|The Story||The Authors|
|Or maybe he could put on his Speedos and cruise the beach looking for other hot chicks.|
Over and over he rehearsed potential cover stories in his head. He knew it was
futile. She'd be able to sniff him out instantly. "That goddam woman's worse
than an airport German Shepard." he'd often growl to Ginsberg late on one of
their binges. "She can nail a linty pinhead size piece of black hash in a
jacket pocket at fifty paces and hound you like a jackal till you cough it up.
If she'd become a narc we'd all be doing hard time right now. And that damn
Carole King obsession. Enough to drive any man to heroin." He tried to slink
into the kitchen to find a clean spoon to dissolve the Dilaudid.
"Is that you Bill?" she called from the other room without opening her eyes. "You blew it didn't you, you bastard?"
He rattled the pills in their plastic container by way of reply.
|"Watch your tongue, bitch...or you'll get 5 knuckles across the forehead!" He replied viciously. "I'm through listening to your bullshit, you two bit whore! I wear the pants in this relatonship and from now on when I say Jump, you say how high...or I'll slap your ass around until you get it right!" "I want peace and quiet tonight, one more word out of you and you'll regret it...don't test my patience, wench!" Silence engulfed the house, she was apparently too stunned at his outburst to test whether he was serious or not. Why that particular comment of hers had caused him to snap he didn't know, but from now on he wasn't taking any shit from anyone. He was looking out for number one, and god help whoever tried to get in his way.|
...But then -- as usual -- she slipped into the kitchen with all the oozy
medicated grace of Mata Hari herself, a blue silk kimono barely tied about her
tiny waist and one of her trackmark-pocked tits hanging out of it for all the
world to see, blowing a jet of blue smoke straight into his eyes just as he was
tapping the needle in, causing him to miss the vein... As he
watched/felt/imagined in horror (for he had no more, save the linty, powdered
mess in the lining of his jacket) the shot dispersed among sundry capillaries
and he just knew it would hardly even hold off the sickness for half of what
remained of this blighted evening... Damned bitch. Every time. He'd be damned
though if he'd let he glean one whit of it form his face.
"Wrap yourself up for Ah Pook's sweet sake, Joan -- the whole your can see your cleavage!"
"Mmmm -- I kind of like that idea, Bill."
"You would -- what kind of a world d'you think the world would be if it were a world where anyone could go around with themselves flopping out all over the place, Joan? If I could walk around with my fly open and my cock and balls flopping out for anyone to see or fondle?"
"I think there'd be quite a few happy sailors, Bill -- or if not happy, at least with a bit more protein in their diets."
"You disgust me..." What high he actually had gotten from the shot hit him then, the bicarbonate taste of the cut fizzing in the back of his throat, the overworked endorphin receptors in his brain going once ahgain into high gear, like a car that should have been taken off the road months ago... He leaned back against the kitchen counter and let him body slacken to the drug and it played him in turn like a washtub bass, with the thousand buzzings as of busy bees in his veins and the little eyelid movies sending their axe-wielding Looney Toons platoons down the dirty back alleys of his mind... He barely heard when she spoke:
"You only do that stuff becuase you're broken, Bill -- I used to think you was only queer, but now I know -- you just don't got it in the first place. Never did. You got about as much libido as a cold beached fish, Bill -- and you're about as much of a turn-on. That's why you care about that stuff more than anything else... Gawd, how predictable, too -- and I thought I'd married a man who might make something of himself..."
"Ah, tell it to your dumb dyke broad girlfriends, Joan -- you sound like a fucking Suffrage pamphlet."
She slapped him -- hard, twice, on each cheek -- but he didn't feel a thing."