Hot Water Music (16 page)

Leslie walked along under the palm trees. He stepped over a dog turd. It was 10:15 p.m. in east Hollywood. The market had gone up 22 points that day and the experts couldn’t explain why. The experts were much better at explaining when the market went down. Doom made them happy. It was cold in east Hollywood. Leslie buttoned the top button on his coat and shivered. He hunched his shoulders against the chill.

A little man in a grey felt hat approached him. The man had a face like the front of a watermelon, no expression. Leslie pulled out a cigarette and stepped into the little man’s path. The man was about 45, five-feet-six, maybe 140 pounds.

“Got a match, sir?” he asked the man.

“Oh, yes…” The man reached into his pocket and as he did Leslie kneed him in the groin. The man grunted and bent forward and Leslie clubbed him behind one ear. When the man fell Leslie kneeled and rolled him over, pulled out his knife and slit the man’s throat in the cold east Hollywood moonlight.

It was all very strange. It was like a half-remembered dream. Leslie couldn’t be sure if it was all actually happening or not. At first the blood seemed to hesitate, there was just the deep wound, then the blood gushed forth. Leslie pulled back in disgust. He got up, walked away. Then he returned, reached into the man’s pocket, found the book of matches, stood up, lit his cigarette and walked away down the street to his apartment. Leslie never had enough matches, a man was always short of matches, it seemed. Matches and ballpoint pens…

Leslie sat down with a scotch and water. The radio played some Copeland. Well, Copeland wasn’t much but it beat Sinatra. You took what you got and you tried to make do. That’s what his old man had told him. Fuck his old man. Fuck all the Jesus freaks. Fuck Billy Graham right up the old rugged tailpipe.

There was a knock on the door. It was Sonny, the young blonde kid who lived across from him on the opposite side of the court. Sonny was half man and half dick and he was confused. Most guys with big dicks had trouble when the fucking was over. But Sonny was nicer than most; he was mild, he was gentle and he had some intelligence. Sometimes he was even funny.

“Listen, Leslie, I want to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“O.K. But shit, I’m tired. I was at the track all day.”

“Bad, huh?”

“When I got back to the parking lot after it was over I found some son of a bitch had ripped off my fender getting out of there. That’s such dumb stale shit, you know.”

“How’d you make out with the horses?”

“I won $280. But I’m tired.”

“O.K. I won’t stay long.”

“All right. What is it? Your old lady? Why don’t you beat the shit out of your old lady? You’ll both feel better.”

“No, my old lady’s all right. It’s just…shit, I don’t know. Things, you know. I can’t seem to get
into
anything. I can’t seem to get
started
. Everything’s locked up. All the cards are taken.”

“Fuck, that’s standard. Life’s a one-sided game. But you’re only 27, maybe you’ll luck into something, somehow.”

“What were you doing when you were my age?”

“Worse off than you. I used to lay out in the dark at night, drunk, on the street, hoping somebody would run me over. No luck.”

“You couldn’t think of another way?”

“That’s one of the hardest things, figuring out what your first move should be.”

“Yeah. Things seem so useless.”

“We murdered God’s son. Do you think that Bastard is going to forgive us? I may be crazy but I know He’s not!”

“You sit there in your torn bathrobe and you’re drunk half the time but you’re saner than anybody I know.”

“Hey, I like that. Do you know a lot of people?”

Sonny just shrugged. “What I need to know: is there a way out? Is there any kind of way out?”

“Kid, there’s no way out. The shrinks advise us to take up chess or stamp collecting or billiards. Anything rather than think about the larger issues.”

“Chess is boring.”

“Everything is boring. There’s no escape. You know what some old time bums used to tattoo on their arms: ‘BORN TO DIE.’ As corny as that sounds it’s basic wisdom.”

“What do you think the bums have tattooed on their arms now?”

“I don’t know. Probably something like ‘JESUS SHAVES.’”

“We can’t get away from God, can we?”

“Maybe He can’t get away from us.”

“Well, listen, it’s always good to talk to you. I always feel better after I talk to you.”

“Anytime, kid.”

