The Most Beautiful Woman in Town

by Charles Bukowski

  “Sure, Charley.”

  I sat down. She had something going. It smelled good. She was evidently a fine cook. The whole walls crawled with this warm smell of cooking. No wonder she was so fat: good cook, good eater. Marie was making a pot of stew. Every now and then she’d get up and add something to the pot. An onion. A piece of cabbage. A few carrots. She knew. And I drank and looked at that big sloppy old gal and she sat there making these most magic hats, her hands working into a basket, picking up first this color, then that, this length of ribbon, then that, and then twisting it so, sewing it so, placing it against the hat, and that 2 bit straw was just more magic. Marie created masterpieces that would never be discovered — walking down the street on top of bitches’ heads.

  As she worked and tended stew, she talked.

  “It’s not like it used to be. People don’t have any money. Everything’s Traveler’s checks and checkbooks and credit cards. People just don’t have money. They don’t carry it. Credit’s everything. A guy gets a paycheck and it’s already taken. They mortgage their whole lives away to buy one house. And then they’ve got to fill that house with shit and have a car. They’re hooked on house and the legislators know this and tax them to death with property taxes. Nobody has any money. Small businesses just can’t last.”

  We sat down to the stew and it was perfect. After dinner we brought out the whiskey and she brought me two cigars and we looked at tv and didn’t talk much. I felt as if I had been there for years. She kept working on the hats, talking now and then, and I’d say, yeh, that’s right, or, is that so? And the hats kept flying off of her hands, masterpieces.

  “Marie,” I told her, “I’m tired. Got to go to bed.”

  She told me to take the whiskey with me, so I did. But instead of going down to my bed, I threw back the cover of Marie’s bed and crawled in. After undressing, of course. It was a fine mattress. It was a fine bed. It was one of those old-fashioned highpost jobs with a wooden roof, or whatever they called them. I guess if you fucked until the roof came down, you made it. I’d never bring that roof down without help from the gods.

  Marie kept looking at tv and making hats. Then I heard her turn off the set, switch out the kitchen light and she came into the bedroom, right past the bedroom and she didn’t see me, she went right on down to the crapper. She was in there a while and then I watched her switch out of her clothes and into this big pink nightie. She fucked with her face a bit, gave up, put on a couple of curlers, then turned around and walked toward the bed and saw me.

  “My god, Charley, you’re in the wrong bed.”

  “Uh uh.”

  “Listen, honey, I’m not that kind of woman.”

  “O, cut the horseshit and climb in!”

  She did. My god, she was nothing but meat. Actually, I was a bit frightened. What did you do with all that stuff? Well, I was trapped. Marie’s whole side of the bed sank down.

  “Listen, Charley …”

  I grabbed her head, turned it, and she seemed to be crying, and then my lips were on hers. We kissed. Damn it, my cock was getting hard. Good god. What was it?

  “Charley,” she said, “you don’t have to.”

  I took one of her hands and placed it around my cock.

  “O shit,” she said, “o shit!”

  Then she kissed me, tongued me. She had a small tongue — at least that was small — and it ripped in and out, rather full of saliva and passion. I pulled away.

  “Whatza matta?”

  “Wait uh minute.”

  I reached over and got the fifth and took a good long pull, then I sat it down again and I reached on under and lifted that huge pink nightie. I got to feeling and I didn’t know what I had but it seemed to be it, very small though, but in the right place. Yes, it was her cunt. I poked at it with my pecker. Then she reached down and guided me in. Another miracle. That thing was tight. It almost ripped the skin off of me. We started working. I was looking for the long ride but I didn’t care. She had me. It was one of the best fucks of my life. I moaned and hollered, then finished, rolled off. Unbelievable. When she came back from the bathroom we talked a while, then she went to sleep. But she snored. So I had to go down to my own bed. And I awakened the next morning as she went to work.

  “Gotta hurry, Charley,” she said.

  “Sure, baby.”

  As soon as she left I went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. She’d left a purse there. Ten dollars. I didn’t take it. I walked back to the bathroom and took a good crap, without the spider. Then I took a bath. I tried to brush my teeth, vomited a bit. I dressed and walked into the kitchen. I’d gotten hold of a piece of paper and a pen:

  Marie:

  I love you. You are very good to me. But I must leave. And I don’t know exactly why. I’m crazy, I guess. Goodbye.

  Charley

  I propped the note up against the television set. I didn’t feel good. I felt like crying. It was quiet in there, it was quiet in there the way I liked it. Even the stove and the refrigerator looked human, I mean good human — they seemed to have arms and voices and they said, hang around, kid, it’s good here, it can be very good here. I found what was left of the 5th in the bedroom. I drank that. Then I found a can of beer in the refrigerator. I drank that. Then I got up and made the long walk down that narrow place, it seemed like a hundred yards. I got to the door and then I remembered I had the key. I walked back and put the key with the note. Then I looked at the ten in the purse again. I left it there. I made the walk again. When I got to the door, I knew that when I closed it there would be no going back. I closed it. It was final. Down those steps. I was alone again and nobody gave a damn. I walked south, then took a right. I walked along, I walked along and got out of the French Quarter. I crossed Canal Street. I walked along for some blocks and then I turned this way and then I crossed another street and turned that way. I didn’t know where I was going. I passed a place to my left and a man was standing in the doorway and he said,

  “Hey, man, you want a job?”

