She walked over and climbed under the sheet.
We slowly worked into it.
We got into it, all that red hair on the pillow, as outside the sirens howled and the dogs barked.
45
Tammie came by that night. She appeared to be high on uppers.
"I want some champagne," she said.
"All right," I said.
I handed her a twenty.
"Be right back," she said, walking out the door.
Then the phone rang. It was Lydia. "I just wondered how you were doing…"
"Things are all right."
"Not here. I'm pregnant."
"What?"
"And I don't know who the father is."
"Oh?"
"You know Dutch, the guy who hangs around the bar where I'm working now?"
"Yes, old Baldy."
"Well, he's really a nice guy. He's in love with me. He brings me flowers and candy. He wants to marry me. He's been real nice. And one night I went home with him. We did it."
"All right."
"Then there's Barney, he's married but I like him. Of all the guys in the bar he's the only one who never tried to put the make on me. It fascinated me. Well, you know, I'm trying to sell my house. So he came over one afternoon. He just came by. He said he wanted to look the house over for a friend of his. I let him in. Well, he came at just the right time. The kids were in school so I let him go ahead… Then one night this stranger came into the bar late. He asked me togo home with him. I told him no. Then he said he just wanted to sit in my car with me, talk to me. I said all right. We sat in the car and talked. Then we shared a joint. Then he "kissed me. That kiss did it. If he hadn't kissed me I wouldn't have done it. Now I'm pregnant and I don't know who. I'll have to wait and see who the child looks like."
"All right, Lydia, lots of luck."
"Thanks."
I hung up. A minute passed and then the phone rang again. It was Lydia. "Oh," she said, "I wondered how you were doing?"
"About the same, horses and booze."
"Then everything's all right with you?"
"Not quite."
"What is it?"
"Well, I sent this woman out for champagne…"
"Woman?"
"Well, girl, really…"
"A girl?"
"I sent her out with $20 for champagne and she hasn't come back. I think I've been taken."
"Chinaski, I don't want to hear about your women. Do you understand that?"
"All right."
Lydia hung up. There was a knock on the door. It was Tammie. She'd come back with the champagne and the change.
46
It was noon the next day when the phone rang. It was Lydia again.
"Well, did she come back with the champagne?"
"Who?"
"Your whore."
"Yes, she came back…"
"Then what happened?"
"We drank the champagne. It was good stuff."
"Then what happened?"
"Well, you know, shit…"
I heard a long insane wail like a wolverine shot in the arctic snow and left to bleed and die alone…
She hung up.
I slept most of the afternoon and that night I drove out to the harness races.
I lost $32, got into the Volks and drove back. I parked, walked up on the porch and put the key into the door. All the lights were on. I looked around. Drawers were ripped out and overturned on the floor, the bed covers were on the floor. All my books were missing from the bookcase, including the books I had written, 20 or so. And my typewriter was gone and my toaster was gone and my radio was gone and my paintings were gone.
Lydia, I thought.
All she'd left me was my t.v. because she knew I never looked at it.
I walked outside and there was Lydia's car, but she wasn't in it. "Lydia," I said. "Hey, baby!"
I walked up and down the street and then I saw her feet, both of them, sticking out from behind a small tree up against an apartment house wall. I walked up to the tree and said, "Look, what the hell's the matter with you?"
Lydia just stood there. She had two shopping bags full of my books and a portfolio of my paintings.
"Look, I've got to have my books and paintings back. They belong to me."
Lydia came out from behind the tree-screaming. She took the paintings out and started tearing them. She threw the pieces in the air and when they fell to the ground she stomped on them. She was wearing her cowgirl boots.
Then she took my books out of the shopping bags and started throwing them around, out into the street, out on the lawn, everywhere.
"Here are your paintings! Here are your books! AND DON'T TELL ME ABOUT YOUR WOMEN! DON'T TELL ME ABOUT YOUR WOMEN!"
Then Lydia ran down to my court with a book in her hand, my latest, The Selected Works of Henry Chinaski. She screamed, "So you want your books back? So you want your books back? Here are your goddamned books! AND DON'T TELL ME ABOUT YOUR WOMEN!"
She started smashing the glass panes in my front door. She took The Selected Works of Henry Chinaski and smashed pane after pane, screaming, "You want your books back? Here are your goddamned books! AND DON'T TELL ME ABOUT YOUR WOMEN! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR WOMEN!"
I stood there as she screamed and broke glass.
Where are the police? I thought. Where?
Then Lydia ran down the court walk, took a quick left at the trash bin and ran down the driveway of the apartment house next door. Behind a small bush was my typewriter, my radio and my toaster.
Lydia picked up the typewriter and ran out into the center of the street with it. It was a heavy old-fashioned standard machine. Lydia lifted the typer high over her head with both hands and smashed it in the street. The platen and several other parts flew off. She picked the typer up again, raised it over her head and screamed, "DON'T TELL ME ABOUT YOUR WOMEN!" and smashed it into the street again.
Then Lydia jumped into her car and drove off. Fifteen seconds later the police cruiser drove up. "It's an orange Volks. It's called the Thing, looks like a tank. I don't remember the license number, but the letters are HZY, like HAZY, got it?"
