Charles Bukowski - Pulp

Ah yes, I said. Do you read Celine? a female voice asked. Her voice sounded quite sexy. I had been lonely for some time. Decades. Celine, I said, ummm I want Celine, she said.

Ive got to have him. Such a sexy voice, it was getting to me, really. Celine? I said. Give me a little background. Talk to me, lady. Keep talking Zip up, she said.

I looked down. How did you know? I asked. Never mind. I want Celine. Celine is dead. He isnt.

I want you to find him. I want him. I might find his bones. No, you fool, hes alive! Where? Hollywood. I hear hes been hanging around Red Koldowskys bookstore. Then why dont you find him? Because first I want to know if hes the real Celine.

I have to be sure, quite sure. But why did you come to me? There are a hundred dicks in this town. John Barton recommended you. Oh, Barton, yeah. Well, listen, Ill have to have some kind of advance. And Ill have to see you personally.

Ill be there in a few minutes, she said. She hung up. I zipped up. And waited.

I had a hangover and I was reading the L.A. Times . Anyhow, Id done a bit of research. Basss wife, her first name was Cindy. Cindy Bass, formerly Cindy Maybell. Her press clippings revealed that she was a small time beauty contest winner, Miss Chili Cook-Off of 1990.

Model, bit-part actress, liked to ski, student of the piano, liked baseball and water polo. Favorite color: red. Favorite fruit: banana. Liked to cat nap. Liked children. Read Kant. Sure. Sure.

Some day hoped to enter the bar, etc., etc. Met Jack Bass over a roulette wheel in Las Vegas. They were married two nights later. About 8:30 a.m. Jack Bass backed out of his drive in his Mercedes and headed for his executive position at the Aztec Petroleum Corp. Now it was me and Cindy.

I was going to bust her wide open. She was at my mercy. I took out the photo for a recheck. I started sweating. I pulled down the sun visor. The whore, she was dumping on Jack Bass.

I slipped the photo back into my wallet. I was beginning to feel eerie. What was wrong with me? Was this dame getting to me? She had intestines like everybody else. She had nostril hairs. She had wax in her ears. What was the big play? Why was the windshield rolling in front of me like a big wave? Must be the hangover.

Vodka with beer chaser. You had to pay. Nice thing about being a drunk, though, you were never constipated. Sometimes I thought about my liver but my liver never spoke up, it never said, Stop it, youre killing me and Im going to kill you! If we had talking livers we wouldnt need A.A. I sat in the car waiting for Cindy to come out. It was a sultry summer morning.

I must have fallen asleep, sitting there. I dont know what awakened me. But there was her Mercedes backing out of the drive. She swung it around, headed south and I followed her. Red Mercedes. I followed her to the freeway, the San Diego, she took the fast lane and hit it.

Well, she was doing 75 anyhow. She must have been hot. She wanted it. I felt something twitch between my legs. A sheath of sweat began to layer my forehead. She got it up to 80.

She was in heat, the bitch was in heat! Cindy, Cindy! I stayed right with her 4 car lengths behind. Id nail her ass, Id nail her ass like it had never been nailed before! This was it! Chase and consummation! I was Nick Belane, super dick! Then I saw the flashing red lights in my rear view mirror. Shit! I gradually edged over to the slow lane, saw a shoulder, parked the Bug, got out. The cops stopped 5 car lengths back. One got out on each side. I went toward them, reaching for my wallet.