Women

"That doesn't help."

"Once a woman turns against you, forget it. They can love you, then something turns in them. They can watch you dying in a gutter, run over by a car, and they'll spit on you."

"Cecelia's a wonderful woman."

It was getting darker. "Let's drink some more beer," I said.

We sat and drank beer. It got really dark and then there was a high wind. We didn't talk much. I was glad we had met. There was very little bullshit in him. He was tired, maybe that helped. He'd never had any luck with his poems in the U.S.A. They loved him in Australia. Maybe some day they'd discover him here, maybe not. Maybe by the year 2000. He was a tough, chunky little guy, you knew he could duke it, you knew he had been there. I was fond of him.

We drank quietly, then the phone rang. It was Cecelia again. The tornado had passed over, or rather, around. Bill was going to teach his class. I was going to read that night. Bully. Everything was working. We were all fully employed.

About 12:30 pm Bill put his notebooks and whatever he needed into a backpack, got on his bike and pedaled off to the university.

Cecelia came home sometime in the mid-afternoon. "Did Bill get off all right?" "Yes, he left on the bike. He looked fine." "How fine? Was he on shit?" "He looked fine. He ate and everything." "I still love him, Hank. I just can't go through it anymore." "Sure."

"You don't know how much it means to him to have you out here. He used to read your letters to me." "Dirty, huh?"

"No, fu

75

That night I gave another bad reading. I didn't care. They didn't care. If John Cage could get one thousand dollars for eating an apple, I'd accept $500 plus air fare for being a lemon.

It was the same afterwards. The little coeds came up with their young hot bodies and their pilot-light eyes and asked me to autograph some of my books. I would have liked to fuck about five of them in one night sometime and get them out of my system forever.

A couple of professors came up and gri

I took the check and got out. There was to be a small, select gathering at Cecelia's house afterwards. That was part of the unwritten contract. The more girls the better, but at Cecelia's house I stood very little chance. I knew that. And sure enough, in the morning I awakened in my bed, alone.

Bill was sick again the next morning. He had another 1:00 class and before he went off he said, "Cecelia will drive you to the airport. I'm going now. No heavy goodbyes."

"All right."

Bill put on his backpack and walked his bike out the door.

76

I was back in L.A. about a week and a half. It was night. The phone rang. It was Cecelia, she was sobbing. "Hank, Bill is dead. You're the first one I've called."

"Christ, Cecelia, I don't know what to say."

"I'm so glad you came when you did. Bill did nothing but talk about you after you left. You don't know what your visit meant to him."

"What happened?"

"He complained of feeling real bad and we took him to a hospital and in two hours he was dead. I know people are going to think he o.d.'d, but he didn't. Even though I was going to divorce him I loved him."

"I believe you."

"I don't want to bother you with all this."

"It's all right, Bill would understand. I just don't know what to say to help you. I'm kind of in shock. Let me phone you later on to see if you're all right."

"Would you?"

"Of course."

That's the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.

As sick and unhappy as he was, Bill just didn't look like somebody who was about to die. There were many deaths like that and even though we knew about death and thought about it almost every day, when there was an unexpected death, and when that person was an exceptional and lovable human being, it was hard, very, no matter how many other people had died, good, bad or unknown.

I phoned Cecelia back that night, and I phoned her again the next night, and once more after that, and then I stopped phoning.

77

A month went by. R.A. Dwight, the editor of Dogbite Press wrote and asked me to do a foreword to Keesing's Selected Poems. Keesing, with the help of his death, was at last going to get some recognition somewhere besides Australia.

Then Cecelia phoned. "Hank, I'm going to San Francisco to see R.A. Dwight. I have some photos of Bill and some unpublished things. I want to go over them with Dwight and we're going to decide what to publish. But first I want to stop in L.A. for a day or two. Can you meet me at the airport?"

"Sure, you can stay at my place, Cecelia."

"Thanks much."

She gave me her arrival time and I went in and cleaned the toilet, scrubbed the bathtub and changed the sheets and pillow cases on my bed.

Cecelia arrived on the 10 am flight which was hell for me to make, but she looked good, albeit a bit plump. She was sturdy, built low, she looked midwestern, scrubbed. Men looked at her, she had a way of moving her behind; it looked forceful, a bit ominous and sexy.

We waited for the baggage in the bar. Cecelia didn't drink. She had an orange juice.

"I just love airports and airport passengers, don't you?"

"No."

"The people seem so interesting."

"They have more money than the people who travel by rail or bus."

"We passed over the Grand Canyon on the way in."

"Yes, it's on your route."

"These waitresses wear such short skirts! Look, you can see their panties."

"Good tips. They all live in condominiums and drive M.G.s."

"Everybody on the plane was so nice! The man in the seat next to me offered to buy me a drink."

"Let's get your baggage."

"R. A. phoned to tell me that he had received your foreword to Bill's Selected Poems. He read me parts of it over the phone. It was beautiful. I want to thank you."

"Forget it."

"I don't know how to repay you."

"Are you sure you don't want a drink?"

"I rarely drink. Maybe later."

"What do you prefer? I'll get something for when we get back to my place. I want you to feel comfortable and relaxed."

"I'm sure Bill is looking down at us now and he's feeling happy."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes!"

We got the baggage and walked toward the parking lot.