Bad Chili (3 page)

“You can take this back,” I said. “I got enough on my mind without thinking about what I’m not gettin’ and haven’t been gettin’ for a long time.”

“Hey, I’m married and I’m not gettin’ it. Wife still wants me to quit smokin’ before she’ll give me the business, so to speak. I’m tryin’ to quit, but I haven’t beat it yet. I smoke three or four cigs a day now, but she knows. She’s got like this second sense. She smells smoke, her pussy closes up. So when she ain’t lookin’, I read the magazines. Stay in the bathroom a lot. Run the shower. Wife thinks I am one clean sonofabitch, but I’m in there whacking off.”

“Perhaps you should try and develop something more than just a sexual relationship, Charlie. You could meld with her mind, her emotions. Really attempt to understand what makes the both of you human beings. Appreciate her more as a woman, less as a sex object.”

“Yeah, well, that’s all right, but I still want to fuck her.”

“I hear that.”

“You know, I don’t get it. My wife, she’s into like saying the right thing. You know. I’m not supposed to say
pussy
’cause it’s degrading. I call her a pussy, I can see that’s degrading. There’s some women I think are cunts, you know. Some guys that are dicks. I mean, you can have a cunt and not be a cunt, and you can have a cunt and be one. But I don’t get Amy’s reasoning. I say I want some pussy, I’m sayin’ I want some lovin’, I’m not calling her a pussy, I’m callin’ her pussy a pussy. And like, you know, that’s as good a slang for what’s down there as dick or cock is for what we got in our drawers. Someone called me a dick, I might get mad, but Amy told me she wanted a little dick, the reading is different, don’t you think?”

“When it comes to women, I don’t know which way to go. So you’re askin’ the wrong boy. I haven’t got anything against women or men in general. I just think some of them are assholes.”

“There you go. You just said
assholes
. Can you say that, or does that like go on your cosmic record?”

“Reckon it depends on who’s keepin’ score.”

“Yeah, that’s another trip, ain’t it. All this religious business. Christians think you got to do good ’cause you want to go to heaven, but if you do good ’cause you want to do good and don’t believe in that shit, then they figure it’s the slow oven for you anyway. They like a god that’s a bully, makes you want to do good ’cause he’s gonna rough you up. Life is just one big mess after another, ain’t it?”

“It’s funny how sex can make one philosophical, isn’t it, Charlie.”

“I’ll say, and while we’re being philosophical, that magazine you got there, let me tell you, there’s a redhead in there would make you write a hot check and rob a filling station pretty damn quick.”

“Skip the details.” I put the magazine on the bed table. “What are the books?”

Charlie took out a Harlequin romance and put it on top of the magazine.

“You’re kiddin’?”

“Hey, my wife tossed it out. She reads ’em by the handfuls. I don’t have a lot of money, you know. I made do with what I could get my hands on. Millions of readers can’t be wrong. I did nab you this one, however.”

He handed me a paperback western.

“We’ll, one out of three isn’t bad,” I said.

“Got it at a garage sale. There’s a few pages torn out, but it reads pretty good.”

“You see Leonard?”

“Nope. Not in a while. I thought he’d be up here nesting in a chair.”

“Hasn’t even come by. He’s been having boyfriend problems. I figure that has something to do with it.”

“Raul?”

“Yeah.”

“Leonard doesn’t have patience with that boy. Raul is all right.”

“I don’t like him. I get this feeling there isn’t much to him, and what there is to him isn’t much.”

“It’s a friend thing, you know. Hard to understand the girls or boys a friend picks. They all seem wrong. I was the same way with Hanson. Though I got to say, this ex-wife of his, Rachel, he shouldn’t have lost her. She’s all right, way she’s takin’ care of him. And she’s a looker too.”

“I don’t get it, Charlie. They been divorced for years. He throws his head through a windshield, bounces it off a tree, and suddenly she’s puttin’ a pee tube in his shank and feeding him processed green beans.”

“She ain’t feedin’ him shit. He gets his food through a tube. And maybe that ain’t such a bad marriage. She don’t have to put up with his bullshit, nor he with hers. He may be luckier than everybody. He don’t put up with no bullshit at all. And he gets his dick handled more than I do, and I’m awake. But I was talkin’ about you and Leonard. Close as you guys are, I think you’re kinda jealous of the time Raul steals from you and him. It’s almost like a marriage thing without the fuckin’. Well, actually, my marriage seems to be pretty much without the fuckin’. Still, you need a woman, Hap. Even like, you know, the local poke.”

