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.

Her dress fit so tight it almost split the seams. Too many chocolate malts. And she walked on heels so high they looked like little stilts. She walked like a drunken cripple, staggering around the room. A glorious dizziness of flesh. Sit down, lady, I said.

She put it down and crossed her legs high, damn near knocked my eyes out. Its good to see you, lady, I said. Stop gawking, please. Its nothing that you havent seen before. Youre wrong there, lady. Now may I have your name? Lady Death.

Lady Death? You from the circus? The movies? No. Place of birth? It doesnt matter. Year of birth? Dont try to be funny Just trying to get some background I got lost somehow, began staring up her legs. I was always a leg man. It was the first thing I saw when I was born. But then I was trying to get out.

Ever since I have been working in the other direction and with pretty lousy luck. She snapped her fingers. Hey, come out of it! Huh? I looked up. The Celine case. Remember? Yeah, sure. I unfolded a paperclip, pointed the end toward her.

Ill need a check for services rendered. Of course, she smiled. What are your rates? 6 dollars an hour. She got out her checkbook, scribbled away, ripped the check out and tossed it to me. It landed on the desk. $240. $240.

I hadnt seen that much money since I hit an exacta at Hollywood Park in 1988. Thank you, Lady Death, she said. Yes, I said. Now fill me in a little on this so-called Celine. You said something about a bookstore? Well, hes been hanging around Reds bookstore, browsingasking about Faulkner, Carson McCullers. Charles Manson Hangs around the bookstore, huh? Hmm Yes, she said, you know Red.

He likes to run people out of his bookstore. A person can spend a thousand bucks in there, then maybe linger a minute or two and Red will say, Why dont you get the hell out of here? Reds a good guy, hes just freaky. Anyway, he keeps tossing Celine out and Celine goes over to Mussos and hangs around the bar looking sad. A day or so later hell be back and it will happen all over again. Celine is dead. 32 years ago. 32 years ago.

I know about Hemingway. I got Hemingway. You sure it was Hemingway? Oh yeah. Then how come you cant be sure this Celine is the real Celine? I dont know. Ive got some kind of block with this thing. Its never happened before.

Maybe Ive been in the game too long. So, Ive come to you. Barton says youre good. And you think the real Celine is alive? You want him? Real bad, buster. Belane. Nick Belane.

All right, Belane. I want to make sure . Its got to be the real Celine, not just some half-assed wannabe. There are too many of those. Dont we know it. Well, get on it.

I want Frances greatest writer. Ive waited a long time. Then she got up and walked out of there. I never saw an ass like that in my life. Beyond concept. Beyond everything.

Dont bother me now. I want to think about it.

The rain dripped down through the ceiling and went spat, spat, spat, a spat a spat, spat, spat, spat, a spat, spat, spat, a spat, a spat, a spat, spat, spat, spat The sake kept me warm. But a warm what? A warm zero. Here I was 55 years old and I didnt have a pot to catch rain in. My father had warned me that I would end up diddling myself on some strangers back porch in Arkansas. And I still had time to make it. The Greyhounds ran every day.

But busses constipated me and there was always some old Union Jack with a rancid beard who snored. Maybe it would be better to work on the Celine Case. Was Celine Celine or was he somebody else? Sometimes I felt that I didnt even know who I was. All right, Im Nicky Belane. But check this. Somebody could yell out, Hey, Harry! Harry Martel! and Id most likely answer, Yeah, what is it? I mean, I could be anybody, what does it matter? Whats in a name? Lifes strange, isnt it? They always chose me last on the baseball team because they knew I could drive that son-of-a-bitch out there, all the way to Denver.

Jealous chipmunks, thats what they were! I was gifted, am gifted. Sometimes I looked at my hands and realized that I could have been a great pianist or something. But what have my hands done? Scratched my balls, written checks, tied shoes, pushed toilet levers, etc. I have wasted my hands. And my mind. I sat in the rain.

The phone rang. I wiped it dry with a past due bill from the IRS, picked it up. Nick Belane, I said. Or was I Harry Martel? This is John Barton, came the voice. Yes, youve been recommending me, thank you. Ive been watching you.

Youve got talent. Its a little raw but thats part of the charm. Great to hear. Business has been bad. Ive been watching you. Yeah. Yeah.

Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Barton? I am trying to locate the Red Sparrow. The Red Sparrow? What the hell is that? Im sure it exists, I just want to find it, I want you to locate it for me. Any leads for me to go on? No, but Im sure the Red Sparrow is out there somewhere. This Sparrow doesnt have a name, does it? What do you mean? I mean, a name. Or Abner. Or Abner.

Or Celine? No, its just the Red Sparrow and I know that you can find it. Ive got faith in you. This is going to cost you, Mr. Barton. If you find the Red Sparrow I will give you one hundred dollars a month for life. Hmm.Listen, how about giving me all of it in a lump sum? No, Nick, youd blow it at the track.

All right, Mr. Barton, leave me your phone number and Ill work on it. Barton gave me the number, then said, I have real confidence in you, Belane. Then he hung up. Well, business was picking up. But the ceiling was leaking worse than ever.

I shook off some rain drops, had a hit of sake , rolled a cigarette, lit it, inhaled, then choked out a hacking cough. I put on my brown derby, turned on the telephone message machine, walked slowly toward the door, opened it and there stood McKelvey. He had a huge chest and looked like he was wearing shoulder pads. Your lease is up, punk! he spit out. I want your dead ass out of here! Then I noticed his belly. It was like a soft mound of dead shit and I slammed my fist deep into it.