| sex alcohol and the post office |
| The post office script was begun years ago in the 70’s when I first started reading Bukowski. He wasnt Bukowski then. He was just another suffering writing bastard like the rest of us. He was publishing the books and there was even a documentary but he wasnt yet the household name he was soon to become. I was running a business at the time and not writing but the idea was always there, as it tends to be, nagging. Business has its cycles and there were these periods with nothing going on and I would fart with a story or essay or— in this case—the Bukowski script. I worked at it off and on for a few years. Time passed. Its 1994 and I packed it in business- wise and took a year off to consider my next move. I began to write, having nothing else to do, a few of the essay/story type things. I returned to the Bukowski script. Buk was dead, too bad, but the Bukowski legend was beginning to roll—with a vengeance. He was all over the place. The idea of writing a script to go with the 2 movies that had already been made--plus the documentary-- seemed a pointless act—more than usual even. But I had time invested in this script and decided to knock it off. I knocked it off and then did a smart thing. I didnt send it on the usual miserable rounds of agents and producers. I assigned it to the bottom of the desk along with all the other wretched scribblings where it remains to this day. Too bad. But I still like it and now it turns out we have the internet at our disposal and sparkling websites like bflowriter.com to resurrect these neglected works. The film is a love story. The woman is Linda. There were 2 loves in Bukowskis life: Linda and Betty. Betty drank, Linda was cuckoo. She once picked up a washing machine and threw it down a flight of stairs. The scene that follows is the scene that opens the film--that describes the first meeting. (note: I am publishing the complete script in 2 installments. This is installment #1. for installment #2 click link above) |
charles bukowski
painting by james burkhart
painting by james burkhart
| Small pad of the type known as furnished Hollywood front court. There are some people, dozen or so, of limited social appeal, standing around drinking and squaking and breaking each other up. There is music--classical from the radio. There is Chinaski, standing in the middle of the room chewing on a stogie while sucking a beer while lending a sympathetic ear to a guest. GUEST: --and he dies and leaves me 15 grand. All of a sudden she wants to get married and quit her job. All right--why not? We get married and take off for Spain. I have this idea for a play. We get to Spain and its great. Im writing up a storm and doing some social drinking and fucking some of the whores. Then this guy in London calls up who has heard about my play and wants to put it on. So I split for London. I come back and find out she has been fucking the mayor and my best friend who are two different people. I get drunk and say: YOU LOUSY WHORE YOU BEEN FUCKING THE MAYOR AND MY BEST FRIEND I AM GOING TO KILL YOU AND I WILL ONLY GET TWO YEARS BECAUSE YOU ADULTERATED ME! Proceeding to take the butcher knife which I raise over my head and she is standing there showing no fear and says: Go ahead cocksucker. CHINASKI: Guts GUEST: Yeah. I couldnt do it. She had too much class on me. A guy and woman join him. She is 28/30 with flaming red hair and built--a fine low ass and a great face that suggests a low bullshit threshold. JOE: For a guy who doesnt like parties you sure throw a lot of them. CHINASKI: I dont throw parties. People come over. Tonite I am sitting here sucking a beer enjoying a quiet evening reading the metaphysical poets when Marvin the rabbi decides to pay a visit. Then Howard the undertaker shows up. He has a woman--a living one--so I let him in. Then Joe the anarchist from Beverly Hills falls by. He lays a couple stogies on me. And then this one calls up and wants to come over and then that one calls up and wants to come over and then you call up and want to come over. It isnt a party. JOE: I heard you were pretty good the other nite. CHINASKI: Yeah--Im becoming a rock star. JOE: I want you to write a column for the paper. CHINASKI: A column--like Walter Lippman? JOE: I already got a title: Notes of a Dirty Old Man. CHINASKI (CHEWS THIS OVER): I like it. JOE: Its a winner. Im real excited. CHINASKI: What am I supposed to write about? JOE: Anything you want. You write it--I print it. CHINASKI: Carte Blanche, Joe--right? JOE: Thats right. I think youre a fabulous writer. CHINASKI: You might not think Im so fabulous once the advertisers start canceling. JOE: Dont worry about it. What did I start this paper for-- to print shit? Ill take care of the advertisers. All you got to worry about is the column. When I say every week I mean every week. CHINASKI: What about bread? JOE: You can have all the bread you want. But I cant give you any money. CHINASKI: Eat this. JOE: Today is Wednesday. Write something Thursday. Give it to me Friday. And read it in balls on Monday. CHINASKI (CHEWS THIS OVER): Anything I want--you putz? JOE: Thats right. CHINASKI: Youre on. Now whos this? JOE: This is Linda. Lindas a fan of yours. LINDA: I think you have a repulsive attitude towards woman. CHINASKI: It goes back to my childhood. I didnt get any love. Now Im trying to make up for it. LINDA: Have you ever seen a psychiatrist? CHINASKI: No. I almost went once. But while I was thinking about going I analyzed myself and saved the bread. They look at each other. LINDA: What about this music. You like this? CHINASKI: I like it. LINDA: I like rock and roll. They look at each other. LINDA: I was at the reading. Youre very good up there. CHINASKI: Thanks. Its a trick. The trick is to let them do it for you. they are there mainly to see me eat my shit. On the other hand you cant kiss their ass. Drunk and wasted and fucked up as they are they paid to get in and all it takes is one false word and they/ll run you right into the ocean. Someone at the door. Smashing at it with psychotic force. Chinaski opens the door. MAN: Hello Hank. Im Morse Jenkins. You dont answer my letters so I came in person. I brought ya some wine. This is Sadie. She works as a nurse. She supports me. I sparred with Clay before he became Ali Hank. He was good but I gave him a workout. CHINASKI: Come on in Morse. Later. The party has thinned out. Its down to Chinaski and one other—student type. Chinaski is horizontal on the floor, belly up, puffing on a stogie. His guest squats nearby, studying him intently. Chinaski has his eye on a large jar on the floor filled with fluid and what appears to be a human heart. CHINASKI: Who are you man--and what the fuck is that heart doing here? WILBERT: Im Wilbert. Im a med student. Im going to be your personal physician. CHINASKI: Wilbert--get that fucking heart out of here! WILBERT: The heart stays. Roll over. CHINASKI: Why? WILBERT: Im giving you a physical. First--the old finger wave. He sticks up a finger, unrolls a small condum over it. CHINAKSI: Wilbert--that isnt one of my problems. WILBERT: Roll over! CHINASKI: Wilbert--Doc--my only physical ailment is the need for a good piece of ass. WILBERT: Your backbone is out of place in 14 areas Chinaski! That breeds tension, hostility, impotence and madness! Chinaski gets to his feet, takes a long drain from a bottle of wine and with eyes driven shut howls into the night: WHERE IS THAT FINE-ASSED REDHEADED BITCH! The Post Office. One of the neighborhood stations. Small grey bldg with the flag out front, mail trucks parked in back, etc. Miserable day featuring black sky and thrashing rain. Inside Chinaski is at work casing mail. He and other workers stand in front of tall bins filing mail into