Women

The next day Liza took me to her dance studio. We got sandwiches from a place across the street and we took them up with our drinks to her studio and ate them. It was a very large room on a second floor. There was nothing but empty floor, some stereo equipment, a few chairs, and there were ropes strung high above, across the ceiling. I didn't know what any of it meant.

"Shall I teach you to dance?" she asked.

"Somehow I'm not in the mood," I said.

The following days and nights were similar. Not bad but not great. I learned to manage on the waterbed a bit better but I still preferred a normal bed for fucking.

I stayed 3 or 4 more days, then flew back to L.A.

We continued to write letters back and forth.

A month later she was back in L. A. This time when she walked up to my door she wore slacks. She looked different, I couldn't explain it to myself but she looked different. I didn't enjoy sitting around with her so I took her to the racetrack, to the movies, to the boxing matches, all the things I did with women I enjoyed, but something was missing. We still had sex, but it was no longer as exciting. I felt as if we were married.

After five days Liza was sitting on the couch and I was reading the newspaper when she said, "Hank, it's not working, is it?"

"No."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know."

"I'll leave. I don't want to stay here."

"Relax, it's not that bad."

"I just don't understand it."

I didn't answer.

"Hank, drive me to the Women's Liberation Building. Do you know where it's at?"

"Yes, it's in the Westlake district where the art school used to be."

"How did you know?"

"I drove another woman there once."

"You bastard."

"O.K., now…"

"I have a girlfriend who works there. I don't know where her apartment is and I can't find her in the phonebook. But I know she works at the Women's Lib Building. I'll stay with her for a couple of days. I just don't want to go back to San Francisco feeling like I do…"

Liza got her things together and put them in her suitcase. We walked out to the car and I drove to the Westlake district. I had driven Lydia there once for a women's art exhibit where she had entered some of her sculpture.

I parked outside.

"I'll wait to make sure your friend is there."

"It's all right. You can go."

"I'll wait."

I waited. Liza came out, waved. I waved back, started the engine and drove off.

86

I was sitting in my shorts one afternoon a week later. There was a tender little knock on the door. "Just a moment," I said. I put on a robe and opened the door.

"We're two girls from Germany. We've read your books."

One looked to be about 19, the other maybe 22.

I had two or three books out in Germany in limited editions. I had been born in Germany in 1920, in Andernach. The house I had lived in during my childhood was now a brothel. I couldn't speak German. But they spoke English.

"Come in."

They sat on the couch.

"I'm Hilda," said the 19 year old.

"I'm Gertrude," said the 22 year old.

"I'm Hank."

"We thought your books were very sad and very fu

"Thank you."

I went in and poured 3 vodka-7s. I loaded their drinks, and I loaded mine.

"We're on our way to New York City. We thought we would stop by," said Gertrude.

They went on to say they'd been in Mexico. They spoke good English. Gertrude was heavier, almost a butterball; she was all breasts and ass. Hilda was thin, looked like she was under some kind of strain… constipated and odd, but attractive.

As I drank I crossed my legs. My robe fell apart.

"Oh," said Gertrude, "you have sexy legs!"

"Yes," said Hilda.

"I know it," I said.

The girls stayed right along with me on the drinks. I went and concocted three more. When I sat down again I made sure that my robe covered me properly.

"You girls can stay here for a few days, rest up."

They didn't answer.

"Or you don't have to stay," I said. "It's all right. We can just talk awhile. I don't want to make any demands on you."

"I'll bet you know a lot of women," said Hilda. "We've read your books."

"I write fiction."

"What's fiction?"

"Fiction is an improvement on life."

"You mean you lie?" asked Gertrude.

"A little. Not too much."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" asked Hilda.

"No. Not now."

"We'll stay," said Gertrude.

"There's only one bed."

"That's all right."

"Just one other thing…"

"What?"

"I must sleep in the middle."

"That's all right."

I kept mixing drinks and soon we ran out. I phoned the liquor store. "I want…"

"Wait, my friend," he said, "we don't start making home deliveries until 6 pm."

"Really? I push $200 a month down your throat…"

"Who is this?"

"Chinaski."

"Oh, Chinaski… What is it you wanted?"

I told the man. Then, "You know how to get here?"

"Oh, yes."

He arrived in 8 minutes. It was the fat Australian who was always sweating. I took the two cartons and set them on a chair.

"Hello, ladies," said the fat Australian.

They didn't answer.

"What's the bill, Arbuckle?"

"Well, it comes to $17.94."

I gave him a twenty. He started digging for change.

"You know better than that. Buy yourself a new home."

"Thank you, sir!"

Then he leaned toward me and asked in a lower voice, "My God, how do you do it?"

"Typing," I said.

"Typing?"

"Yes, about 18 words a minute."

I pushed him back outside and closed the door.

That night I got in bed with them, with me in between. We were all drunk and first I grabbed one and kissed and fondled her, then I turned and grabbed the other. I went back and forth and it was very rewarding. Later I concentrated on one for a long time, then turned and went to the other. Each waited patiently. I was confused. Gertrude was hotter, Hilda was younger. I reamed butt, laid on top of each of them but didn't stick it in. I finally decided on Gertrude. But I couldn't do it. I was too drunk. Gertrude and I went to sleep, her hand holding my cock, my hands on her breasts. My cock went down, her breasts remained firm.

It was very hot the next day and there was more drinking. I phoned out for food. I turned the fan on. There wasn't much talking. Those German girls liked their drinks. Then they both went out and sat on the old couch on my front porch-Hilda in shorts and bra and Gertrude in a tight pink underslip without bra or panties. Max, the mailman, came by. Gertrude accepted my mail for me. Poor Max nearly fainted. I could see the envy and disbelief in his eyes. But, then, he had job security…

Around 2 pm Hilda a

I worked and worked. Then it felt as if I were hitting bone. It was shocking. I gave up and rolled off.

"Sorry," I said, "I just don't seem to have it today."

Gertrude didn't answer.

We both got up and dressed. Then we went into the front room and sat and waited on Hilda. We drank and waited. Hilda took a long time. A long, long time. She finally arrived.