“Oh, that’s an elevated view. Very modern, Charlie.”

“I’m just sayin’, a little goomba, it goes a long ways. Kinda gets the fluid out from behind the eyes, straightens the back. Maybe clears the complexion.”

“My complexion is just fine.”

“Hey, give it time. It’ll go. Way things been goin’ at my house, I’m noticin’ not only some bumps, but I got a wart or two on my hand.”

“It’s the whackin’ off.”

“Damn. You might be right.”

“How’s the eyesight?”

“A little squinty, now that you mention it.”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“You can ask anything you want. I don’t know I’ll do it, but you can ask.”

“Will you check on Leonard for me? See he’s okay?”

“Hey, he’s all right. You said yourself, boyfriend problems. I bet him and Raul are back together. They do this stuff all the time. They probably been stretchin’ each other’s assholes, or whatever it is they do, and that’s why he hasn’t been by.”

“Anyone ever tell you that your ability to understand human relationships is unsurpassed?”

“Hear it all the time.”

“Thing with Leonard is, I still don’t think everything is all right. This isn’t just some spat. It’s more than just hurt feelings. Leonard took this breakup hard. And Raul’s got himself a boyfriend.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Motorcycle guy, wears a beard and leathers. I don’t know a lot about it. Leonard was trying to tell me when the squirrel got after us. Then, having to stay in here because of the insurance, and him not coming by, we haven’t talked. He really wanted to talk. I mean, he’s seriously frustrated. Other day in the doctor’s office he threatened to kick this little brat kid’s nasty ass.”

“From what I’ve seen in the cop business, there’s some kids’ nasty asses I’d like to kick.”

“This wasn’t a juvenile. This was a kid-style kid.”

“Advantage there is you don’t have to lift your foot so high.”

“He called the kid a little shit.”

“My dad called me that a few times. And he was right.”

“Seriously, Charlie. Will you check?”

“Yeah. Yeah. All right.”

Second day I was there I didn’t hear from Leonard or Charlie. I lay there and read the Harlequin romance and found it better than I thought. Then I read the western and found it worse than I had hoped, though I liked to pretend those missing four pages would have made it magic.

Between bouts with the paperbacks and poking at the bad meals, I spent a lot of time lying on my side looking out the window and sniffling with my cold. The window had become more interesting than the television. I learned to identify certain pigeons that roosted on the windowsill, and I named all of them. Original stuff like Tom, Dick, and Harry. Fred and George, Sally Ann, Mildred and Bruce. I called the little piles of shit they left on the ledge Leonard.

Beyond my window ledge and the pigeons, I could see a lower blacktop roof and a puddle of water that had collected there, probably from a week ago. I liked the way the sun hit it and made a rainbow in the puddle.

As night fell and the pigeons went away, I could see only the black roof and the moon reflected in the puddle, like an anemic prowler’s face looking up at me from the darkness. And as time passed the moon gave way to a veil of clouds and turned the sky black, and a spring rain began to splatter on the glass.

About midnight, I closed my eyes and listened to the rain, hoping it would lull me to sleep, but it didn’t. I opened my eyes as someone entered the room. I turned to see in the darkness a young slim woman in white. A nurse. She came over quietly and turned on the light beside the bed.

“Still awake, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said.

I saw now that she was not so young, just slim and pretty, her hair a little too red, her face strong with experience, her lips soft with what we Harlequin romance readers like to call promise. She had legs that would have made the pope abuse himself in the Vatican toilet and maybe not feel too bad about it.

“I need to take your temp,” she said.

“I haven’t seen you before.”

“I come on at ten-thirty. I work the late shift. I been off a few days. My name is Brett. Open your mouth.”

As she leaned forward to put the thermometer in my mouth, I could smell the sweetness of her perfume, see the swell of her breasts against her uniform. I guess it had been too long, because just the smell and sight of her gave me an erection. I lay there embarrassed, glad I was covered by a sheet and blanket. I felt kind of sleazy and satisfied at the same time. It’s a boy thing.