trays according to zip code. Chinask is hungover. He looks like shit. BILL: Hank--you look terrible. I mean worse than usual. Chinaksi nods. BILL: You wanna aspirin? CHINASKI: Id rather have a drink. BILL: You are unbelievable. I have never seen a guy drink the way you do. You are hungover every morning. But you snap right back. CHINASKI: I got sick once. It just busted wide open. I was on this drunk for 3 weeks. I mean day and nite. I never left the apt. Then something hit me--Ill never forget it. I went into the can and started shitting not turds but blood--by the quart--and of a nasty color-- black, black, black. The stink was unbelievable. I said: oh my. They got me to the hospital and kept me there for a couple of weeks until my bowel movements started to appear in the form of a normal turd and then let me go with some words of wisdom about the inadvisibility of ever having another drink. I thought about this as I walked along and then I passed a bar and stopped and stood there thinking about going or not going in and I went in. I sat down and ordered a beer and drank it and then ordered another and drank that. And then ordered another one and so on. But they say when those holes grow back together its like welding. I also have this dream that I am going to live exactly to the year 2000 when I will be 80 years old. BILL: I got a new one Hank. She lives in Venice. She gots these shelves over the bed with plants--geraniums. When we fuck the shelves shake and the pots fall on my back. THe first time it happened I screamed and she said what and I said a pot of geraniums just fell on my back and she said keep going--it adds to it. I had this other once I met at a Halloween party. She was dressed like a hooker and I was wearing this pig mask. We got totally hammered and I took her home--driving right down Vermont while still wearing this mask. We get to the apt and have a drink and then she stands and strips and goes into the bedroom. I undress and start to take off the mask. She says: Dont take the mask off! CHINASKI: Why dont these things happen to me? A mailman walks up. MAILMAN: Chinaski--Stone wants to see you in his office. CHINASKI: What for? MAILMAN: He didnt say. Its either to congratulate you for something or write up up for something. Have you done anything to be congratulated for? CHINASKI: No. MAILMAN: Then it must be the other. An office. Stone is behind his desk. Civil servant type with crew cut and white shirt of pitiful fit and cheap tie. Leafing thru papers with grim look. STONE: I have some complaints here, Chinaski. Its the usual--abstenteeism, insubordination, failure to observe proper dress code, etc, etc, and a few others. Well get to all this. But first--let me ask you a question. Do you like working for the Post Office? CHINASKI: I once had a job in a factory cleaning out the inside of candy machines. I like it better than that. STONE: Do you know Wilson, Chinaski? CHINASKI: I know Wilson. STONE: Wilson has never been in this office. He has worked for the Post Office for 17 years and he has never been in this office. He has missed work, a day here and there due to illness or personal tragedy. But he always takes the precaution of notifying the Post Office and receiving the proper authorization. He comes to work on time. In 17 years he has never been late. In addition he comes to work properly dressed. His shoes are shined. His shirt is ironed. His pants are pressed. His cap is clean. His hair is combed. He has shaved. This attitude towards his appearence is reflected in his work. He is respectful towards his superiors. When casing mail he stand erect; he doesnt slouch or prop himself up via his stool. He doesnt engage in idle chatter with other workers. Idle chatter is for breaks and lunch. He is there to case mail. He cases mail. Do you see my point Chinaski? CHINASKI: I see your point. Those are the guys who go home at nite and have a 5 year old child wired to the ceiling. STONE: I have here 23 occurences of absenteeism, ranging from a period of 2 hours to 3 days, all unauthorized, between the dates of Feb 3 and April 17. What do you have to say? CHINASKI: Nothing. STONE: I have here a report from the Los Angeles Police Dept that details a drunk and disorderly conduct charge you were arrested and booked for on March 29. CHINASKI: Nothing. STONE: I call you attention to section 7444.12 of the postal code alluding to off-duty conduct of employees. Chinaski nods. STONE: I have here a report filed by supervisor Garvey charging you on several occasions of failing to case mail within the prescribed period of time. According to the postal code manual employees are expected to case a tray of mail in 23 minutes. Garvey accuses you of taking as long as 28 minutes to case a tray of mail. This is a serious charge. When employees start taking 28 minutes to case a tray of mail production falls behind. When production falls behind the only way to catch up is via overtime. Overtime means money. CHINASKI: Here I have something to say. STONE: What is it? CHINASKI: That article in the manual doesnt mean anything. STONE: Why not? This is a time-tested method! CHINASKI: I repeat: it means nothing. Those trays are 2 feet long. They are all two feet long. But they dont all get the same amount of mail. Some trays get twice as much mail as others; they get three times as much as others. Most of the clerks grab the easy trays--the ones they know they can stick in 23 minutes. I dont do that. I take the mail like it comes. Somebody has to stick the tough mail. But all you guys know is what it says in the manual: 23 minutes. STONE: Its time-tested! CHINASKI: Let me ask you a question. Suppose I get a real easy tray. There are trays you can stick in 8 minutes. Suppose I get one of these trays and stick it in 8 minutes. According to the time tested method I have saved the post office 15 minutes. My question is this: can I take those 15 minutes and go down to the cafeteria and have coffee? STONE: Of course not! Absolutely not! You are supposed to grab another tray and start sticking mail immediately! The pad. Chinaski is writing.He does this in the kitchen. The table has been cleared,that is miscellaneous items such as salt and pepper shaker, sugar bowl, soiled plates and cups, the mail, racing form and many tall empties of Rainier Ale have been forearmed aside to clear a space for the machine. He types while puffing on a stogie while taking frequent hits from a tall Rainier Ale. This is a happy man. He gets up for a fresh beer. Someone at the door with a finger on the bell. Chinaski with a grim look. CHINASKI: Who is it? WOMAN: Its Linda. He thinks, then his eyes light up and he goes to the door. CHINASKI: Linda! LINDA: Hi Hank. CHINASKI: Come in. She enters. LINDA: Youre working. CHINASKI: Its OK.Sit down. Care for a beer? I also got wine, vodka, bourbon and creme de menthe. LINDA: I/ll have wine. He pours a wine, brings it over, sits in a chair facing her. CHINASK: This is great! LINDA: Well I was passing by and first I said yes and then I said no and then I said yes and then no and then what the fuck. He sits looking at her. She looks the place over. LINDA: Hank--how can you live like this? CHINASKI: Like what? LINDA: Like this. CHINASKI: I like it. LINDA: Its a dump. CHINASKI: It looks better with you in it. She gives him a sweet look. LINDA: How old are you? CHINASKI: 52. LINDA: I think its a shame that for someone who writes as well as you you dont know a thing about women. CHINASKI: This is true. LINDA: Have you ever been in love? CHINASKI: Once. LINDA: What happened? CHINASKI: The situation was this: I was a drunk and so was she. It was the two of us against the bottle. The bottle won. LINDA: Why do you drink so much? CHINASKI: I drink for 3 