Love is a Dog from Hell (3 page)

 

it beats love because there aren’t any

wounds: in the morning

she turns on the radio, Brahms or Ives

or Stravinsky or Mozart. she boils the

eggs counting the seconds out loud: 56,

57, 58…she peels the eggs, brings

them to me in bed. after breakfast it’s

the same chair and listen to the classical

music. she’s on her first glass of

scotch and her third cigarette. I tell

her I must go to the racetrack. she’s

been here about 2 nights and 2 days. “when

will I see you again?” I ask. she

suggests that might be up to me. I

nod and Mozart plays.

 

I was coming off an affair that had gone badly.

frankly, I was sliding down into a pit

really feeling shitty and low

when I lucked into this lady with a large bed

covered with a jeweled canopy

plus

wine, champagne, smokes, pills and

color tv.

we stayed in bed and

drank wine, champagne, smoked, popped pills

by the dozens

as I (feeling shitty and low)

tried to get over this affair that had gone

bad.

I watched the tv trying to dull my senses,

but the thing that really helped

was this very long

(specially written for tv) drama about

spies—

American spies and Russian spies, and

they were all so clever and

cool—

even their children didn’t know

their wives didn’t know, and

in a way

they
hardly knew—

and I found out about counter-spies, double-spies:

guys who worked both sides, and

then this one who was a double-spy turned

into a triple-spy, it

got nicely confusing—

I don’t even think the guy who wrote the script

knew what was happening—

it went on for hours!

seaplanes rammed into icebergs,

a priest in Madison, Wisc. murdered his brother,

a block of ice was shipped in a casket to Peru

in lieu of the world’s largest diamond, and

blondes walked in and out of rooms eating

creampuffs and walnuts;

the triple-spy turned into a

quadruple-spy and everybody loved

everybody

and it went on and on

and the hours passed and

it all finally vanished like a paperclip in a

bag of trash and I

reached over and flicked off the set and

slept well for the first time

in a week and a half.

 

she wore a platinum blond wig

and her face was rouged and powdered

and she put the lipstick on

making a huge painted mouth

and her neck was wrinkled

but she still had the ass of a young girl

and the legs were good.

she wore blue panties and I got them off

raised her dress, and with the TV flickering

I took her standing up.

as we struggled around the room

(I’m fucking the grave, I thought, I’m

bringing the dead back to life, marvelous

so marvelous

like eating cold olives at 3 a.m.

with half the town on fire)

I came.

 

you boys can keep your virgins

give me hot old women in high heels

with asses that forgot to get old.

 

of course, you leave afterwards

or get very drunk

which is the same

thing.

 

we drank wine for hours and watched tv

and when we went to bed.

to sleep it off.

she left her teeth in all

night long.

 

I got his ashes, she said, and I took them

out to sea and I scattered his ashes and

they didn’t even look like ashes

and

the urn was weighted with

green and blue pebbles…

 

he didn’t leave you any of his

millions?

 

nothing, she said.

 

after having to eat all those breakfasts

and lunches and dinners with him? after

listening to all his bullshit?

 

he was a brilliant man.

 

you know what I mean.

 

anyhow, I got the ashes. and you fucked

my sisters.

 

I never fucked your sisters.

 

yes, you did.

 

I fucked one of them.

 

which one?

 

the lesbian, I said, she bought me dinner and drinks,

I had very little choice.

 

I’m going, she said.

 

don’t forget your bottle.

 

she went in and got it.

 

there’s so little to you, she said, that when you die and

they burn you they’ll have to add almost all green and

blue pebbles.

 

all right, I said.

 

I’ll see you in 6 months! she screamed and slammed the door.

 

well, I thought, I guess in order to get rid of her I’ll have

to fuck her other sister. I walked into the bedroom and started

looking for phone numbers. all I remembered was that she

lived in San Mateo and had a very good.

job.

 

she pulled her dress off

over her head

and I saw the panties

indented somewhat into the

crotch.

 

it’s only human.

now we’ve got to do it.

I’ve got to do it

after all that bluff.

it’s like a party—

two trapped

idiots.

 

under the sheets

after I have snapped

off the light

her panties are still

on. she expects an

opening performance.

I can’t blame her. but

wonder why she’s here with

me? where are the other

guys? how can you be

lucky? having someone the

others have abandoned?

 

we didn’t have to do it

yet we had to do it.

it was something like

establishing new credibility

with the income tax

man. I get the panties

off. I decide not to

tongue her. even then

I’m thinking about

after it’s over.

 

we’ll sleep together

tonight

trying to fit ourselves

inside the wallpaper.

 

I try, fail,

notice the hair on her

head

mostly notice the hair

on her

head

and a glimpse of

nostrils

piglike

 

I try it

again.

 

women don’t know how to love,

she told me.

you know how to love

but women just want to

leech.

I know this because I’m a

woman.

 

hahaha, I laughed.

 

so don’t worry about your breakup

with Susan

because she’ll just leech onto

somebody else.

 

we talked a while longer

then I said goodbye

hungup

went into the crapper and

took a good beershit

mainly thinking, well,

I’m still alive

and have the ability to expell

wastes from my body.

and poems.

and as long as that’s happening

I have the ability to handle

betrayal

loneliness

hangnail

clap

and the economic reports in the

financial section.

 

with that

I stood up

wiped

flushed

then thought:

it’s true:

I know how to

love.

 

I pulled up my pants and walked

into the other room.

 

another bed

another woman

 

more curtains

another bathroom

another kitchen

 

other eyes

other hair

other

feet and toes.

 

everybody’s looking.

the eternal search.

 

you stay in bed

she gets dressed for work

and you wonder what happened

to the last one

and the one before that…

it’s all so comfortable—

this love-making

this sleeping together

the gentle kindness…

 

after she leaves you get up and use her

bathroom,

it’s all so intimate and so strange.

you go back to bed and

sleep another hour.

 

when you leave it’s with sadness

but you’ll see her again

whether it works or not.

you drive down to the shore and sit

in your car. it’s almost noon.

 

—another bed, other ears, other

ear rings, other mouths, other slippers, other

dresses

      colors, doors, phone numbers.

 

you were once strong enough to live alone.

for a man nearing sixty you should be more

sensible.

 

you start the car and shift,

thinking, I’ll phone Jeanie when I get in,

I haven’t seen her since Friday.

 

don’t undress my love

you might find a mannequin;

don’t undress the mannequin

you might find

my love.

 

she’s long ago

forgotten me.

 

she’s trying on a new

hat

and looks more the

coquette

than ever.

 

she is a

child

and a mannequin

and

death.

 

I can’t hate

that.

 

she didn’t do

anything

unusual.

 

I only wanted her

to.