Absence of the Hero (27 page)

I did as I was told. I held the wallet up and he snatched it while almost breaking my wrist. I pulled my hand down.

“Look,” I said, “I just got my car stolen and I was ripped off for eight grand—”

“I don't wanna hear that shit!”

He was back there, ripping through my wallet, taking my bills and my credit cards. Now he knew my address. If I ever got back there'd be nothing in my place but a roll of toilet paper.

Then I heard him laugh. “According to this here driver's license, you're sixty-three years old. Man, you look closer to
seventy-three
!”

“I've aged rapidly because of the kind of people I keep meeting. And besides, I've been told I've lost my humanity.”

“
Humanity
? What's
that
shit?”

“Nothing.”

The cute little girl looked over at me. “Guess you thought you were going to fuck me?” she asked sarcastically.

“Fuck you? No, I was going to squirt some Elmer's Glue-All up your pussy.”

“
Hey, man
!
Watch your mouth
!
” the guy yelled.

The cute little girl jammed a cigarette she had been smoking into the car ashtray in a vicious manner.

“Why don't we
waste
this old fuck, Hayward?”

“Don't
say
my
name
, you
whore
! Don't
say
my
name
! You dumb bitch whore!”

I said, “I didn't
hear
your
name
!
Honest
, Hayward!”

We drove along as Hayward's curses shook the automobile. Then he quieted down.

Then he said, “Okay,
chump
!”

And my wallet came flying. It landed on the floorboard. I picked it up, looked through it. Nothing. Just the leather.

Life began over and over again. Sometimes.

“Okay, bitch,” Hayward said, “stop the machine!”

She stopped the machine. We sat there.

“Okay, bitch, get out and do your thing.”

She opened the door and got out. As she did I reached out my left hand for the keys in the ignition.

I felt the gun at the back of my neck, stopped.

“Don't
think
too much,” said Hayward, “because you don't know
how
or else your ass wouldn't be where it's at
now
!”

Then she got back in.

“Okay,” said Hayward, “get this thing rolling!”

She dug it out and soon we were moving along nicely.

“Okay,
chump
,” Hayward said, “
out
!”

“I think I'll stay—”

“I told you
thinking
wasn't your thing! Now, pops, I'm going to count to five!”

I felt the gun at the back of my neck.

“If you ain't bailed out by five, you got no more worries in
this
world!”

He started counting.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

When he got to “four,” I kicked the door open and leaned out and just as I left I kicked out and caught her in the head with my foot. Then I was out into space and rolling. I heard the car skidding as she hit the brakes. Then I stopped rolling and felt myself face down eating sand.

I looked up and the car was slowly moving toward me. Hayward had his head out the window and I saw the gun.

“
Motherfucker
!
”

The shots
blasted at me. Geysers of dirty sand shot up around
me like little atomic mushroom clouds. Then the car spun
back. It passed me again in full roar. I forced
my eyes open through the whirl of Nevada sand, determined to see the license plate.

The license plate was covered with a pair of red panties.

Hayward's bullets had missed me. I got up, dusted myself off halfheartedly, and began walking toward L.A. again.

That's what he was. Tod Hudson scored continually, with an almost bored regularity. I believe I first met him at a party at my court down on DeLongpre. “Party” isn't the word. I just had an open door at my place. People just came in every night and sat about drinking. I didn't know most of them. My reason for all those, I told myself, was that I was gathering material. That was shit, of course, I just wanted an excuse to get drunk as often as possible.

Tod walked in this night and sat down with his lady friend. I noticed, because they looked different. They were dressed in clean, well-fitted clothing and Tod had his own bottle, a pint of
Old Grand-Dad
. His lady had on high-heeled shoes and hose. A trim blonde. Most of the other women were in stained slacks, several sizes too large. They had round mad faces with short-cropped hair. Most claimed to be Female Libbers. They blamed their failure on men. They were very depressed, angry, and dull. Each had some de-balled man with them and each of those men claimed to be a poet, a revolutionary of some sort, or a painter or a songwriter or a singer or something of that disorder. They all looked about the same: thin, with diseased goatees and long stringy hair, they seemed all elbows and shiny sweaty foreheads, and they smiled much and pissed continually and listened to their ladies.

I walked up to Tod.

“What are you, the fucking heat?”

“Oh, no,” he said, “how about a drink?”

I slugged down my mix of port and beer, put my glass down. I hadn't had any
Grand-Dad
in a decade. Tod gave me a fill.