reasons. I drink if something good happens--to celebrate. I drink if something bad happens--to forget. And I drink if nothing happens--to make something happen. LINDA: How did you become a writer? CHINASKI: I became a writer in Philadelphia. It was during the war. I was 23. I dont know what I was doing in Philadelphia but there I was. I had managed to evade the draft in order to concentrate full time on my drinking. Thats what I was doing in Philadelphia. I was in this bar sitting next to a very good looking woman. I offered to buy her a drink and she accepted. She had that and ordered another. I wondered what such a fine looking broad was doing all by herself in this bar. I was about to find out. I got up to play something on the jukebox. While standing in front of the jukebox the bartender came up and said: lay off the broad. Thats the bosses girl. And see those two guys over there? Those are the bosses boys. I looked over at two punks in dark suits sitting at a table. The barkeep said: you could get yourself killed. That is the exact word he used. Well I was 23 and a little crazy and one of the things I did not respond to at the time was people telling me what I ought or ought not to do. I played some music and went back to the bar and sat down next to the woman and ordered another round. We had more drinks and then I went to take a leak. The can was downstairs in the basement. I remember thinking this was odd. In the can I am joined by the two punks in the dark suits. I unzipped and started to leak and they hit me over the head with a blackjack. There were lights and flashes but I was drunk and it wasnt too bad. I stayed on my feet and finished the leak and zipped up and washed my hands. I returned to my seat at the bar and ordered another round. The two guys came back up. I ordered a round for them. I took my handkerchief out and applied it to the back of my head which had started to bleed. I killed another hour or so drinking and talking to the lady and tending to the back of my head and playing the jukebox and then I got up and left. I went back to my room and got in bed and woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. I thought about the nite before in the bar and some other incidents of similar nature and decided to write a short story. I didnt sell the story and I couldnt comb my hair for 2 months but thats how I became a writer. More wine? LINDA: No. I have to go. She stands. CHINASKI: Will I see you again? LINDA: Yes. CHINASKI: When? LINDA: Soon. He reaches for her and tries a kiss. LINDA: Easy Hank. CHINASKI: You/ve got it babe. I dont know what it is but you got it. LINDA: You have something too--Im a little afraid of it. Lindas pad. Actually a pad not much different from Chinaskis in the way of size and scheme but with many little cozy touches such as paint and plants and prints, etc, and an inviting absence of dirt and crud. In the kitchen. Chinaski in a chair with Linda nearby standing at the table working on a sculpture of his head. LINDA: Sit still! Do you want a drink? CHINASKI: Yes. She gets a drink. Linda slashing away at the head. LINDA: I had a dream about you last night. I opened your chest like a cabinet. It had doors and when I opened the doors I saw all sorts of soft things inside-- teddy bears, tiny fuzzy animals, all these soft cuddly things. CHINASKI: I like it. LINDA: When was the last time you had a woman? CHINASKI: It was either 2, or 4, years ago. LINDA: What about all these parties--and the women at your readings? CHINASKI: They only love me for my mind. I cant figure it out. LINDA: God--Id go mad. Im horny all the time.I masturbate but it doesnt do any good. CHINASKI: Sex is over-rated. Its much less important than excretion. A man can go 70 years without a piece of ass but he can die in a week without a bowel movement. She continues to work. CHINASKI: This is nice Linda. Its like being on vacation. LINDA: What are you doing working at the Post Office? CHINASKI: You got me. LINDA: Do you like it? CHINASKI: Its OK if you want to die before they actually bury you. LINDA: I hear dogs are a big problem. CHINASKI: You hear true. LINDA: Dont they give you cans of mace or something? CHINASKI: The mace is for the people. LINDA: What made you go to work there? CHINASKI: A woman. An old girlfriend. We were sitting around the pad one night drinking while trying to figure out where the next months rent was coming from and it occurred to us that it wasn’t coming from anywhere. I had just been fired from my tenth or twelfth straight job as an auto parts clerk and she had just come down with her second or third straight dose of clap from some casual tricks she was turning at the time. sO we had another drink and she suddenly sat straight up and said: the Post Office! I said: yes, its on Sixth and Harvard. She said: you could get a job at the post office. I thought that was pretty funny. I said: baby, the post office is for spades. She said it isnt for spades. She had a girlfriend who had a boyfriend who did it and said it was great--$8.25 an hour plus benefits, etc, etc. Plus they were hiring. It was Christmas and they were putting on all these subs. Well I thought about it and I figured my lifelong ambition of making it as an opera singer was not materializing as planned and meanwhile there was this continuous pressing need for food and drink and a roof over the old head not to mention my girlfriends penecillin shots. So I went down the next day with my usual roaring hangover and filled out an application while failing to mention various drunk driving raps and other misdemeanors and was hired on the spot and told to report back at 6AM the following morn. But I/ll tell you something. Aside from the dogs--and a few people who should have been on a leash as well--it wasnt bad. I mean it was soft. Plus you occasionally got laid which never happened at the auto parts house. He sits while she sculpts away. She breaks off and stands back and studies the head thoughtfully. LINDA: Im starting to like it. I dont think of you as really ugly. Later. In the bedroom. Chinaski is on the bed face down with his shirt off. Linda astride him doing something to his back--squeezing pimples. LINDA: This is a nice one! A huge pimple swollen with pus fills up the screen and then splatters as she punctures it with a fingernail. LINDA: Jesus--it got me in the eye! Heres another! She splatters it with her fingernail. CHINASKI: Having fun? LINDA: Mmm--its my vice. CHINASKI: I think its mine too. Im getting an erection. She continues splattering pimples. CHINASKI: Linda--I love you. She splatters pimples. CHINASKI: Its the only explanation. I feel so great! LINDA: And when you feel great you take another drink. She splatters a pimple. LINDA: Let me ask you something. Have you ever eaten pussy? CHINASKI: No. LINDA: Youre 52 years old and you have never eaten pussy. CHINASKI: No. LINDA: Why not? CHINASKI: I dont know. LINDA: For a man to interest me he has to eat my pussy. CHINASKI: I/ll do it. LINDA: No--its too late. You cant teach an old dog new tricks. CHINASKI: Let me try. LINDA: No. She continues splattering pimples. Now she gets up and leaves the room and returns with a drawing pad and pencil. She sits on the edge of the bed and begins to sketch. LINDA: Look at this. This is a cunt. And this little thing right here is a clit. You know what that is--right? CHINASKI: Yes. LINDA: The clit is similar in some ways to a mans cock. Its sensitive and becomes erect when stimulated. On the other hand its not six inches long. YOu have to actively look for it and play with it and coax it a little. You do this with your tongue. That is the point of eating pussy: to locate the clit and manipulate it orally in imaginative fashion for the purpose of arousing