I took Tanya to the airport the next afternoon. We had a drink in the same bar. The high-yellow wasn’t around; all that leg was with somebody else.

“I’ll write you,” said Tanya.

“All right.”

“Do you think I’m a chippy?”

“No. You love sex and there’s nothing wrong with that.” “You really get off on it yourself.”

“There’s a lot of puritan in me. Puritans might enjoy sex more than anybody.” “You do act more innocent than any man I’ve ever met.”

“In a sense I’ve always been a virgin. ...”

“I wish I could say that.”

“Another drink?” “Sure.”

We drank in silence. Then it was time to board. I kissed Tanya goodbye outside of security, then took the escalator down. The ride home was uneventful. I thought, well, I’m alone again. I ought to get some fucking writing done or go back to being a janitor. The postal service will never take me back. A man must ply his trade, as they say.

I arrived at the court. There was nothing in the mailbox. I sat down and dialed Sara. She was at the Inn. “How’s it going?” I asked.

“Is that bitch gone?”

“She’s gone.”

“How long?”

“I just put her on the plane.”

“Did you like her?”

“She had some qualities.”

“Do you love her?”

“No. Look, I’d like to see you.”

“I don’t know. It’s been terribly hard for me. How do I know you won’t do it again?”

“Nobody is ever quite sure of what they will do. You aren’t sure what you might do.”

“I know what I feel.”

“Look, I don’t even ask what you’ve been doing, Sara.”

“Thanks, you’re very kind.”

“I’d like to see you. Tonight. Come on over.”

“Hank, I just don’t know. ...”

“Come on over. We can just talk.”

“I’m pretty damned upset. I’ve really gone through hell.”

“Look, let me put it this way: with me, you’re number one and there isn’t even a number two.” “All right. I’ll be over about seven. Look, there are two customers waiting. . . .”

“All right. See you at seven.”

I hung up. Sara really was a good soul. To lose her for a Tanya was ridiculous. Yet, Tanya had brought me something. Sara deserved better treatment than I gave her. People owed each other certain loyalties even if they weren’t married. In a way, the trust should run deeper because it wasn’t sanctified by the law.

Well, we needed wine, good white wine.

I walked out, got in the Volks and drove up to the liquor store next to the supermarket. I like to change liquor stores frequently because the clerks got to know your habits if you went in night and day and bought huge quantities. I could feel them wondering why I wasn’t dead yet and it made me uncomfortable. They probably weren’t thinking any such thing, but then a man gets paranoid when he has 300 hangovers a year.

I found four bottles of good white wine in the new place and went out with them. Four young Mexican boys were standing outside.

“Hey, mister! Give us some money! Hey, man, give us some money!” “What for?”

“We need it, man, we need it, don’t you know?”

“Gonna buy some coke?”

“Pepsi-Cola, man!”

I gave them 50 cents.

(IMMORTAL WRITER COMES TO AID OF STREET URCHINS)

They ran off. I opened the door to the Volks and put the wine inside. Just as I did a van drove up rapidly and the door slammed open. A woman was roughly pushed out. She was a young Mexican, about 22, no breasts, dressed in grey slacks. Her black hair was dirty and scraggly. The man in the van screamed at her: “YOU GOD DAMNED WHORE! YOU SICK FUCKING WHORE! I OUGHTA KICK YOUR STUPID ASS!”

“YOU DUMB PRICK!” she screamed back. “YOU STINK OF SHIT!”

He leaped out of the van and ran toward her. She ran off toward the liquor store. He saw me, gave up the chase, got back in the van, roared through the parking lot, and then swung off down Hollywood Boulevard.

I walked up to her. “You all right?” “Yes.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, drive me down to Van Ness. Van Ness and Franklin.”

“All right.”

She got into the Volks and we drove off into Hollywood. I took a right, then a left and we were on Franklin. “You got a lot of wine, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“I think I need a drink.”

“Almost everybody does only they don’t know it.”

“I know it.”

“We can go to my place.”

“O.K.”

I swung the Volks around, headed back.

“I’ve got some money,” I told her.

“$20," she said.

“You give head?”

“The best.”

When we got home I poured her a glass of wine. It was warm. She didn’t mind. I drank a warm one too. Then I pulled my pants off and stretched out on the bed. She followed me into the bedroom. I pulled my limp string out of my shorts. She got right down to it. She was terrible, no imagination at all.

This is pure shit, I thought.

I lifted my head up from the pillow. “Come on, baby, get with it! What the fuck are you doing?”

I was having trouble getting hard. She sucked at it and looked into my eyes. It was the worst head I had ever had. She worked about two minutes, then pulled away. She took her hankerchief out of her purse and spit into it as if she were expectorating come.

“Hey,” I said, “What the hell are you trying to sell me? I didn’t come.” “Yes, you did, you did!”

“Hey, I ought to know!”

“You shot into my mouth.”

“Knock off the bullshit! Get on down there!”

She began again but she was just as bad. I let her work away, hoping for the best. Some whore. She bobbed and sucked. It was as if she were only pretending to do it, as if we were both just pretending. My cock got soft. She kept on.

“All right, all right,” I said, “leave off. Forget it.” I got back into my pants and took out my wallet. “Here’s your twenty. You can leave now.”

“How about a ride?”

“You just gave me one.”

“I want to go to Franklin and Van Ness.”

“All right.”

We went out to the car and I took her to Van Ness. As I drove off I saw her stick out her thumb. She was hitchhiking. When I got back I phoned Sara again.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“It’s slow today.”

“Are you still coming by tonight?”

“I told you I would.”

“I’ve got some good white wine. It’ll be like old times.”

“Are you going to see Tanya again?”

“No.”

“Don’t drink anything until I get there.”

“All right.”

“I’ve got to go.... A customer just walked in.”

“Good. See you tonight.”

Sara was a good woman. I had to get myself straightened out. The only time a man needed a lot of women was when none of them were any good. A man could lose his identity fucking around too much. Sara deserved much better than I was giving her. It was up to me now. I stretched out on the bed and was soon asleep.

I was awakened by the telephone. “Yes?” I asked.

“Are you Henry Chinaski?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve always adored your work. I don’t think anybody writes any better than you do!” Her voice was young and sexy.

“I have written some good stuff.”

“I know. I know. Have you really had all those affairs with women?”

“Yes.”

“Listen, I write too. I live in L. A. and I’d like to come see you. I’d like to show you some of my poems.” “I’m not an editor or a publisher.”

“I know. Look, I’m 19. I just want to come over and visit you.”

“I’m tied up tonight.”

“Oh, any night would do!”

“No, I can’t see you.”

“Are you really Henry Chinaski, the writer?”

“I’m sure I am.”

“I’m a cute chick.”

“You probably are.”

“My name’s Rochelle.”

“Goodbye, Rochelle.”

I hung up. There I had done it—that time.

I walked into the kitchen, opened a bottle of vitamin E, 400 I. U. each, and downed several with half a glass of Perrier water. It was going to be a good night for Chinaski. The sun was slanting down through the Venetian blinds, making a familiar pattern on the carpet, and the white wine was chilling in the refrigerator.

I opened the door and walked out on the porch. There was a strange cat out there. He was a huge creature, a torn, with a shining black coat and luminous yellow eyes. He wasn’t frightened of me. He walked up purring and rubbed against one of my legs. I was a good guy and he knew it. Animals knew things like that. They had an instinct. I walked back inside and he followed me.

I opened him up a can of Star-Kist solid white tuna. Packed in spring water. Net wt. 7 oz.