Women

24

I began receiving letters from a girl in New York City. Her name was Mindy. She had run across a couple of my books, but the best thing about her letters was that she seldom mentioned writing except to say that she was not a writer. She wrote about things in general and men and sex in particular. Mindy was 25, wrote in longhand, and the handwriting was stable, sensible, yet humorous. I answered her letters and was always glad to find one of hers in my mailbox. Most people are much better at saying things in letters than in conversation, and some people can write artistic, inventive letters, but when they try a poem or story or novel they become pretentious.

Then Mindy sent some photographs. If they were faithful she was quite beautiful. We wrote for several more weeks and then she mentioned that she had a 2 week vacation coming up.

Why don't you fly out? I suggested.

All right, she replied.

We began to phone one another. Finally she gave me her arrival date at L.A. International.

I'll be there, I told her, nothing will stop me.

25

I kept the date in mind. It was never any problem creating a split with Lydia. I was naturally a loner, content just to live with a woman, eat with her, sleep with her, walk down the street with her. I didn't want conversation, or to go anywhere except the racetrack or the boxing matches. I didn't understand t.v. I felt foolish paying money to go into a movie theatre and sit with other people to share their emotions. Parties sickened me. I hated the game-playing, the dirty play, the flirting, the amateur drunks, the bores. But parties, dancing, small talk energized Lydia. She considered herself a sexpot. But she was a little too obvious. So our arguments often grew out of my wish for no-people-at-all versus her wish for as-many-people-as-often-as-possible.

A couple of days before Mindy's arrival I started it. We were on the bed together.

" Lydia, for Christ's sake, why are you so stupid? Don't you realize I'm a loner? A recluse? I have to be that way to write."

"How can you learn anything about people if you don't meet them?"

"I already know all about them."

"Even when we go out to eat in a restaurant, you keep your head down, you don't look at anybody."

"Why make myself sick?"

"I observe people," she said. "I study them."

"Shit!"

"You're afraid of people!"

"I hate them."

"How can you be a writer? You don't observe!"

"O.K., I don't look at people, but I earn the rent with my writing. It beats tending sheep."

"You're not going to last. You'll never make it. You're doing it all wrong."

"That's why I'm making it."

"Making it? Who the hell knows who you are? Are you famous like Mailer? Like Capote?"

"They can't write."

"But you can! Only you, Chinaski, can write!"

"Yes, that's how I feel."

"Are you famous? If you went to New York City, would anybody know you?"

"Listen I don't care about that. I just want to go on writing. I don't need trumpets."

"You'd take all the trumpets you could get."

"Maybe."

"You like to pretend you're already famous."

"I have always acted the same way, even before I wrote."

"You're the most unknown famous man I ever met."

"I'm just not ambitious."

"You are but you're lazy. You want it for nothing. When do you write anyhow? When do you do it? You're always in bed or drunk or at the racetrack."

"I don't know. It's not important."

"What's important then?"

"You tell me," I said.

"Well, I'll tell you what's important!" Lydia said. "We haven't had a party for a long time. I haven't seen any people for a long time! I LIKE people! My sisters LOVE parties. They'll drive a thousand miles to go to a party! That's how we were raised in Utah! There's nothing wrong with parties. It's just people LETTING GO and having a good time! You've got this crazy idea in your head. You think having fun leads to fucking! Jesus Christ, people are decent! You just don't know how to have a good time!"

"I don't like people," I said.

Lydia leaped off of the bed. "Jesus, you make me sick!"

"All right, then, I'll give you some room."

I swung my legs off the bed and began putting my shoes on.

"Some room?" Lydia asked. "What do you mean by 'some room'?"

"I mean, I am getting the hell out of here!"

"O.K., but listen to this: if you walk out the door now you won't see me again!"

"Fair enough," I said.

I stood up, walked to the door, opened it, closed it and walked down to the Volks. I started the engine and drove off. I had made some room for Mindy.

26

I sat in the airport and waited. You never knew about photos. You could never tell. I was nervous. I felt like vomiting. I lit a cigarette and gagged. Why did I do these things? I didn't want her now. And Mindy was flying all the way from New York City. I knew plenty of women. Why always more women? What was I trying to do? New affairs were exciting but they were also hard work. The first kiss, the first fuck had some drama. People were interesting at first. Then later, slowly but surely, all the flaws and madness would manifest themselves. I would become less and less to them; they would mean less and less to me.

I was old and I was ugly. Maybe that's why it felt so good to stick it into young girls. I was King Kong and they were lithe and tender. Was I trying to screw my way past death? By being with young girls did I hope I wouldn't grow old, feel old? I just didn't want to age badly, simply quit, be dead before death itself arrived.

Mindy's plane landed and taxied in. I felt I was in danger. Women knew me beforehand because they had read my books. I had exposed myself. On the other hand, I knew nothing of them. I was the real gambler. I could get killed, I could get my balls cut off. Chinaski without balls. Love Poems of a Eunuch.

I stood waiting for Mindy. The passengers came out of the gate.

Oh, I hope she's not the one.

Or her.

Or especially her.

Now that one would be fine! Look at those legs, that behind, those eyes…

One of them moved towards me. I hoped it was her. She was the best of the whole damned lot. I couldn't be that lucky. She walked up to me and smiled. "I'm Mindy."

"I'm glad you're Mindy."

"I'm glad you're Chinaski."

"Do you have to wait for your baggage?"

"Yes, I brought enough for a long stay!"

"Let's wait in the bar."

We walked in and found a table. Mindy ordered a vodka and tonic. I ordered a vodka-7. Ah, almost in tune. I lit her cigarette. She looked fine. Almost virginal. It was difficult to believe. She was small, blond and perfectly put together. She was more natural than sophisticated. I found it easy to look at her eyes- blue-green. She wore 2 tiny earrings. And she wore high heels. I had told Mindy that high heels excited me.

"Well," she said, "are you frightened?"

"Not so much anymore. I like you."

"You look much better than your photos," she said. "I don't think you're ugly at all."

"Thanks."

"Oh, I don't mean you're handsome, not the way people think of handsome. Your face seems kind. But your eyes-they're beautiful. They're wild, crazy, like some animal peering out of a forest on fire. God, something like that. I'm not very good with words."

"I think that you're beautiful," I said. "And very nice. I feel good around you. I think it's good that we're together. Drink up.

We need another. You're like your letters."

We had the second drink and went down for the luggage. I was proud to be with Mindy. She walked with style. So many women with good bodies just slouched along like overloaded creatures. Mindy flowed.