ecstacy. CHINASKI: I got it. She gives him a skeptical look. LINDA: All right--youre on. She stand and strips. Off comes the sweater and levis and panties beneath. She stands beside the bed in a dramatic pose with her hips cocked and this cinnamon bush fluttering in his chops. He moans and stands and strips to display a flaming rod and drops to his knees and grips her by the ass and puckers up and buries his face in her crotch. She lays on the bed. He on his knees next to the bed with her legs scissoring his head. LINDA: You cant do it. Blood and pee come out of there. Think of it: blood and pee. He has her pussy spread with two fingers looking for the clit. CHINASKI: I see it. Is this it? He licks at it with his tongue. LINDA: Yes. Good. Not so fast. She moans and groans. He continues to suck. She moans and groans. He continues to suck. He gets up and scrambles on top. She grabs him and guides it in. LINDA: Listen--dont come inside me. CHINASKI: OK. He takes two or three strokes and comes inside her. He lays there breathing hard. LINDA: Wait a minute. What the fuck...did you come inside me? Bastard! She gives a furious shove and pitches him from the bed. She leaps from the bed. LINDA: Son of a bitch! You came inside me! CHINASKI: Baby--Im sorry. Its been so long...I couldnt help it.. LINDA: Asshole! She storms into the bathroom, starts splashing water. He follows. LINDA: Thats like high school shit--ya know? He reaches for her. LINDA: Hands off! CHINASKI: Baby--it felt so good. LINDA: This is classic--knocked up by a 50 year old mailman! A racetrack. Hollywood Park. Chinaski having a drink at the bar. He has his form out, and his card, pencil in hand jotting notes, looking up from time to time to check the odds on the tote. Post time. A crowd forms in front of the monitor. Chinaski stays at the bar, sipping his drink, continuing to work over his card. They/re off. The announcer calls the race. Chinaski watches the race closely without emotion, tho he tenses visibly in the stretch. He signals the barkeep for a re-fill and reaches into his pocket and takes out several tickets which he destroys and drops to the ground. Goes back to work on his card. Later. The track bar. Post time. They/re off. Again Chinaski watches from the bar. Again he watches without emotion, but this time turns away as the horses come into the stretch and signals the barkeep for a re-fill and reaches into his coat pocket and takes out several tickets which he destroys and drops to the ground and goes back to work on his card. Later. The track bar. Post time. They/re off. Chinaski at the bar drinking. Another loser. Barkeep comes over. BARKEEP: Hank--not even a saver? CHINASKI: I had a saver. He finished behind the 10-1 horse. The barkeep pours a drink. BARKEEP: This ones on me. CHINASKI: Thansk Pete. To ya. He drinks. He gestures with his drink towards the grandstand. CHINASKI: The track crowd. What a crew. Freud said that gambling is a substitute for masturbation. It was either Freud or somebody else. And he was right. Look at these bananas: they jerk off and they are jerkoffs. They get burned and they get burned and they get burned again. But they keep coming back. Why? Because they are jerkoffs. Its the nature of the beast. No matter how little they have they will settle for less. You cant beat the horses. Everybody knows that. I cant beat the horses and I have been trying for 25 years. I know as much as it is possible to know about the science and art of horseracing. I know the horses, I know the jocks, I know the trainers, the stables, the track, etc, etc. I understand the psychology of horseracing. By that I mean the ability to make subtle observations that frequently contradict the morning line. I cant tell you what these are because that would make me a fool. But I cant beat the horses. Even with this vast expertise and years of experience and hard study and idle contemplation--and my devastating psychological instincts--I cant beat the horses. YOU CANT BEAT THE HORSES! The barkeep digests this wisdom as a young guy walks by and flicks a casual glance. He stops. YOUNG GUY: Henry Chinaski! Pause. Chinaski says nothing. YOUNG GUY: Am I right? Im right. CHINASKI: Youre right. YOUNG GUY: This is fantastic. I just finished reading your book--All The Assholes in the World and Mine. I mean I finished it last nite. This girl gave it to me. Its a funny book, man. I laffed my ass off. Ha ha. That poem about the 2 whores and the chickens. Ha ha. And those poems about the track. Ha ha. I didnt know poets wrote about the track. So I read the book and today as I am in my car driving to the track I said to myself: I wonder if I/ll see Chinaski at the track. Ha ha. This is a big thrill. The kid turns to the barkeep who has been eavesdropping on this conversation. YOUNG GUY: This guy is a great poet! Chinaski rolls his eyes. CHINASKI: Listen kid-- YOUNG GUY: Can I buy you a drink? CHINASKI: Kid--whats your name? YOUNG GUY: Sam. CHINASKI: Listen Sam--I dont mean to be rude and ordinarily I would enjoy having a drink and talking about poetry but its the seventh race and I am getting murdered and I would just like to get back to my card and try to get some of that money back. Dont take it personally. SAM: I understand. Who do you like in the seventh race? Ha ha. CHINASKI: Mothers mistake. Its a lock. The pad. Linda is there, reading on the couch. Chinaski enters. He looks like shit. LINDA: Baby! He says nothing, goes to the kitchen, makes a drink, returns, switches on the radio which erupts with an earsplitting blast of rock and roll. He spins the knob, tunes the set to a classical station. Goes to the couch and sits down. Sucks at his drink. LINDA: How much? CHINASKI: Dont ask. LINDA: How much? CHINASKI: $500. She blinks. LINDA: $500? CHINASKI: The first race I bet Dont Tell Mom because he won for me last week. I lost. The second race I bet Weekend Wonder because he had Tyler up and I liked the odds.I lost. The third race I bet Gary Guitar because he had a morning line of 12-1 and closed at 7-5 and there could be no way for this to happen unless the fix was in. I lost. In the fourth race I bet Italian Pastry because he had some weight off because he had lost his last three races because they wanted him to so he could get some weight off for this race which featured a $150,000 purse. I lost. In the 5th race I bet One Nite Stand because I am a sucker for a fast horse in a six furlong race. I didnt bet the 6th race. I blew the seventh race--Mothers Mistake. In the eighth race I bet Vino Tinto because a little jap ahead of me in the ticket line told me to. I also had $40 win on the favorite as a saver. I lost that one. In the ninth race I bet On My Word--$200 on the nose. He was going off at 4-5. I ordinarily dont bet horses that are going off at 4-5 but I was desperate. Plus it was a foolproof bet. He loves to run, the track was in perfect shape, he had Pincay up and hes won 8 of his last 9 races. Now hes won 8 of his last 10. And that is how I blew $500 at the track. LINDA: Baby! CHINASKI: I am ready for the track shrink. I was ready 20 years ago. It doesnt make sense. A grown man letting himself get the shit kicked out of him by the California State Racing Commission. I dont mind getting beat if I am getting beat fair and square. Or even if its not so fair and square. I figure my superior brain and natural ability as a hustler can overcome a little larceny on the part of the track establishment. Thats what happened in the third race. I saw the fix was in and placed my bet accordingly. What I didnt know was that there was another fix in in addition to that fix. The same thing happened in the seventh race. The one I bet because the little jap in front of me said to. That was a good bet. Plus