After a few moments she reached for the thermometer and gave my nostrils another treat. She examined the thermometer, shook it, and smiled.

“Well, that looks okay. No fever. According to your chart, you’re due another shot in the morning. Says you were bitten by a rabid animal.”

“A squirrel.”

She smiled. She had a beautiful smile. It was almost a night light. “No shit?”

“Well,” I said, “it was a big squirrel.”

She laughed.

I said, “Do you think you could take this glucose business, or whatever this is, out of my arm? I don’t need it. I’m just here for shots, and the insurance won’t cover it I do it as an outpatient.”

“Honey,” she said, “I’ve been there myself, but I can’t take anything out of your arm, not even a knife. Not without permission. But, you know, it could come loose.”

She reached down and pulled loose the tape that held the needle in my arm. She pulled the needle out and smiled at me again.

“Oops, little sucker slipped out,” she said.

“Good to see someone that likes their job,” I said.

“Oh, I hate this crap,” she said, and sounded like it.

“Really?”

“No, I’m lyin’. Sweetie, there ain’t nothin’ I like better than pourin’ shit out of bedpans. Unless it’s givin’ an enema or puttin’ a catheter in some ole boy’s dick.”

That made me blush, but she certainly didn’t seem embarrassed. Cussing seemed to be her life.

“You seem happy enough,” I said.

“It’s smile or die, darlin’.”

“Then why do you do this?”

“’Cause I’m divorced and the landlord won’t fuck me for the rent.”

I laughed and she laughed.

She said, “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Hap. Hap Collins.”

“I’ll see you, Hap Collins.”

“I certainly hope so, Brett.”

“I might even get to give you your shot.”

“Oh boy.”

“In the ass, if you’re lucky.”

“Double oh-boy.”

She turned off the light, and I watched her crisp white uniform move through the darkness. Then she was gone and I was left again with the rain, the scent of her perfume, my thoughts and the absence of her smile.

As for thoughts, my ass was my major concern. So far the shots, one deadener and one rabies, had been given to me in my arm, but what if she did give it to me in the ass? Leonard had made fun of my ass. Suppose he was right? What if I had the ugliest ass in the world? What if it and my bald spot were both shiny and white beneath the glare of the hospital light? I mean, I rolled over and she got a look at my ass and the bald spot on top of my head, would she bolt? Or would she think they were sort of coordinated, like the correct pants with the correct hat?

I went to the bathroom and combed my hair, but I still had a bald spot. I wasn’t silly enough to try and comb hair over it from the side. I mean, boy, does that look natural. It was sort of like wearing a sign that screamed I’M NOT ONLY BALD, BUT LOOK HOW STUPID I AM. Besides, my hair was cut too short to do much with it anyway. I wondered if my insurance covered hair transplants.

I went back to bed and did a few buttock-tightening exercises, but just a few. Hell, I had five days before Brett might give me my second rabies shot. I didn’t want to overdo it.

I listened to the rain for a time, then rolled over, turned on the light, and tried the phone. Leonard’s number rang and rang, but he didn’t answer.

I lay on my back and thought about Leonard for a while, wondered where in hell he might be. When I wore out that line of mental inquiry, I started thinking about Brett. I wondered where she lived and how she lived and if she needed a middle-aged man in her life, about my size and disposition, with an ugly ass and a bald spot.

Probably not.

I even thought about the
Boobs and Butts
magazine in the drawer, but I had such a strong constitution I didn’t turn on the light and take it out for a look. . . .

Well, just a brief one.

I finally drifted off, but the sound of hospital business jarred me awake all night. In spite of what one might think, the hospital is not a place to rest. Someone is always coming in to look in on you, or take your temperature, or someone is laughing or crying in the hall, or banging stuff around. I awoke feeling as if I had climbed Mt. Everest and fallen off, only to be discovered by an abominable snowman and taken home to his cave to be his love puppy.

I had my breakfast, which was a little better than having to chase it down myself on all fours and eat it raw. After breakfast I saw Brett again, briefly, long enough for her to take my temperature. I was going to try and talk her out of her phone number, but she seemed considerably more businesslike this morning, harried. Maybe it was the bald spot. I just smiled and spoke politely. She finished and went away, left me with her perfume again. I asked an orderly her last name, but he didn’t know it.