  And I looked into the doorway and here were these rows of men lined up at wooden tables and they had hammers and they were hitting at things in shells, they looked like clam shells and they broke the shells and did something with the meat, and it was dark in there; it seemed as if the men were beating at themselves with hammers and tossing away what was left of them, and I told the man,

  “No, I don’t want a job.”

  I was facing the sun as I walked.

  I had 74 cents.

  The sun was all right.

  ALL THE PUSSY WE WANT

  Harry and Duke. The bottle sat between in a cheap hotel in downtown L.A. It was Saturday night in one of the cruellest towns in the world. Harry’s face was quite round and stupid with just a tip of a nose looking out and you hated his eyes; in fact, you hated Harry when you looked at him, so you didn’t look at him. Duke was a little younger, a good listener, with just the slightest of smiles on when he listened. He liked to listen; people were his biggest show and there wasn’t any admission charge. Harry was unemployed and Duke was a janitor. They’d both done time and would be in jail again. They knew it. It didn’t matter.

  The 5th was about one-third finished and there were empty beercans on the floor. They rolled their cigarettes with the easy calm of men who had lived hard and impossible lives before the age of 35 and were still alive. They knew it was all a bucket of shit but they refused to quit.

  “See,” said Harry, taking a drag, “I chose you, man. I can trust you. You won’t panic. I think your car can make it. We split it right down the middle.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Duke.

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Well, there’s gold out there, laying on the ground, real gold. All you gotta do is walk out and pick it up. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s there, I’ve seen it.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Well, it’s an army artillery grounds. They shell all day
, and sometimes at night, that’s the catch. It takes guts. But the gold is there. Maybe the shells broke it out of the earth, I don’t know. But they usually don’t shell at night.”

  “We go in at night.”

  “Right. And just pick the stuff up off of the ground. We’ll be rich. All the pussy we want. Think of it — all the pussy we want.”

  “It sounds good.”

  “In case they start shelling we leap into the first shell hole. They ain’t gonna aim there again. If they hit the target, they’re satisfied. If they haven’t, the next shot will be somewhere else.”

  “That sounds logical.”

  Harry poured some whiskey. “But there’s another catch.”

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s snakes out there. That’s why we need two men. I know you’re good with a gun. While I pick up the gold you watch for the snakes and blow their heads off. There are rattlers out there. I think you’re the man to do it.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  They sat smoking and drinking, thinking about it.

  “All that gold,” said Harry, “all that pussy.”

  “You know,” said Duke, “it mighta been that those guns blew open an old treasure chest.”

  “Whatever it is, there’s gold out there.”

  They thought about it a while longer.

  “How do you know,” asked Duke, “that after you gather all the gold I won’t shoot you out there?”

  “Well, I just gotta take that chance.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I don’t trust any man.”

  Duke opened another beer, poured another drink.

  “Shit, there’s no use of me going to work Monday is there?”

  “Not now.”

  “I feel rich already.”

  “I kind of do too.”

  “All a man needs is some kind of break,” said Duke, “then people treat him like a gentleman.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where’s this place at?” asked Duke.

  “You’ll see when we get there.”

  “We split down the middle?”

  “We split down the middle.”

  “You’re not worried about me shooting you?”

  “Why do you keep bringing that up, Duke? I might shoot you.”

  “Jesus, I never thought of that. You wouldn’t shoot a pal, would you?”

  “Are we friends?”

  “Well, yes, I’d say so, Harry.”

  “There’ll be enough gold and pussy for both of us. We’ll be set for life. No more parole officers. No more dish washing gigs. The Beverly Hills whores will be chasing us. Our worries are over.”

  “Do you really think we can bring it off?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is there really gold down there?”

  “Listen, man, I told you.”

  “O.k.”

  They drank and smoked some more. They didn’t talk. They were both thinking of the future. It was a hot night. Some of the roomers had their doors open. Most of them had a bottle of wine. The men sat in their undershirts, easy and wondering and beaten. Some of them even had women, not too much as ladies but they could hold their wine.

  “We better get another bottle,” said Duke, “before they close.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “O.k.”

  They got up and walked out the door. They turned right down the hall and went toward the back. The liquor store was down the alley and to the left. At the top of the back steps a man in stained and wrinkled clothing was stretched across the back doorway.

  “Hey, it’s my old pal Franky Cannon. He really hung one on tonight. Guess I’ll move him out of the doorway.”

  Harry picked him up by the feet and dragged him out of the way. Then he bent over him.

  “Wonder if anybody’s got to him yet?”

  “I don’t know,” said Duke, “check him out.”

  Duke pulled all Franky’s pockets inside out. Checked the shirt. Opened his pants, checked him around the waist. All he found was a matchbook that said:

  LEARN

  DRAFTING

  AT HOME

  Thousands of top pay

  jobs waiting

  “I guess somebody got him,” said Harry.

  They walked down the back steps and into the alley.