I had the $ 40 win on Jillys Juice as a saver. I lost both bets because they ran a 19-1 shot past me--Buda Red. I know that horse. That fucking beast couldnt win a race if it was running downhill and the other horses were running uphill. This is what I object to: GETTING BEAT WHEN I HAVE MADE THE RIGHT PLAY! LINDA: Baby! CHINASKI: Something came over me. I dont know what. I lost my cool. Ordinarily I dont do that. Im a pro. The definition of a pro is a guy who knows when to quit. He takes a small or medium loss and feels a larger one on the way and gets the hell out. I didnt do that. I stayed to take the larger loss. And the more I lost the more I bet. I bet like the atomic bomb was on the way. I wanted to win ten grand. They sit silently. She moves close and comforts him. Gets up and fixes him a fresh drink. LINDA: You got some mail--a letter from Marionetti. He opens the letter, starts to read. Dear Hank: I have been reading some of these stories--which are great.I definitely want to do a book. I think it would work better if the stuff was somehow connected so that it read more like a novel. I think this can be done pretty easily via some small changes and the addition of new material. Basically the development of some continuity via a couple of the main characters who keep re- appearing. You know what I mean. I like that form myself and think I would like to try it with your book. Let me know what you think. The poetry book is moving--slowly. But it is moving. I think eventually there will be a second printing. For a poetry book that is a big thing.You are starting to aquire a legitimate underground rep of a particularly hot kind which I personally think is going to pay off big in the not too distant future. Meaning big bucks for you and yours truly. In that regard I would like to do another reading soon. Im thinking around mid-March. This time I want to do it at a bigger place. Maybe the SF Museum of Fine Arts. Spend some bread on advertising and see what happens. I can give you $400 against your share of the take. I just got back from a trip. Spent a few days in London and also paid a visit to Bill Franklin in Tangiers. He is the same--still writing, still drinking, still fucking young boys. He reminds me in some ways of you--I mean there is no front. You get it all straight--the good and the bad both. Not much else. I have a new girlfriend. I think this is something for which there is no cure that will be with me until I die. Her name is--get this--Joy. She is 20--very sweet, very built, very horny.I am 49--very ballbreaking, very ugly, very horny. I dont deserve this girl. I know that. She knows it. She doesnt care. She just wants to fuck. My best, see you soon, Charles. LINDA: Thats great--400 bucks! CHINASKI: I would rather win at the track. LINDA: What about dinner. You wanna go out? CHINASKI: I dont eat. You know that. LINDA: I wanna eat out. I wanna eat a big steak. We will go out and eat and drink some wine, you can smoke a cigar, then we will come back here and go to bed and fuck. He gives her a sweet look. CHINASKI: Youre good to me baby. Why? LINDA: Because I love you, old man. The post office. Inside Chinaski is at work casing mail. Next to him is Battles. Battles casing mail with great speed and flair, fanning the letters in. CHINASKI: How d'ya do that? BATTLES: Its easy after 20 years. They stand there casing mail. Battles begins to whistle--the theme from Around the World in 80 Days. Chinaski with a grim look. CHINASKI: You carrying 23? BATTLES: Thats right. CHINASKI: I had that route. There was a guy--I think he lived on Arlington. The Man Who Holds His Hand Out For The Mail. I would come to his house and he would be standing there beside the box. You had to hand him the mail. He didnt want it in the box. The box was a no no. I used to ask the neighbors: whats with the guy who holds his hand out for the mail? I worked that route for two years and not once did this guy miss a delivery. But one day I decided to break his balls. I am walking up the street and there he is about halfway up the block from his house talking to a neighbor. He sees me coming. I am about a block from the house. He continues talking to his neighbor. I hit a few more houses. He is still talking to his neighbor. Now I start running towards his house. I am sprinting like a track star. I get to the box and slip the mail halfway in. He is screaming: DONT PUT THE MAIL IN THE BOX! I dont put the mail in. I withdraw it from the box. He runs up. He is in a delerious state. I hand him the mail. What do you think? BATTLES: There is no way to figure these people. They case mail. BATTLES: By the way--they got a new rule. No more hats on top of the case. CHINASKI: Come again? BATTLES: No more hats on top of the case. Like the way you got your hat on top of the case. CHINASKI: I dont get it. BATTLES: They want them in the locker instead. CHINASKI: Battles--let me say something. I have been working for the Post Office for 12 years. I dont have a dime more in my pocket now then I did then. All I got to show for my 12 years at the Post Office is a huge ass from sitting on this stool casing mail--also this belly. When I first came to the Post Office I weighed 185. Now I weigh 225--all belly and ass. My body has turned to shit--along with my brain. All courtesy of the Post Office. What has this got to do with the new regulation about the hats on top of the case? I dont know. Maybe nothing. What I am saying is this: after 12 years sitting on this stool watching my brain and body turn to shit I dont give one. Do you follow me? They case mail. Stone walks up. He stands behind Chinaski. Watches him case mail. STONE: Chinaski. Chinaski turns around. STONE: We got a new rule. CHINASKI: I heard. STONE: No more hats on top of the case. They go in the locker. CHINASKI: I said I heard. He continues to case mail. STONE: I want that hat in your locker Chinaski. CHINASKI: I/ll do it later. STONE: I want it done now. CHINASKI: I said I/ll do it. Id like to finish casing this mail. Stone leaves. He returns. He has his clipboard and proceeds to fill out a write-up. He tears it off and hands it to Chinaski. Chinaski puts it in his pocket. STONE: Read it Chinaski. CHINASKI: I know what it says. STONE: You have to read it. If you dont read it I am giving you a second write-up for not reading the first write-up. CHINASKI: Go ahead. Stone does so. Chinaski takes the second write-up and crumples it and drops it into the waste basket. Stone fills out a third write-up. he gives it to Chinaski. Into the wastebasket. CHINASKI: Look Stone--I can throw these away as fast as you can fill them out. We can do it all day long. Its up to you. Meanwhile the mail is still waiting to be delivered. Stone leaves. BATTLES: Man--you ought to smarten up. The guy is an asshole. He was born an asshole, he lives as an asshole and he will die as an asshole. Dont you have enough asshole people of similar persuasion to deal with on your route. Put the fucking hat in the locker. A hospital. In a ward with many beds. Chinaski stands beside one looking down at a woman. She is not young, Chinaskis age or more. She looks small lying there in bed and quite sick. CHINASKI: Betty. The woman stirs. CHINASKI: Betty. She opens her eyes. Looks at Chinaski. Does not immediately recognize him. Then she smiles and tries to speak. Her voice is weak. BETTY: I knew it would be you. He sits beside the bed and takes her hand. CHINASKI: How do you feel? BETTY: I could stand a drink. Chinaski smiles. BETTY: Im going to die, Hank. CHINASKI: Thats a stupid thing to say. BETTY: I/ll never leave this place. He gives her a sad look. BETTY: You still at the Post Office? CHINASKI: Yeah. BETTY: My hero--the mailman. CHINASKI: Yeah. Its not exactly