"Address?"
I gave them her address…
Sure enough, they brought her back. I heard her in the back seat, wailing, as they drove up.
"STAND BACK!" said one cop as he jumped out. He followed me up to my place. He walked inside and stepped on some broken glass. For some reason he shone his flashlight on the ceiling and the ceiling mouldings.
"You want to press charges?" the cop asked me.
"No. She has children. I don't want her to lose her kids. Her ex-husband is trying to get them from her. But please tell her that people aren't supposed to go around doing this sort of thing."
"O.K.," he said, "now sign this."
He wrote it down in hand in a little notebook with lined paper. It said that I, Henry Chinaski, would not press charges against one Lydia Vance.
I signed it and he left.
I locked what was left of the door and went to bed and tried to sleep.
In an hour or so the phone rang. It was Lydia. She was back home.
"YOU-SON-OF-A-BITCH, YOU EVER TELL ME ABOUT YOUR WOMEN AGAIN AND I'LL DO THE SAME THING ALL OVER AGAIN!"
She hung up.
47
Two nights later I went over to Tammie's place on Rustic Court. I knocked. The lights weren't on. It seemed empty. I looked in her mailbox. There were letters in there. I wrote a note, "Tammie, I have been trying to phone you. I came over and you weren't in. Are you all right? Phone me… Hank."
I drove over at 11 am the next morning. Her car wasn't out front. My note was still stuck in the door. I rang anyhow. The letters were still in the mailbox. I left a note in the mailbox: "Tammie, where the hell are you? Contact me… Hank."
I drove all over the neighborhood looking for that smashed red Camaro.
I returned that night. It was raining. My notes were wet. There was more mai
l in the box. I left her a book of my poems, inscribed. Then I went back to my Volks. I had a Maltese cross hanging from my rearview mirror. I cut the cross down, took it back to her place and tied it around her doorknob.
I didn't know where any of her friends lived, where her mother lived, where her lovers lived.
I went back to my court and wrote some love poems.
48
I was sitting with an anarchist from Beverly Hills, Ben Solvnag, who was writing my biography when I heard her footsteps on the court walk. I knew the sound-they were always fast and frantic and sexy-those tiny feet. I lived near the rear of the court. My door was open. Tammie ran in.
We were both into each other's arms, hugging and kissing.
Ben Solvnag said goodbye and was gone.
"Those sons of bitches confiscated my stuff, all my stuff! I couldn't make the rent! That dirty son-of-a-bitch!"
"I'll go over there and kick his ass. We'll get your stuff back."
"No, he has guns! All kinds of guns!"
"Oh."
"My daughter is at my mother's."
"How about something to drink?"
"Sure."
"What?"
"Extra dry champagne."
"O.K."
The door was still open and the afternoon sunlight came in through her hair-it was so long and so red it burned. "Can I take a bath?" she asked. "Of course." "Wait for me," she said.
In the morning we talked about her finances. She had money coming in: child support plus a couple of unemployment checks with more to come.
"There's a vacancy in the place in back, right above me."
"How much is it?"
"$105 with half of the utilities paid."
"Oh hell, I can make that. Do they take children? A child?"
"They will. I've got pull. I know the managers."
By Sunday she was moved in. She was right above me. She could look into my kitchen where I typed my things on the breakfast nook table.
49
That Tuesday night we were sitting at my place drinking; Tammie, me and her brother, Jay. The phone rang. It was Bobby. "Louie and his wife are down here and she'd like to meet you." Louie was the one who had just vacated Tammie's place. He played in jazz groups at small clubs and wasn't having much luck.
But he was an interesting sort.
"I'd rather just forget it, Bobby."
"Louie will be hurt if you don't come down here."
"O.K., Bobby, but I'm bringing a couple of friends."
We went down and the introductions went around. Then Bobby brought out some of his bargain beer. There was stereo music going, and it was loud.
"I read your story in Knight," said Louie. "It was a strange one. You've never fucked a dead woman, have you?"
"It just seemed like some of them were dead."
"I know what you mean."
"I hate that music," said Tammie.
"How is the music going, Louie?"
"Well, I've got a new group now. If we can hang together long enough we might make it."
"I think I'll suck somebody off," said Tammie, "I think I'll suck off Bobby, I think I'll suck off Louie, I think I'll suck off my brother!"
Tammie was dressed in a long outfit that looked something like an evening dress and something like a nightgown.
Valerie, Bobby's wife, was at work. She worked two nights a week as a barmaid. Louie and his wife, Paula, and Bobby had been drinking for some time.
Louie took a gulp of the bargain beer, started to get sick, jumped up and ran out the front door. Tammie jumped up and ran out the door after him. After a bit they both walked in together.
"Let's get the hell out of here," Louie said to Paula.
"All right," she said.
They got up and left together.
Bobby got out some more beer. Jay and I talked about something. Then I heard Bobby:
"Don't blame me! Hey, man, don't blame me!"
I looked. Tammie had her head in Bobby's lap and she had her hand on his balls and then she moved it up and grabbed his cock and held his cock, and all the time her eyes looked directly at me.