  “Are you sure that gold is there?” asked Duke.

  “Listen,” said Harry, “you’re pissing me off! You think I’m crazy?”

  “No.”

  “Well, don’t ask me that no more then!”

  They walked into the liquor store. Duke ordered a fifth of whiskey and a tall six pack of malt beer. Harry stole a bag of mixed nuts. Duke paid for his stuff and they walked out. Just as they got to the alley a young woman walked up; well, young for that area, she was about 30 with a good figure, but her hair was uncombed and she slurred a bit.

  “What you guys got in that bag?”

  “Cats’ tits,” said Duke.

  She got up near Duke and rubbed against the bag.

  “I don’t wanna drink no wine. You got whiskey in there?”

  “Sure, baby, come on up.”

  “Lemme see the bottle.”

  She looked good to Duke. She was slim and her dress was tight, real shit ass tight, god damn. He pulled the bottle out.

  “O.k.,” she said, “let’s go.”

  They walked up the alley, the girl between them. Her haunch bumped Harry as she walked. Harry grabbed her and kissed her. She broke off.

  “You son of a bitch!” she screamed, “lemme alone!”

  “You’re gonna spoil everything, Harry!” said Duke. “You do that again and I’m gonna punch you out!”

  “You can’t punch me out.”

  “Just don’t do it again!”

  They walked up the alley and up the stairways, opened the door. The girl looked at Franky Cannon laying there but didn’t say anything. They walked on up to the room. The girl sat down and crossed her legs. She had nice legs.

  “My name’s Ginny,” she said.

  Duke poured the drinks.

  “I’m Duke. He’s Harry.”

  Ginny smiled and took her drink.

  “Some son of a bitch I’m stayin’ with, he kept me naked, kept my clothes locked in the closet. I was in there a week. I waited until he passed out, took the key off him, got this dress and ran off.”

  “That’s a nice dress.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “It brings out the best in you.”

  “Thanks. Hey, listen, what do you guys do?”

  “Do?” asked Duke.

  “Yeah, I mean how do you make it?”

  “We’re gold prospectors,” said Harry.

  “Oh, come on, don’t give me that shit.”

  “That’s right,” said Duke, “we’re gold prospectors.”

  “We’ve struck it. We’re gonna be rich inside a week,” said Harry.

  Then Harry had to get up to piss. The can was down the hall. When Harry left Ginny said, “I wanna fuck you first, Honey. I’m not too crazy about him.”

  “That’s o.k.,” said Duke.

  He poured three more drinks. When Harry came back Duke told him.

  “She’s gonna lay me first.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says us,” said Duke.

  “That’s right,” said Ginny.

  “I think we ought to take her with us,” said Duke.

  “Let’s see how she lays first,” said Harry.

  “I drive men crazy,” said Ginny. “I make men scream. I’ve got the tightest pussy in the state of California!”

  “All right,” said Duke, “let’s find out.”

  “Gimme another drink first,” she said, draining her glass.

  Duke gave her a refill. “I’ve got something too, baby, I’ll probably rip you wide open!”

  “Not unless you stick your foot in there,” said Harry.

  Ginny just
smiled as she drank. She finished her drink.

  “Come on,” she said to Duke,” let’s make it.”

  Ginny walked over to the bed and pulled her dress off. She had on blue panties and a faded pink brassiere held together by a safety pin in the back. Duke had to undo the safety pin.

  “Is he gonna watch?” she asked Duke.

  “He can if he wants,” said Duke, “what the hell.”

  “O.k.,” said Ginny.

  They got into the sheets together. There were some minutes of warmup and maneuvering as Harry watched. The blanket was on the floor. All Harry could see was movement under a rather dirty sheet.

  Then Duke mounted. Harry could see Duke’s butt bobbing under the sheet.

  Then Duke said, “Oh shit!”

  “What’sa matter?” asked Ginny.

  “I slipped out! I thought you said you had a tight box!”

  “I’ll put you in! I don’t even think you were in!”

  “I was in somewhere!” said Duke.

  Then Duke’s butt was bobbing again. I never should have told that son of a bitch about the gold, thought Harry. Now we’ve got this bitch on our hands. They might team against me. Of course, if he happened to get killed, she might like me better.

  Then Ginny moaned and started talking. “Oh, honey, honey! Oh, Jesus, honey, oh my gawd!”

  What a bunch of bullshit, thought Harry.

  He got up and walked over to the back window. The back of the hotel was right near the Vermont turnoff on the Hollywood freeway. He watched the headlights and tail lights of the cars. It always amazed him that some people were in such a hurry to go in one direction while other people were in such a hurry to go in another. Somebody had to be wrong, or else it was just a dirty game. Then he heard Ginny’s voice:

  “I’m gonna COME! O, my gawd I’m gonna COME! O, my gawd! I’m …”

  Bullshit, he thought and then turned to look at them. Duke was really working. Ginny’s eyes did seem glazed; she stared straight up into the ceiling, straight up into an unshaded lightbulb; glazed, seemingly glazed she stared up past Duke’s left ear …

  I might have to shoot him out on that artillery field, thought Harry. Especially if she’s got a tight box.

  gold, all that gold.