what I started out to be. What did I start out to be? BETTY: You started out to be a bum. CHINASKI: Right. I almost forgot. BETTY: Are you still writing? CHINASKI: Yeah. Thats been going good. At least I am getting published. And I pick up a few bucks here and there at these readings. Its insane. They pay to watch me drink beer. BETTY: You got a girlfriend? CHINASKI: I got a girlfriend. Dont ask me how. BETTY: Is she young? CHINASKI: Shes 30. I must be nuts. Or she is nuts. BETTY: No. Youre something special Hank. I always felt that. You were always all there. Most guys are only 10% there. Sometimes 20% But you were all there. I never met a guy like you. And I met a lot of guys. CHINASKI: This is true. BETTY: Hank--remember the time we were shacked in that Hotel on Alvarado St and you woke up one morning with the crabs--and you accused me of giving them to you? CHINASKI: You did give them to me. BETTY: Then you went out and bought some shit at the drugstore and came back to the room and read the instructions which said to apply and wait for 30 minutes and then wash off--and you said: I am going to give this shit an hour. I am going to disintegrate these motherfuckers! So you kept the stuff on for an hour--and it burned the hair right off your balls! You had this bright red rash over your belly and balls and down your legs. You looked like an orangutang. CHINASK: I remember that. I also remember the time we were so broke we were eating pancakes 3 times a day. Except they werent really pancakes--they were flour and water. And we didnt have any butter to fry them so we made em dry. They came out real crisp. I also remember the time--I think it was the same time we were eating the pancakes 3 times a day--that I tried to kill myself. I woke up that morning, drank some port and fried a few pancakes and looked out the window and said: I think I/ll kill myself today. I decided to do it by sticking my head in the oven. But first I would enjoy the day. I strolled over to the park and watched the bums for a while and then hit the liquor store where I was able to beard whatever that guys name was for a last pint--as a sort of parting gesture. I also bought a paper. That was strange because I never read the paper. But something made me buy that paper. I wanted to go out up on all my current events. So I am walking back to the hotel to drink my pint and I am reading the paper and there on the front page is this headline: Milton Berle's Cousin Hit on Head by Falling Rock. I was stunned. I mean it was the LA Times. And this is the headline: Milton Berle"s Cousin Hit on Head by Falling Rock. He wasnt killed--He had his head mildly split open by this rock. And at that moment I knew I couldnt kill myself. If I was going to kill myself it would have to be for a far better world than one in which Milton Berles cousin finds himself on the front page of the Times for being hit on the head by a falling rock. BETTY: Im glad youre making it Hank. You deserve it. CHINASKI: Betty--dont get down. You/ll get out of this place. But you have to take care of yourself. A cemetary. There is a coffin and some flowers. Two workers stand nearby. Chinaski walks up. He is wearing a suit and tie. A woman appears. She is 38/40--neighborhood bar type but not bad, stylish in her way--good legs. She goes to Chinaski. WOMAN: Are you Hank? CHINASKI: Yeah. WOMAN: Im Delia. He nods. CHINASKI: She had two kids. Where are they? DELIA: I think this is it. I called a priest. He didnt want to do this. There was some question about her religion. Finally I talked him into it. He said he would do half a funeral. CHINASKI: Half a funeral? DELIA: Thats what he said. They wait. DELIA: She told me a lot about you. CHINASKI: She was something else. I never met anyone like her. And I met her in a bar. We had unbelievably great times--all of which transpired while drunk. She was beautiful and wild--out of control. She was partly insane. No one could handle her. I was told this by informed sources. I ignored it. I was different. I would be the one to straighten her out. And I tried. But it was no dice. She was in a world of her own. When you got right down to it she just didnt give a shit. The priest arrives. He has long hair, in need of combing, and could stand a shave. He looks a little drunk. PRIEST: Is this the family? DELIA: Yes. PRIEST: I/ll begin. He reads from notes: Lord--this is Betty. I know of her what her friend Delia has told me. She was an unusual woman. She was smart, she was funny, she was kind. She was a good friend. She was loyal and generous. You could put the arm on her for a small loan. She made you feel good. This is rare. He pauses. She had her failings. She was indulgent. She was lazy. She couldnt hold a job. She had a quick temper and got into fights. She had a filthy tongue. She also liked to drink. This is what killed her. Its sad. Pause. That was Betty. She had her good side and bad side. But I think when you add them up it was the good side that prevails. For this reason I ask you to show mercy. He pockets his notes. Nods to Chinaski and Delia and leaves. CHINASKI: That wasnt bad--for half a funeral. Thanks for calling me. She nods. CHINASKI: Im going to the track. I always go to the track after a funeral. You wanna come with? DELIA: I gotta work. CHINASKI: That would never have stopped Betty. The track. Chinaski is alone at the bar doping out the form. He looks up and sees a woman--tall negress of mixed blood. CHINASKI: Vi baby. VI: Hank--youre not working. CHINASKI: Nor you. She laughs. VI: I took the day off. CHINASKI: Wanna drink? VI: OK. He orders a round. CHINASKI: How you doing? VI: Im losing. How you doing? CHINASKI: Not bad. I just came from a funeral. My third in two years. I went to the track after the other two and won both times. If I could go to a funeral every day Id be a rich man. VI: I heard you were a pretty good horseplayer. CHINASKI: You heard true Vi. VI: Im picking Daddys Delight in the fifth race. CHINASKI: Try Fortunes Curse. VI: Fortunes Curse is 8-1 and theres a reason: hes a quitter. CHINASKI: No Vi. Fortunes Curse is the bet. Let me explain. The first rule in The Henry Chinaski Guide to Handicapping is this: you look for the non-public horse who can beat the favorite. By non-public I mean the horse that seems a poor or illogical choice. That is the point. We all know that logic does not apply to horseracing. Knowing this the public insists on applying prodigious amounts. Therefore they go home broke. Now it may happen that in examining the form you fail to come up with this so called non-public horse. In that case you bet the favorite. The reason I am betting Fortunes Curse is that in his last race he went off at 35-1 and lost by a neck to Dons Dilemma when he blew a two length lead down the stretch. Dons Dilemma was a 9-2 shot. So naturally the crowd figures if Fortunes Curse couldnt beat Dons Dilemma in a mile how is he going to beat him in a mile and a sixteenth. Good thinking. But they are choosing to ignore the fact that that Dons Dilemma is adding 2 pounds and that Fortunes Curse has a better jock--tho unpopular. The trainers are smart. They enter their horses in what seem unfavorable conditions in order to keep large sums of money off the horse. Check the board. Fortunes Curse is 7-1. The morning line was 5- 1. He/ll go off at 8 or 9-1. It all adds up. I may not win but I will get a good run for my money. That is the second rule in the Henry Chinaski Guide to Handicapping: make them beat you. VI: You got a good line Hank. Im going with Daddys Delight. He laughs. CHINASKI: Lets grab this race. In the grandstand. They/re off. Fortunes Curse takes the lead out of the gate and moves to the rail, running easily. Holds the lead around the turn. Now at the