Sonny got up, opened the door, closed it and was gone. Leslie poured another scotch. Well, the L.A. Rams had drafted for their defensive line. A good move. Everything in life was evolving toward DEFENSE. The iron curtain, the iron mind, the iron life. Some real tough coach would finally punt on first down every time his team got the ball and he’d never lose a game.

Leslie finished the scotch, pulled his pants down and scratched his ass, digging the fingers in. People who cured their hemorrhoids were fools. When there wasn’t anybody else around it beat being alone. Leslie poured himself another scotch. The phone rang.

“Hello?”

It was Francine. Francine liked to impress him. Francine liked to think she impressed him. But she was an elephantine bore. Leslie often thought about how kind he was to let her bore him the way she did. The average guy would drop the receiver on her like a guillotine.

Who was it who had written that excellent essay about the guillotine? Camus? Camus, yes. Camus had been a bore, too. But the guillotine essay and
The Stranger
were exceptional.

“I had lunch at the Beverly Hills Hotel today,” she said. “I had a table to myself. I had a salad and drinks. Dustin Hoffman was there and some other movie stars, too. I talked to the people
sitting near me and they smiled and nodded, all the tables of smiles and nods, little yellow faces like daffodils. I kept talking and they kept smiling. They thought I was some kind of nut and the way to get rid of me was to smile. They became more and more nervous. Do you understand?”

“Of course.”

“I thought you might like to hear about that.”

“Yeah…”

“Are you alone? Do you want company?”

“I’m really tired tonight, Francine.”

After a while Francine hung up. Leslie undressed, scratched his ass again and walked into the bathroom. He ran the dental floss between his few remaining teeth. What an ugliness, this hanging on. He ought to smash out the remaining teeth with a hammer. All the alley fights he had been in and nobody had gotten the front teeth. Well, everything would be gone eventually. Over. Leslie put some Crest on the electric toothbrush and tried to buy some time.

After that he sat up in bed for a long while with a last scotch and a cigarette. They were, at least, something to do while you waited to see how things would turn out. He looked at the matchbook in his hand and suddenly realized it was the one he’d taken from the man with the watermelon face. The thought startled him. Had that really happened or not? He stared at the matchbook, wondering. He looked at the cover:

1,000 PERSONALIZED LABELS

WITH YOUR NAME AND ADDRESS

JUST $1.00

Now, he thought, that doesn’t seem to be such a bad deal.

I rolled over in bed and picked up the phone. It was Lucy Sanders. I’d known her two or three years, sexually for three months. We had just split up. She was telling the story that she had dumped me because I was a drunk but the truth was that I had left her for my previous girlfriend.

She hadn’t taken it well. I decided I should go over to explain to her why it was necessary for me to leave her. In the book it’s called “letting them down easy.” I wanted to be a nice guy. When I got there her girlfriend let me in.

“What the hell do you want?”

“I want to let Lucy down easy.”

“She’s in the bedroom.”

I walked in. She was on her bed, drunk, dressed only in panties. She had almost emptied a pint of scotch. There was a pot on the floor into which she had vomited.

“Lucy,” I said.

She turned her head. “It’s you, you’ve come back! I knew you wouldn’t stay with that bitch.”

“Now wait a minute, baby, I just came to explain why I left you. I’m a nice guy. I thought I’d explain.”

“You’re a bastard. You’re a horrible man!”

I sat down on the edge of the bed, took the bottle off the head-board and had a good swallow.

“Thanks. Now you knew I loved Lilly. You knew that when I lived with you. Her and me—we have an understanding.”

“But you said she was killing you!”

“Just dramatics. People split up and go back together all the time. It’s part of the process.”

“I took you in. I saved you.”

“I know. You saved me for Lilly.”

“You bastard, you don’t know a good woman when you have one!”

Lucy leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited.

I finished off the pint. “You shouldn’t drink this stuff. It’s poison.”

She pulled herself up. “Stay with me, Larry, don’t go back to her. Stay with me!”

“Can’t do it, baby.”

“Look at my legs! I have nice legs! Look at my breasts! I have nice breasts!”

I threw the pint in the wastebasket. “Sorry, I gotta go, baby.”

Lucy leaped off the bed at me with her fists doubled. The punches hit me in the mouth, the nose. I let her work away for a couple of seconds, then grabbed her wrists and threw her back on the bed. I turned and walked out of the bedroom. Her girlfriend was in the front room.

