Women

She pointed to a spot on her bluejeans. She was not joking anymore. She was terrified.

There was a red stain, but it was dry. Tammie liked to use my paints. I reached down and touched the dry stain. She was all right, except for the pills.

"Listen," I told her, "you're all right, don't worry…"

As I walked out the door Bobby came pounding up the stairs. "Tammie, Tammie, what's wrong? Are you all right?"

Bobby evidently had had to get dressed, which explained the time lag.

As he bounced past me I told him quickly, "Jesus Christ, man, you're always in my life."

He ran into Tammie's apartment followed by the guy next door, a used car salesman and a certified nut.

Tammie came down a few days later with an envelope.

"Hank, the manager just served me with an eviction notice."

She showed it to me.

I read it carefully. "It looks like they mean it," I said.

"I told her I'd pay the back rent but she said, 'We want you out of here, Tammie!'"

"You can't let the rent go too long."

"Listen, I have the money. I just don't like to pay."

Tammie was completely contrary in her ways. Her car wasn't registered, the license plate tabs had long ago expired, and she drove without a driver's license. She left her car parked for days in yellow zones, red zones, white zones, reserved parking lots… When the police stopped her drunk or high or without her i. d., she talked to them, and they always let her go. She tore up the parking tickets whenever she got them.

"I'll get the owner's phone number." (We had an absentee landlord.) "They can't kick my ass out of here. Do you have his phone number?"

"No."

Just then Irv, who owned a whorehouse, and who also acted as bouncer at the local massage parlor walked by. Irv was 6 foot 3 and on ATD. He also had a better mind than the first 3,000 people you'd pass on the street.

Tammie ran out: "Irv! Irv!"

He stopped and turned. Tammie swung her breasts at him. "Irv, do you have the owner's phone number?"

"No, I don't."

"Irv, I need the owner's phone number. Give me his number and I'll suck you off!"

"I don't have the number."

He walked up to his door and put his key into the lock.

"Come on, Irv, I'll suck you off if you tell me!"

"You really mean it?" he asked hesitating, looking at her.

Then he opened the door, walked in and closed it.

Tammie ran up to another door and beat on it. Richard opened the door cautiously, with the chain on it. He was bald, lived alone, was religious, about 45 and looked at television continually. He was as pink and clean as a woman. He complained continually about the noise from my place-he couldn't sleep, he said. The management told him to move. He hated me. Now there was one of my women at his door. He kept the chain on.

"What do you want?" he hissed.

"Look, baby, I want the owner's phone number… You've lived here for years. I know you have his phone number. I need it."

"Go away," he said.

"Look, baby, I'll be nice to you… A kiss, a nice big kiss for you!"

"Harlot!" he said "Strumpet!"

Richard slammed the door.

Tammie walked on in. "Hank?"

"Yes?"

"What's a strumpet? I know what a trumpet is, but what's a strumpet?"

"A strumpet, my dear, is a whore."

"Why that dirty son-of-a-bitch!"

Tammie walked outside and continued to beat on the doors of the other apartments. Either they were out or they didn't answer. She came back. "It's not fair! Why do they want me out of here? What have I done?"

"I don't know. Think back. Maybe there's something."

"I can't think of anything."

"Move in with me."

"You couldn't stand the kid."

"You're right."

The days passed. The owner remained invisible, he didn't like to deal with the tenants. The manager stood behind the eviction notice. Even Bobby became less visible, ate t.v. di

"Right on, Bobby…"

I drove to the market and got some empty cardboard cartons. Then Tammie's sister, Cathy, went crazy in Denver-after losing a lover-and Tammie had to go see her, with Dancy. I drove them down to the train depot. I put them on the train.

69

That evening the phone rang. It was Mercedes. I had met her after giving a poetry reading at Venice Beach. She was about 28, fair body, pretty good legs, a blonde about 5~feet-5, a blue-eyed blonde. Her hair was long and slightly wavy and she smoked continuously. Her conversation was dull, and her laugh was loud and false, most of the time.

I had gone to her place after the reading. She lived off the boardwalk in an apartment. I'd played the piano and she'd played the bongos. There was a jug of Red Mountain. There were joints. I got too drunk to leave. I had slept there that night and left in the morning.

"Look," said Mercedes, "I work right in your neighborhood now. I thought I might come by to see you."

"All right."

I hung up. The phone rang again. It was Tammie.

"Look, I've decided to move out. I'll be home in a couple of days. Just get my yellow dress out of the apartment, the one you like, and my green shoes. All the rest is crap. Leave it."

"O.K."

"Listen, I'm flat broke. We don't have any money for food."

"I'll wire you 40 bucks in the morning, Western Union."

"You're sweet…"

I hung up. Fifteen minutes later Mercedes was there. She had on a very short skirt, was wearing sandals and a low-cut blouse. Also small blue earrings.

"You want some grass?" she asked.

"Sure."

She took the grass and the papers out of her purse and started rolling some joints. I broke out the beer and we sat on the couch and smoked and drank.

We didn't talk much. I played with her legs and we drank and smoked quite a long time.

Finally we undressed and went to bed, first Mercedes, then me. We began kissing and I rubbed her cunt. She grabbed my cock. I mounted. Mercedes guided it in. She had a good grip down there, very tight. I teased her a while, pulling it almost all the way out and moving the head back and forth. Then I slid it all the way in, slowly, in lazy fashion. Then suddenly I rammed her 4 or 5 times, and her head bounced on the pillow. "Arrrrggg… " she said. Then I eased up and stroked.

It was a very hot night and we both sweated. Mercedes was high on the beer and the joints. I decided to finish her off with a flourish. Show her a thing or two.

I pumped on and on. Five minutes. Ten minutes more. I couldn't come. I began to fail, I was getting soft.

Mercedes got worried. "Make it!" she demanded. "Oh, make it, baby!"

That didn't help at all. I rolled off.

It was an unbearably hot night. I took the sheet and wiped off the sweat. I could hear my heart pounding as I lay there. It sounded sad. I wondered what Mercedes was thinking.

I lay dying, my cock limp.

Mercedes turned her head toward me. I kissed her. Kissing is more intimate than fucking. That's why I never liked my girlfriends to go around kissing men. I'd rather they fucked them.

I kept kissing Mercedes and since I felt that way about kissing I hardened again. I climbed on top of her, kissing her as if it was my last hour on earth.

My cock slid in.

This time I knew I was going to make it. I could feel the miracle of it.

I was going to come in her cunt, the bitch. I was going to pour my juices into her and there was nothing she could do to stop me.

She was mine. I was a conquering army, I was a rapist, I was her master, I was death.

She was helpless. Her head rolled, she gripped me and gasped, as she made sounds…

"Arrrgg, uuggg, oh oh… oooff… oooooh!"