top of the stretch the jock goes to the whip. He opens up the lead. He eases up. The pack closes. Now he lets it out and opens a 4 length lead. VI: Its too soon. He will never make it down the stretch. CHINASKI: Watch baby. Into the stretch. The jock on Dons Dilemma goes to the whip. Dons Dilemma moves up. The jock whipping hard. Dons Dilemma closing fast, eating up the lengths. Now the jock on Fortunes Curse goes to the whip. Down the stretch. They are neck and neck. The jock on Dons Dilemma whipping hard. Dons Dilemma fades at the wire and its Fortunes Curse by a nose. Daddys Delight finishes 5th. VI: Son of a bitch. She gives Chinaski a filthy look. CHINASKI: I tell you baby I am hell coming out of funerals. An apt. Its dust free and tastefully furnished in complementary colors with accents to provide fill. CHINASKI: My apt doesnt look like this. VI: I/ll bet. You wanna drink? CHINASKI: Please. He picks up a foto off the table. CHINASKI: Youre daughter? VI: Yes. CHINASKI: Very sweet Vi. You divorced? VI: Yeah. He was a bum. All he did was drink and play the horses. She gives him his drink. VI: You were hot today. CHINASKI: Yeah. I had a streak going at Del Mar once. I/ll never forget it. It was uncanny. I could not lose. I won ten grand in 3 months. I had a room at the beach. It was nothing but Chivas Regal and steak every nite. The women were coming at me like flies. VI: So what happened? CHINASKI: I lost it all back and then some and went to work at the Post Office. VI: You got a girl now? CHINASKI: Yeah. It dont add up Vi. Shes a fox. She has a good job, a high IQ and a complete set of hormones properly sorted out and going full blast. She could have any guy she wants. VI: It adds up. Young guys are boring. Too much ego. Old guys like you dont have that ego problem. They get some of that young action on their hands they appreciate it. With a old guy like you shes the boss. Youre pussy- whipped. Its simple. In the bedroom. Chinaski in bed with Vi on top. He has a good grip on her ass while she grinds ferociously away. This continues. Vi grinding while Chinaski with eyes closed to focus on the task at hand. They roll over with him on top. He grinds away. They roll over with Vi on top. She boosts the tempo. VI: Make it baby! Chinaski with eyes closed trying to make it. Vi grinding away. CHINASKI: Vi--its no dice. VI: Why? CHINASKI: Too much booze. She rolls off. They lay there. CHINASKI: Sorry Vi. Its not you. VI: Sex and liquor dont mix. And no woman likes to come in second to a bottle. Lindas apt. She is reading on the couch. Chinaski enters. She looks up. LINDA: Where were you last nite? CHINASKI: I went to the track. LINDA: You could have called me. CHINASKI: I did call you. Twice. You were having one of your marathon phone conversations. LINDA: What time did you get back? Pause. CHINASKI: Late. I ran into a guy from the PO and we had a few drinks. LINDA: Bullshit. CHINASKI: Linda--are you my mother? Whats the beef? LINDA: You were with a woman. CHINASKI: Why do you say this? LINDA: Because I know you. And I particularly know you when you are lying. You are lying. They exchange looks that indicate that he knows that she knows that he knows that she knows he is lying. CHINASKI: Im getting a drink. You want one? LINDA: No. He goes to the kitchen, makes a drink, returns to the living room. Sits on the couch. CHINASKI: Now I am going to open the racing form and make some rough calculations for about 20 minutes max. LINDA: Dont do it. He groans. Says nothing. Then speaks. CHINASKI: OK Linda. Im going to tell you what happened--right down to the last incredibly erotic detail. I go to the funeral to bury Betty--who I loved almost as much as I love you and then I went out to the track. At the track I run into Vi from the PO. Vi is 42. Shes divorced with a 14 year old kid. We have a drink and catch a few races and I give her a few tips and she wins some money which got her horny. She invites me to her apt for dinner. This is when I called you and got a busy signal for 45 minutes. So we go to the apt and she feeds me drinks and dinner and then more drinks and one thing leads to another and we wind up in bed. Then a funny thing happened. I couldnt get it up. Too much booze. LINDA: I/ll buy that part. CHINASKI: And that was my nite with Vi. It meant nothing to me and even less to her. Now can I read the form? He cracks the form. She sits giving him a filthy look. Soon he is engrossed in the form working furiously away. LINDA: Im bored. CHINASKI: Have a drink. LINDA: I dont want a drink! I want to do something! We never do anything! We do what we are doing now. I sit here while you drink and listen to the radio and work on the racing form. CHINASKI: What can I tell you? Im a crank. I dont like people. I have nothing to say to them. I can only talk to people when I am drunk and when I am drunk I become an asshole. Its a problem. LINDA: Well Im different! I like people. I like to do things. I like to go to parties. Thats how I was raised in Utah. I was raised to like people and do things and go to parties. My sisters and I would drive a thousand miles to go to a party! Thats where I met you--bastard. At a party! CHINASKI: I remember. I saw you and I said to myself-- who is that fine-assed red-headed bitch. She looks crazy. And I was right. LINDA: I wanna go to Catalina. CHINASKI: I heard that but let me hear it again. LINDA: I SAID: I WANNA GO TO CATALINA! IVE NEVER BEEN THERE! I HEAR ITS GREAT! CHINASKI: You heard wrong. its the worst. Everyone is 17 years old. They are either 17 or 68. They cruise around in their ugly clothes with their ugly bodies and they give you these looks like you are shit but they are not shit because they have money and nothing worries them and they know everything which is that everything is shit but not them--if you follow me. LINDA: I SAID: I WANNA GO TO CATALINA! By the ocean. There is a marine terminal with a seaplane facility. The plane is alongside, a dozen or so passengers filing aboard, including Linda and Chinaski. Linda in shorts and a halter, tennies and a large beach bag. Chinaski in shorts and shirt, socks and shoes. No beach gear. He carries a typewriter. Linda is beaming. LINDA: Isnt this great! In the air. The plane is bucking this and that way. Linda up front with the pilot--beaming. The plane bucking this and that way. The pilot thrashing with the controls. Chinaski in a bad way, trying to hold on. Catalina. Linda and Chinaski walking along the pier into town. LINDA: Wasnt that great? CHINASKI: Yeah. Maybe we should just forget Catalina and fly back and forth on the plane 2 thousand times. LINDA: The pilot said it was built in 1940. It had holes in the floor. He worked the rudder with a handle from the roof. I said to him: Im scared. He said: me too. They walk. LINDA: I love this. Look at that place. Look at that place. Theres a restaurant, theres a liquor store for you, theres a bar, theres another liquor store...A hotel. In the room. The room is clean and comfy with a large window and splendid view of the bay. Chinaski has a bag containing ice and a double six pack of tall Rainier Ale. He breaks up the ice and dumps it in the sink and carefully packs in the beer. He cracks a beer and breaks out a stogie and lights up and reclines on the bed. CHINASKI: Now what? Later. The room. She shades are drawn. The room is filled with smoke. There is light and noise from the TV. Chinaski sleeps. He lies on the bed fully clothed, one handgripping a tall Rainier Ale. Snoring like a bull. There are 8 or 10 empties on the floor. A couple cigar butts in an ashtray. On the desk in a corner of the room Chinaskis typer with a few pages besides. Linda enters. She stands there, then goes to the window, draws the drapes, opens the