“Of course.”
We drank a little longer and then we went to bed, but it wasn’t the same, it never is—there was space between us, things had happened. I watched her walk to the bathroom, saw the wrinkles and folds under the cheeks of her ass. Poor thing. Poor poor thing. Joyce had been firm and hard—you grabbed a handful and it felt good. Betty didn’t feel so good. It was sad, it was sad, it was sad. When Betty came back we didn’t sing or laugh, or even argue. We sat drinking in the dark, smoking cigarettes, and when we went to sleep, I didn’t put my feet on her body or she on mine like we used to. We slept without touching.
We had both been robbed.
2
I phoned Joyce.
“How’s it working with Purple Stickpin?”
“I can’t understand it,” she said.
“What did he do when you told him you were divorced?”
“We were sitting across from each other in the employee’s cafeteria when I told him.”
“What happened?”
“He dropped his fork. His mouth fell open. He said, ‘What?’”
“He knew you meant business then.”
“I can’t understand it. He’s been avoiding me ever since. When
I see him in the hall he runs away. He doesn’t sit across from me anymore when we eat. He seems… well, almost… cold.”
“Baby, there are other men. Forget that guy. Set your sails for a new one.”
“It’s hard to forget him. I mean, the way he was.”
“Does he know that you have money?”
“No, I have never told him, he doesn’t know.”
“Well, if you want him…”
“No, no! I don’t want him that way!”
“All right, then. Goodbye Joyce.”
“Goodbye, Hank.”
It wasn’t long after that, I got a letter from her. She was back in Texas. Grandma was very sick, she wasn’t expected to live long. People were asking about me. So forth. Love, Joyce.
I put the letter down and I could see that midget wondering how I had missed out. Little shaking freak, thinking I was such a clever bastard. It was hard to let him down like that.
3
Then I was called down to personnel at the old Federal Building. They let me sit the usual 45 minutes or hour and one half.
Then. “Mr. Chinaski?” this voice said.
“Yeh,” I said.
“Step in.”
The man walked me back to a desk. There sat this woman. She looked a bit sexy, melting into 38 or 39, but she looked as if her sexual ambition had either been laid aside for other things or as if it had been ignored.
“Sit down, Mr. Chinaski.”
I sat down.
Baby, I thought, I could really give you a ride.
“Mr. Chinaski,” she said, “we have been wondering if you have filled out this application properly.”
“Uh?”
“We mean, the arrest record.” She handed me the sheet. There wasn’t any sex in her eyes. I had listed 8 or 10 common drunk raps. It was only an estimate. I had no idea of the dates.
“Now, have you listed everything?” she asked me.
“Hmmm, hmmm, let me think…”
I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to say “yes” and then she had me. “Let me see… Hmmm. Hmmm.”
“Yes?” she said.
“Oh oh! My god!”
“What is it?”
“It’s either drunk in auto or drunk driving. About 4 years ago or so. I don’t know the exact date.”
“And this was a slip of the mind?”
“Yes, really, I meant to put it down.”
“All right. Put it down.”
I wrote it down.
“Mr. Chinaski. This is a terrible record. I want you to explain these charges and if possible justify your present employment with us.”
“All right.”
“You have ten days to reply.”
I didn’t want the job that badly. But she irritated me.
I phoned in sick that night after buying some ruled and numbered legal paper and a blue, very official-looking folder. I got a fifth of whiskey and a six pack, then sat down and typed it out. I had the dictionary at my elbow. Every now and then I would flip a page, find a large incomprehensible word and build a sentence or paragraph out of the idea. It ran 42 pages. I finished up with, “Copies of this statement have been retained for distribution to the press, television, and other mass communication media.”
I was full of shit.
She got up from her desk and got it personally. “Mr. Chinaski?”
“Yes?”
It was 9 a.m. One day after her request to answer charges. “Just a moment.”
She took the 42 pages back to her desk. She read and read and read. There was somebody reading over her shoulder. Then there were 2, 3, 4, 5. All reading. 6, 7, 8, 9. All reading.
What the hell? I thought.
Then I heard a voice from the crowd, “Well, all geniuses are drunkards!” As if that explained away the matter. Too many movies again.
She got up from the desk with the 42 pages in her hand.
“Mr. Chinaski?”
“Yes?”
“Your case will be continued. You will hear from us.”
“Meanwhile, continue working?”
“Meanwhile, continue working.”
“Good morning,” I said.
4
One night I was assigned to the stool next to Butchner. He didn’t stick any mail. He just sat there. And talked.
A young girl came in and sat down at the end of the aisle. I heard Butchner. “Yeah, you cunt! You want my cock in your pussy, don’t you? That’s what you want, you cunt, don’t you?”
I went on sticking mail. The soup walked past. Butchner said, “You’re on my list, mother! I’m going to get you, you dirty mother! You rotten bastard! Cocksucker!”
The supervisors never bothered Butchner. Nobody ever bothered Butchner.
Then I heard him again. “All right, baby! I don’t like that look on your face! You’re on my list, mother! You’re right there on top of my list! I’m going to get your ass! Hey, I’m talking to you! You hear me?”
It was too much. I threw my mail down.
“All right,” I told him, “I’m calling your card! I’m calling your whole stinking deck! You wanna go right here or outside?” I looked at Butchner. He was talking to the ceiling, insane: “I told you, you’re on top of my list! I’m going to get you and I’m going to get you good!”
O for Christ’s sake, I thought, I really sucked into that one! The clerks were very quiet. I couldn’t blame them. I got up, went to get a drink of water. Then came back. 20 minutes later I got up to take my ten minute break. When I got back, the supervisor was waiting. A fat black man in his early 50’s. He screamed at me:
“CHINASKI!”
“What’s the matter, man?” I asked.
“You’ve left your seat twice in 30 minutes!”
“Yeah, I got a drink of water the first time. 30 seconds. Then later I took my break.”
“Suppose you worked at a machine? You couldn’t leave your machine twice in 30 minutes!”
His whole face glistened in fury. It was astounding. I couldn’t understand it.
“I’M WRITING YOU UP!”
“All right,” I said.
I went down and sat next to Butchner. The supervisor came
running down with the write-up. It was written in longhand. I couldn’t even read it. He had written in such fury that it had all come out in blots and slants.
I folded the write-up into a neat package, slipped it in my rear pocket.
“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch!” Butchner said.
“I wish you would, fat boy,” I said, “I wish you would.”