“This is Rissy,” he nodded toward his lady.

“Hello,” she said crossing her legs with that flash of magic.

“Look out!” I yelled.

I sensed something coming. You get that sense when you're a low-life hanging around other low-lifes. It's like having a rearview mirror in bad traffic.

I was right. It was a slime. Stumbling backwards, dumbly, gracelessly, flapping ignorant arms, a mass of dark and grievous zero. I blocked him off with a shoulder in order to save the drinks and he flopped back over the coffee-table and into a dung-like pile of cheap drunkenness.

I knew him. He ran a
poetry workshop and lived with his mother.

I walked over, picked him up by the ass of his pants and his shirt collar, carried him out to the porch and threw him into the night. I usually did one or two a night like that. They never left when you asked them nicely. “Nicely” to them meant it didn't work.

I sat and drank with Tod and Rissy. Now and then I got up and pushed somebody out of the door. It worked. Soon there were just the three of us. At least Tod wasn't into the Arts. Too many people who fail at everything else turn to the Arts and then they just continue to fail there too. So Tod wasn't into that. One point for Tod. Two points for Tod: there was Rissy. A point against him: he was a
bland
mother. If he had any vibes, they were folded under his driver's license in his wallet. Now,
Rissy
, well, I hadn't been that near a woman-
woman
, well, for a decade. Like the
Grand-Dad
.

We drank and talked. The conversation wasn't particularly brilliant. Sometimes it even got Arty.

“You know Henry Miller?” Tod asked.

“Who's that?” I answered.

We finished the
Grand-Dad
and got into my cheap wine and they both started looking a bit sick.

“We've got to go now,” Tod said.

He handed me a card. He ran a porno bookshop.

“Come on by some time,” he said.

“No way,” I said. “Lofty ideals.”

“I'll bribe you.”

“Like how?

“I'll drop my wife off tomorrow night.”

“Rissy?”

“No, Rissy isn't my wife.”

“I want to use the bathroom,” said Rissy.

“Fine,” I said.

Rissy walked off.

“Your wife,” I asked, “is she anything like Rissy?”

“Really, she's a better number.”

“What's the downer then?”

“She's crazy. She's been in and out. She commits herself.”

“I don't need it that bad. I've lived with too many crazies.”

“She's beautiful. Wild eyes. Long hair. Perfect body.”

“Like I said. . . .”

“You won't know she's crazy. She's a clever crazy when she needs to be. She can hide it perfectly. You'll mistake it for soul. It's only when she gets to know you well, then she'll dump on you.”

“All right, drop her off.”

“And you'll come to the bookstore?”

“Yeah. . . .”

Rissy was back.

“My God, that bathroom is a
terrible
place! It's caked with all manners of deathly things!”

“Sorry,” I said, “my maid ran off with the garbage man.”

With that they left and I poured my nightcap, ale with white wine, as I pondered my future. . . .

Actually, I didn't expect
anything to materialize. Humanity has many weaknesses, but two of
their main ones were: the inability to arrive on time
and
no sense of follow-up on promises. There was also
a wretched lack of loyalty, but here we were concerned
with the Promise. Tod's Promise of the Deliverance of the Flesh.

Anyhow, I
installed the closed-door policy that evening. As the drunks and
suckerfish and pretenders and sharks and misshapen and soulless arrived
I sent them each on their way. Some needed specialized
treatment, which I then applied with gusto. Others, having learned
at other moments, left quietly, seeking newer, if lesser, havens.

Tod arrived on the dot. In the middle of the dot. I saw his headlights dip, then rise, as he drove onto the lawn in front of my court and cut his motor. He exited from his door, cigarette dangling, and out of the machine came sliding the Flesh, high-heel, ankle, glance of knee and the eternal maddening thigh, she stood straight in the moonlight and shook a long glorious mane of hair. She was thin-hipped, neat, lank . . . she came striding toward my front door . . . along with this Tod. . . .

There was a tiny rap . . . hers . . . I opened. . . . Tod vanished into the night. All I heard was. . . .

“This is . . . Ingrid. . . .”

Fuck.

She walked on in. Shining gold. Flare of eye in wild painting. Centuries of men killing and dying for the like. I mean, you know, I was at last overcome. I attempted to counter with dim realities—strings of intestine, excreta, the tonality of mirage children without arms, broken garbage lids upon the streets of nowhere. It flashed like that. Then broke. She was still there, more than ever.

“Sorry,” I said, “this is not a nice place.”