“Try to be a nice guy, you get a scab on your nose,” I told her.

“There’s no way you will ever be a nice guy,” she said.

I slammed the door, got in my car and drove off.

It was Lucy on the phone. “Larry?”

“Yeh. What is it?”

“Listen—I want to meet your friend, Don.”

“Why?”

“You said he was your only friend. I’d like to meet your only friend.”

“Well, hell, all right.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m going over to his place after I visit my daughter on Wednesday. I’ll be there about 5:00. Why don’t you come by about 5:30 and I’ll introduce you?”

I gave her the address and instructions. Don Dorn was a painter. He was 20 years younger than I was and lived in a small house on the beach. I turned over and went back to sleep. I always slept until noon. It was the secret of my successful existence.

Don and I had two or three beers before Lucy arrived. She appeared excited and had brought along a bottle of wine. I made the introductions and Don uncorked the wine. Lucy sat between us and drained her glass of wine. Don and I stuck with our beer.

“Oh,” said Lucy, looking at Don, “he’s just
gorgeous
!”

Don didn’t say anything. She tugged at his shirt. “You’re just
gorgeous
!” She emptied her glass and poured another. “Did you just get out of the shower?”

“About an hour ago.”

“Oh, you have ringlets in your hair! You’re
gorgeous
!”

“How’s the painting coming, Don?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’m getting tired of my style. I think I’ve got to break into another area.”

“Oh, are these your paintings on the wall?” Lucy asked.

“Yeh.”

“They’re marvelous! Do you sell them?”

“Sometimes.”

“I just
love
your fish! Where did you get all the fish tanks?”

“I bought them.”

“Look at that orange fish! I just
love
that orange one!”

“Yeh. He’s nice.”

“Do they eat each other?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’re
gorgeous
!”

Lucy drank glass after glass of wine.

“You’re drinking too fast,” I said.

“Look who’s talking.”

“You still with Lilly?” asked Don.

“Solid gold,” I said.

Lucy drained her glass. The bottle was empty. “Excuse me,” she said. She ran to the bathroom. Then we heard her vomiting.

“How are the horses running?” Don asked.

“Pretty good right now. How’s your life going? Had any good fucks lately?”

“I’ve run into a streak of bad luck.”

“Keep the faith. Your luck might change.”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

“Lilly keeps getting better and better. I don’t see how she does it.”

Lucy came out of the bathroom. “My god, I’m sick, I’m dizzy!” She threw herself on Don’s bed and stretched out. “I’m dizzy.”

“Just close your eyes,” I said.

Lucy lay on the bed looking at me and moaning. Don and I drank some more beer. Then I told him I had to leave.

“Stay healthy,” I said.

“God bless,” he said.

I left him standing in the doorway, rather drunk, and drove off.

I rolled over in bed and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

It was Lucy.

“I’m sorry about last night. I drank that wine too fast. But I cleaned up the bathroom like a good little girl. Don’s a nice fellow. I really like him. I might buy one of his paintings.”

“Good. He needs the scratch.”

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“What for?”

She laughed. “I mean, getting sick and all that.”

“Everyone in America gets sick now and then.”

“I’m not a drunk.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be home all weekend if you decide you want to see me.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re not mad, Larry?”

“No.”

“All right then. Toodleoooo.”

“Toodleoooo.”

I put the phone back in its cradle and closed my eyes. If I kept winning at the track I was going to buy a new car. I was going to move to Beverly Hills. The phone rang again.

“Hello?”

It was Don.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m all right. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m going to move to Beverly Hills.”

“Sounds great.”

“I want to live closer to my daughter.”

“How’s your daughter doing?”

“She’s beautiful. She has everything, inside and out.”

“You heard from Lucy?”

“She just phoned.”

“She sucked me off.”

“How was it?”

“I couldn’t come.”

“Sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I hope not.”

“Well, you’re all right then, Larry?”

“I think so.”

“O.K., keep in touch.”

“Sure. Goodbye, Don.”

I put the phone back in its cradle and closed my eyes. It was only 10:45 a.m. and I always slept until noon. Life’s as kind as you let it be.