window. Gathers up the empty cans, trashes them, likewise the ashtray. She goes to the typer, stands looking down at it. On a page in the machine he has written: o moaning and the flight of the blue bird into the eye of the sun She looks at Chinask lying on the bed, sawing away, shredding the air. Gives him a fond look. Goes to the bed, pokes him in the gut. LINDA: Hank--wake up. He sputters and opens his eyes. Lies there briefly, then takes a long suck from the Rainier Ale, kills it, gives her the empty, gestures for a refill. She goes tothe sink, draws a can, cracks it and brings it to him. He takes a long drain, closes his eyes with pleasure. Lites up a fresh stogie. CHINASKI: So--you have fun? LINDA: It was great. First I saw this guy in a boat. I said: where ya going? He said: gimme half a buck and I/ll show ya. It was a boat taxi. He takes people in and out to their boats. So I rode around with him. It was fabulous. I got to look in all the boats. All the old drunks were on board. Some of them had young women dressed in boots. Others had young men. Real old drunken lechers. then we came back andd I said goodby and thanked him and walked around. I topped an ate an abalone sandwich. It was delicious. Then I saw this pet store and went in. There was this little bird. He reminded me of you. He had no neck. Then I came back. A restaurant. On the patio. Chinaski and Linda at a table. Relaxing with some wine. She makes a gesture. LINDA: I love this. Dont you love it. CHINASKI: Its not bad. He sips some wine. LINDA: What are you thinking? CHINASKI: I am thinking that if I had your ability to gather information, combined with my ability to remain happily in a room for days or weeks on end, I could really write something. But I dont have your ability to gather information. I have to sit around and wait for it. Once it comes I can do something with it. But otherwise all I can write about is drinking beer, going to the track and listening to classical music. And smoking cigars. That isnt like I thought it would be. When I was a kid I imagined it differently. Maybe it was the Leslie Howard movie. Or reading about Hemingway--or Lawrence. There was something special about being a writer. But there is nothing special about being a writer. They are all the same. They all have the same tinkertoy souls. You know it when you get in a room with them. There is only one great writer every 500 years and it isnt me and it certainly isnt them. We are fucked. I think Im old baby. She gives him a soulful look. LINDA: Lets eat. And then I want to go dancing. The post office. Chinaski casing mail. Next to him is Janko, young fat guy. He has a very loud voice. JANKO: HANK--I REALLY CAUGHT A HEAD JOB LAST NITE. CHINASKI: You dont say. JANKO: I HAD TO GO FOR A LOAF OF BREAD. THEN I WENT TO THE BOOK STORE. I PICKED UP THIS BITCH. WE WENT FOR COFFEEE AND THEN BACK TO MY APT. SHE WAS LIKE 20. I GAVE HER A DRINK AND SHE THROWS ME ON THE BED. SHE GIVES IT ONE OR TWO STROKES AND IT SPRINGS TO ATTENTION AND DISSAPEARS INTO HER MOUTH. I CAME LIKE THAT. YOU READ MY MANUSCRIPT YET? CHINASKI: I read it Janko. Let me say this. Its starts off good. In fact its very good. I liked that part about the emplyoment agency--the woman who made you buy the new suit. Youre broke, that is why you are there, to get a job and she send you out to spend $200 on a new suit. There is something about that that sounds real to me. Its honest writing. I also liked that scene in the bar.But then something starts to happen. It happens at the opera. When you meet that woman. That opera scene has to go. That bumping into each other and spilling the drink and the apologies back and forth--those apologies drove me willd. They go on and on and on. But thats just a detail. The fact is the writing changes completely at this point. It loses that simple raw quality. It become stiff, unreal and corny. Why I know not. Thats something you have to figure out for yourself. JANKO: THE OPERA SCENE STAYS. Chinaski rolls his eyes. CHINASKI: Janko--look. Dont take it personally. Its very easy to take it personally. But it isnt personal. Its something every writer goes thru. No exceptions. Its part of the process. JANKO: I SAID: THE OPERA SCENE STAYS. CHINASKI: Janko--you wanted my opinion. I gave it to you. You dont agree--fine. Now I am going to finish casing this mail. They case mail in silence. Stone walks up. STONE: Chinaski. CHINASKI: Hello Stone. STONE: Chinaski--in my office please. Stones office. STONE: I will get right to the point. He has a newspaper on his desk. He holds it up. Its balls--the paper featuring Chinaskis column. STONE: This is a paper called balls. There is a weekly column in this paper called Notes of a Dirty Old Man written by someone with your exact name--Henry Chinaski. CHINASKI: Is that right? STONE: Yes. CHINASKI: Continue. STONE: I quote from section 3.456 of the postal manual--that employess are to comply in the most stringent manner from behaving or otherwise conducting themselves in such a fashion to reflect discredit on the postal service. CHINASKI: So you saying that this column I write for balls reflects discredit on the postal service? STONE: Let me read this to you. Then you tell me. He picks up paper, begins to read: STONE: I had been watching these people go behind this big curtain. some of them came out in 10 or 20 minutes. some of them never came out. I finished my beer and got up and pulled the curtain back and went in. It was dark and smelled like grass. also ass. It was mostly guys, licking assholes and reaming each other. a black guy came up to me. you henry chinaski? thats right. I read crucifix in a death hand. I consider you the greatest poet since Verlaine. having said this he reached out and started fondling my balls.I took the hand away. I said: not yet, baby im looking for a friend. he left. I looked around and saw a woman. she was leaning against the wall. She had her legs open and seemed rather dazed. I walked over to take a closer look. not bad. in fact very nice. I dropped my shorts. I put the thing in. I put in what I had. oh thats good she said--its sort of curved. I said yes--accident while still a child--on the tricycle. I was just going good when something RAMMED into the cheeks of my ass. I saw flashes. I reached behind and pulled the thing out, Im standing there with this guys thing in my hand. I said: what the fuck are you doing? He said: listen friend--this whole game is just one big deck of cards. if you want to get into the game you have to take whaever comes up in the shuffle. I pulled up my drawers and got out of there. STONE: Now what do you think? Lets say youre the average housewife in the average Los Angeles neighborhood and you read something like this and you say to yourself: Is this the kind of person being hired on a routine basis by the Postal Service to handle and deliver my mail? CHINASKI: Stone--youre really breaking new ground. First of all--how many people in Los Angeles-- readers of balls or otherwise--actually know that 1) I--Henry Chinaski--am a mailman. And 2) even if they do know, do they care? I think not. STONE: That isnt the point. CHINASKI: I think it is. STONE: No. The point is this: you cant write porno and work for the Post Office. You have to do one or the other. You want to write and publish this garbage under another name--like a pseudonym--thats fine. I have no objection to that. CHINASKI: I will talk to my lawyer. STONE: Do so. CHINASKI: This is a clear violation of my first ammendment rights under the constitution. Or is it the third ammendment? STONE: You refer to the freedom of speech ammendment? CHINASKI: Yes. STONE: Freedom of speech doesnt apply at the Post Office Chinaski. (The second and last installment occurs next month) |