Ingrid laughed.

“I like it.”

“Sit down. I'll get something to drink.”

I walked off to the kitchen. I even washed a couple of glasses, carefully. I had some vodka. I brought the set-up and put it on the coffeetable.

I had been drinking since noon, although mostly beer. I peeled the bottle and poured a couple of drinks.

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

“No . . .”

“Let's drink this. . . . I know a place. . . .”

I drove her up to Sunset, to
Antonio's
. I told the valet fellow, “Be careful. Don't strip the gears.”

“Oh, no sir,” he answered glancing at my twelve-year-old car, “I wouldn't strip
anything
on this machine. . . .”

Well, I thought, there goes your fucking tip, buster. . . .

Inside we got a table. She ordered a porterhouse. I ordered a porterhouse. Over drinks she started talking. She spoke in a soft voice and I couldn't quite follow it, nor did I care to. She looked fine, though. She seemed gripped by the edge of some panic. I was fucked-up too. I couldn't cure her. I couldn't cure myself.

Then I made something out: “. . . and while I was pregnant Tod moved this other woman in and we all lived together. . . .”

“Listen,” I said, “I'm sorry for your troubles. But I'd like to know something. How does Tod get all these beautiful women? What does he have?”

“He doesn't have anything.”

“That doesn't seem to be true. I mean, how does he do it?”

“He just
does
it. He doesn't have
doubts
, that's all. Most men are hindered by what they think they can't obtain.”

I ordered a couple more drinks. She lifted her drink and stared at me as she had a hit. The eyes were blue and the blue went way back and in. I was hypnotized. I just dropped out of myself and swam in that blue.

“I've got the baby; she's cute,” Ingrid spoke. “My divorce is final at the end of the month. I want you to marry me.”

“I'm honored, you know. But I've only known you 30 minutes.”

“I've known you many lifetimes. I was once a swan and you were an eagle and we mated, splashing and thrashing.”

The steaks came and sat before us. I ordered two more drinks. I wasn't hungry. I guess Ingrid wasn't either. She picked up her plate and hurled it into the air.

“I don't want to eat this fucking steak! They killed some poor
POOOOR ANIMAL
to do this!
I HATE IT
!”

“Me too, baby. . . .”

The waiter came out and stared. I gave him a little wink and a wave. When the busboy came out to pick up the mess I slipped him a five. I carried my steak over to another table and sat back down. I nodded the waiter over for the bill. It would take the last of my resources and I was already three days late on the rent.

It had better be a good fuck because I was really getting fucked. . . .

Back at my place we got into the vodka and Ingrid seemed reasonably calm. I hoped for the best because the landlord told me one more police raid and that was it.

Halfway through her drink Ingrid said, “Let's do it. Where's the bedroom?”

“Well,” I said, “sure. . . .”

The bed slanted to the left and down. Sometimes you had to hold on or you'd roll off.

Ingrid shook out of her dress and things and there we were. . . . Dear reader, why waste your time? I couldn't make it. . . .

“I'm too drunk,” I told her.

We walked back into the front room and had some more vodka. Then I got mean.

“Put your dress and high heels back on!” I commanded.

She marched off and did it. She marched back in.

“Now sit down!” I commanded.

Ingrid did.

“Now cross your legs and pull your skirt back to your ass!”

Ingrid did.

“
YOU WHORE
!” I screamed.

“Yes,” she said, “I suppose that I am.”

“
NO
!
NO
!
NO
!”

“What?”

“Don't
admit
that you're a whore. That
spoils
it.
Deny
that you are a whore!”

“O.K. I'm no whore.”

“Yes, you
are
a whore!”

“No, I'm
not
a whore!”

“You whore, you whore, you
WHORE
!”

I got up and pulled her from the couch by her hair. I slapped her across the face. I slapped her again.

“
SUCK MY DICK, YOU WHORE
!”

I had it out and she bent over and got it. She was good. Her madness whirled her tongue like a fantail of a snake burning in fire. I pumped it through her jaws like a male pig.

I never saw her again.

But I still
kept my promise to Tod. I located the porno bookstore.
It wasn't far from where I lived. I walked in.
There was a homosexual sitting in a high booth at
the entrance. He seemed very mean and superior. I don't
mind homosexuals as long as they don't move on me.
Being an ugly critter, I seldom had to face that problem.

This one just said, “A dollar for a token, sir. Then you can stay until closing.”

“Look, I'm just
paying off a debt. I told Tod I'd come on in here.”