the ladies,” Dee Dee said. “And you’re a helluva writer.”
“I’d rather be good with the ladies.”
Dee Dee was lighting a cigarette. I waited until she was finished, then I leaned across the table and gave her a kiss. “You make me feel good. Lydia was always on the attack.”
“That doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
“But it can get to be unpleasant.”
“It sure as hell can.”
“Have you found a boyfriend yet?”
“Not yet.”
“I like this place. But how do you keep it so neat and clean?”
“We have a maid.”
“Oh?”
“You’ll like her. She’s big and black and she finishes her work as fast as she can after I leave. Then she goes to bed and eats cookies and watches t.v. I find cookie crumbs in my bed every night. I’ll have her fix you breakfast after I leave tomorrow morning.”
“All right.”
“No, wait. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I don’t work Sundays. We’ll eat out. I know a place. You’ll like it.”
“All right.”
“You know, I think I’ve always been in love with you.”
“What?”
“For years. You know, when I used to come and see you, first with Bernie and later with Jack, I would want you. But you never noticed me. You were always sucking on a can of beer or you were obsessed with something.”
“Crazy, I guess, near crazy. Postal Service madness. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you.”
“You can notice me now.”
Dee Dee poured another glass of wine. It was good wine. I liked her. It was good to have a place to go when things went bad. I remembered the early days when things would go bad and there wasn’t anywhere to go. Maybe that had been good for me. Then. But now I wasn’t interested in what was good for me. I was interested in how I felt and how to stop feeling bad when things went wrong. How to start feeling good again.
“I don’t want to fuck you over, Dee Dee,” I said. “I’m not always good to women.”
“I told you I love you.”
“Don’t do it. Don’t love me.”
“All right,” she said, “I won’t love you, I’ll almost love you. Will that be all right?”
“It’s much better than the other.”
We finished our wine and went to bed. . . .
18
In the morning Dee Dee drove me to the Sunset Strip for breakfast. The Mercedes was black and shone in the sun. We drove past the billboards and the nightclubs and the fancy restaurants. I slouched low in my seat, coughing over my cigarette. I thought, well, things have been worse. A scene or two flashed through my head. One winter in Atlanta I was freezing, it was midnight, I had no money, no place to sleep, and I walked up the steps of a church hoping to get inside and get warm. The church door was locked. Another time in El Paso, sleeping on a park bench, I was awakened in the morning by some cop smacking the soles of my shoes with his club. Still, I kept thinking about Lydia. The good parts of our relationship felt like a rat walking around and gnawing at the inside of my stomach.
Dee Dee parked outside a fancy eating place. There was a sun patio with chairs and tables where people sat eating, talking, and drinking coffee. We passed a black man in boots, jeans, and with a heavy silver chain coiled around his neck. His motorcycle helmet, goggles and gloves were on the table. He was with a thin blond girl in a peppermint jumpsuit who sat sucking on her little ringer. The place was crowded. Everybody looked young, scrubbed, bland. Nobody stared at us. Everybody was talking quietly.
We went inside and a pale slim boy with tiny buttocks, tight silver pants, an 8-inch studded belt and shiny gold blouse seated us. His ears were pierced and he wore tiny blue earrings. His pencil-thin mustache looked purple.
“Dee Dee,” he said, “what is happening?”
“Breakfast, Donny.”
“A drink, Donny,” I said.
“I know what he needs, Donny. Give him a Golden Flower, double.”
We ordered breakfast and Dee Dee said, “It will take a while to prepare. They cook everything to
“I’d rather be good with the ladies.”
Dee Dee was lighting a cigarette. I waited until she was finished, then I leaned across the table and gave her a kiss. “You make me feel good. Lydia was always on the attack.”
“That doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
“But it can get to be unpleasant.”
“It sure as hell can.”
“Have you found a boyfriend yet?”
“Not yet.”
“I like this place. But how do you keep it so neat and clean?”
“We have a maid.”
“Oh?”
“You’ll like her. She’s big and black and she finishes her work as fast as she can after I leave. Then she goes to bed and eats cookies and watches t.v. I find cookie crumbs in my bed every night. I’ll have her fix you breakfast after I leave tomorrow morning.”
“All right.”
“No, wait. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I don’t work Sundays. We’ll eat out. I know a place. You’ll like it.”
“All right.”
“You know, I think I’ve always been in love with you.”
“What?”
“For years. You know, when I used to come and see you, first with Bernie and later with Jack, I would want you. But you never noticed me. You were always sucking on a can of beer or you were obsessed with something.”
“Crazy, I guess, near crazy. Postal Service madness. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you.”
“You can notice me now.”
Dee Dee poured another glass of wine. It was good wine. I liked her. It was good to have a place to go when things went bad. I remembered the early days when things would go bad and there wasn’t anywhere to go. Maybe that had been good for me. Then. But now I wasn’t interested in what was good for me. I was interested in how I felt and how to stop feeling bad when things went wrong. How to start feeling good again.
“I don’t want to fuck you over, Dee Dee,” I said. “I’m not always good to women.”
“I told you I love you.”
“Don’t do it. Don’t love me.”
“All right,” she said, “I won’t love you, I’ll almost love you. Will that be all right?”
“It’s much better than the other.”
We finished our wine and went to bed. . . .
18
In the morning Dee Dee drove me to the Sunset Strip for breakfast. The Mercedes was black and shone in the sun. We drove past the billboards and the nightclubs and the fancy restaurants. I slouched low in my seat, coughing over my cigarette. I thought, well, things have been worse. A scene or two flashed through my head. One winter in Atlanta I was freezing, it was midnight, I had no money, no place to sleep, and I walked up the steps of a church hoping to get inside and get warm. The church door was locked. Another time in El Paso, sleeping on a park bench, I was awakened in the morning by some cop smacking the soles of my shoes with his club. Still, I kept thinking about Lydia. The good parts of our relationship felt like a rat walking around and gnawing at the inside of my stomach.
Dee Dee parked outside a fancy eating place. There was a sun patio with chairs and tables where people sat eating, talking, and drinking coffee. We passed a black man in boots, jeans, and with a heavy silver chain coiled around his neck. His motorcycle helmet, goggles and gloves were on the table. He was with a thin blond girl in a peppermint jumpsuit who sat sucking on her little ringer. The place was crowded. Everybody looked young, scrubbed, bland. Nobody stared at us. Everybody was talking quietly.
We went inside and a pale slim boy with tiny buttocks, tight silver pants, an 8-inch studded belt and shiny gold blouse seated us. His ears were pierced and he wore tiny blue earrings. His pencil-thin mustache looked purple.
“Dee Dee,” he said, “what is happening?”
“Breakfast, Donny.”
“A drink, Donny,” I said.
“I know what he needs, Donny. Give him a Golden Flower, double.”
We ordered breakfast and Dee Dee said, “It will take a while to prepare. They cook everything to
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