I took a hit of my beer, put it down, got up and walked out.
50
I saw Bobby out front the next day when I went to buy a newspaper. "Louie phoned," he said, "he told me what happened to him."
"Yeah?"
"He ran outside to vomit and Tammie grabbed his cock while he was vomiting and she said, 'Come on upstairs and I'll suck you off. Then we'll stick your dick in an Easter egg.' He told her 'No' and she said, 'What's the matter? Aren't you a man? Can't you hold your liquor? Come upstairs and I'll suck you off!'"
I went down to the corner and bought the newspaper. I came back and checked the race results, read about the knifings, the rapes, the murders.
There was a knock. I opened the door. It was Tammie. She came in and sat down.
"Look," she said, "I'm sorry if I hurt you acting like I did, but that's all I'm sorry for. The rest of it is just me."
"That's all right," I said, "but you hurt Paula too when you ran out the door after Louie. They're together, you know."
"SHIT!" she screamed at me, "I DON'T KNOW PAULA FROM ADAM!"
51
That night I took Tammie to the harness races. We went upstairs to the second deck and sat down. I brought her a program and she stared at it a while. (At the harness races, past performance charts are printed in the program.)
"Look," she said, "I'm on pills. And when I'm on pills I sometimes get spaced and I get lost. Keep your eye on me."
"All right. I've got to bet. You want a few bucks to bet with?"
"No."
"All right, I'll be right back."
I walked to the windows and bet 5 win on the 7 horse.
When I got back Tammie wasn't there. She's just gone to the ladies' room, I thought.
I sat and watched the race. The 7 horse came in at 5 to one. I was 25 bucks up.
Tammie still wasn't back. The horses came out for the next race. I decided not to bet. I decided to look for Tammie.
First I walked to the upper deck and checked the grandstand, all the aisles, the concession stands, the bar. I couldn't find her.
The second race started and they went around. I heard the players screaming during the stretch run as I walked down to the ground floor. I looked all round for that marvelous body and that red hair. I couldn't find her.
I walked down to Emergency First Aid. A man was sitting in there smoking a cigar. I asked him, "Do you have a young redhead in there? Maybe she fainted… she's been sick."
"I don't have any redheads in here, sir."
My feet were tired. I went back to the second deck and began thinking about the next race.
By the end of the eighth race I was $132 ahead. I was going to bet 50 win on the 4 horse in the last race. I got up to bet and then I saw Tammie standing in the doorway of a maintenance room. She was standing between a black janitor with a broom and another black man who was very well dressed. He looked like a movie pimp. Tammie grinned and waved at me.
I walked over. "I was looking for you. I thought maybe you'd o.d.'d."
"No, I'm all right, I'm fine."
"Well, that's good. Goodnight, Red…"
I walked off toward the betting window. I heard her running behind me. "Hey, where the hell you going?"
"I want to get it down on the 4 horse."
I got it down. The 4 lost by a nose. The races were over. Tammie and I walked out to the parking lot together. Her hip bounced against me as we walked.
"You had me worried," I said.
We found the car and got in. Tammie smoked 6 or 7 cigarettes on the way back, smoking them part way, then bending them out in the ashtray. She turned on the radio. She turned the sound up and down, changed stations and snapped her fingers to the music.
When we got to the court she ran to her place and locked the door.
52
Bobby's wife worked two nights a
week and when she was gone he got on the telephone. I knew that on Tuesday and Thursday nights he would be lonely.
It was Tuesday night when the phone rang. It was Bobby. "Hey, man, mind if I come down and have a few beers?"
"All right, Bobby."
I was sitting in a chair across from Tammie who was on the couch. Bobby came in and sat on the couch. I opened him a beer. Bobby sat and talked to Tammie. The conversation was so inane that I tuned out. But some of it seeped through.
"In the morning," Bobby said, "I take a cold shower. It really wakes me up."
"I take a cold shower in the morning too," said Tammie.
"I take a cold shower and then I towel myself off," Bobby continued, "then I read a magazine or something. Then I'm ready for the day."
"I just take a cold shower, but I don't wipe myself off," said Tammie, "I just let the little drops stay there."
Bobby said, "Sometimes I take a real hot bath. The water's so hot that I've got to slip in real slow."
Then Bobby got up and demonstrated how he slipped into his real hot bath.
The conversation moved on to movies and television programs. They both seemed to love movies and television programs.
They talked for 2 or 3 hours, nonstop.
Then Bobby got up. "Well," he said, "I've got to go."
"Oh, please don't go, Bobby," said Tammie.
"No, I've got to go."
Valerie was due home from work.
53
On Thursday night Bobby phoned again. "Hey, man, what are you doing?"
"Not much."
"Mind if I come down and have a few beers?"
"I'd rather not have any visitors tonight."
"Oh, come on, man, I'll just stay for a few beers…"
"No, I'd rather not."
"WELL, FUCK YOU THEN!" he screamed.
I hung up and went into the other room.
"Who was that?" Tammie asked.
"Just somebody who wanted to come by."
"That was Bobby, wasn't it?"
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