pretty face, oP big-dick Andy. And I love you.”

  “You talk funny sometimes, funny and real, that’s why I love you, babe.”

  “Hey! What’s all that SCREAMING I hear?”

  “Just a joke, babe. Big wild party here in Beverly Hills. You know these actors.”

  “It sounds like somebody getting killed.”

  “Don’t worry, babe. It’s just a gag. Everybody drunk. Somebody practicing his lines. Love you. I’ll phone or write again soon.”

  “Please do, Andrew, I love you.”

  “Night, sweets.”

  “Goodnight, Andrew.”

  Andrew hung up and walked toward the bedroom. He walked into the bedroom. There was Ramon on the big double bed. Ramon was very bloody. The sheets were very bloody.

  Lincoln had this cane in his hand. It was the famous cane that The Great Lover used in the movies. The cane had blood all over it.

  “Son of a bitch won’t cop out,” said Lincoln. “Get me another bottle of wine.”


  Andrew came back with the wine, uncorked it, and Lincoln took a long haul.

  “Maybe the 5 grand ain’t here,” said Andrew.

  “It’s here. And we need it. Queers are worse than Jews. I mean Jews would rather die than give up a penny. And queers LIE! Get me?”

  Lincoln looked again at the body on the bed.

  “Where you got the 5 grand hidden, Ramon?”

  “I swear … I swear … from the bottom of my soul, there’s no 5 grand, I swear! I swear!”

  Lincoln brought the cane down again across the face of the Great Lover. Another slash. The blood ran. Ramon became unconscious.

  “No good this way. Put him under a shower,” Lincoln told his brother. “Revive him. Get all the blood off. We’ll start all over again. This time — not only his face but also his cock and balls. He’ll talk. Any man will talk. Go clean him up while I have myself a few drinks.”

  Lincoln walked out. Andrew looked at the mass of bleeding red, gagged for a moment, then vomited on the floor. He felt better after vomiting. He picked the body up, walked it toward the bathroom. Ramon seemed to revive for a moment.

  “Holy Mary, Holy Mary, Mother of God …”

  He said it once more as they walked toward the bathroom.

  “Holy Mary, Holy Mary, Mother of God .. .”

  When Andrew got him to the bathroom he took off Ramon’s blood soaked clothes, saw the shower stall, put Ramon upon the floor and tested the water until he got it to the proper warmth. Then taking off his own shoes and stockings, pants, shorts and T-shirt, he got into the shower with Ramon, held him up under the water. The blood began washing off. Andrew looked at the water plastering the grey hairs flat upon the head of this once-idol of Womanhood. Ramon just looked like a sad old man, dropping within the mercy of himself.

  Then, suddenly, upon impulse he turned off the hot water, just left on the cold.

  He put his mouth up against Ramon’s ears.

  “All we want, old man, is your 5 grand. We’ll split. Just give us the 5 grand, then we’ll leave you alone, understand?”

  “Holy Mary …” said the old man.

  Andrew brought him out of the shower. Took him back to the bedroom, put him upon the bed. Lincoln had a new bottle of wine. Was working at it.

  “O.K.,” he said, “this time he talks!”

  “I don’t think he’s got the 5 grand. I wouldn’t take a beating like that for 5 grand.”