Read Hollywood for Free Online Page B

inner lip and it was wet and it shimmered.
    “Chinaski,” he said, “son of a bitch, it’s CHINASKI!”
    I gave a small wave, then looked straight ahead.
    “One of my readers,” I said to Sarah.
    “Oh oh,” she said.
    “Chinaski,” I heard a voice to my right.
    “Chinaski,” I heard another voice.
    A whiskey appeared before me. I lifted it, “Thank you, fellows!” and I knocked it off.
    “Go easy,” said Sarah, “you know how you are. We’ll never get out of here.”
    The bartender brought another whiskey. He was a little guy with dark red blotches all over his face. He looked meaner than anybody in there. He just stood there, staring at me.
    “Chinaski,” he said, “the world’s greatest writer.”
    “If you insist,” I said and raised the glass of whiskey. Then I passed it to Sarah who knocked it off.
    She gave a little cough and set the glass down.
    “I only drank that to help save you.”
    Then there was a little group gathering slowly behind us.
    “Chinaski. Chinaski. . . Motherfuck. . . I’ve read all your books, ALL YOUR BOOKS!...I can kick your ass, Chinaski .„. . Hey, Chinaski, can you still get it up?...Chinaski, Chinaski, can I read you one of my poems?”
    I paid the barkeep and we backed off our stools and moved toward the door. Again I noticed the leather jackets and the blandness of the faces and the feeling that there wasn’t much joy or daring in any of them. There was something totally missing in the poor fellows and something in me wrenched, for just a moment, and I felt like throwing my arms around them, consoling and embracing them like some Dostoyevsky, but I knew that would finally lead nowhere except to ridicule and humiliation, for myself and for them. The world had somehow gone too far, and spontaneous kindness could never be so easy. It was something we would all have to work for once again.
    And they followed us out. “Chinaski, Chinaski...Who’s your beautiful lady? You don’t deserve her, man!...Chinaski, come on, stay and drink with us! Be a good guy! Be like your writing, Chinaski! Don’t be a prick!”
    They were right, of course. We got in the car and I started the engine and we drove slowly through them as they crowded around us, slowly giving way, some of them blowing kisses, some of them giving me the finger, a few beating on the windows. We got through.
    We made it to the road and drove along.
    “So,” said Sarah, “those are your readers?”
    “That’s most of them, I think.”
    “Don’t any intelligent people read you?”
    “I hope so.”
    We kept driving along not saying anything. Then Sarah asked, “What are you thinking about?”
    “Dennis Body.”
    “Dennis Body? Who’s that?”
    “He was my only friend in grammar school. I wonder whatever happened to him.”

10

    As we drove along, I saw it: Rainbow Realty.
    I pulled up in front. The parking area was not paved and there were large potholes and ruts everywhere. I located the flatest surface, then parked. We got out and walked to the office. The door was open and a fat dirty white chicken sat there. I nudged it with my foot. It stood up, emitted a bit of matter and walked into the office, found a place in the corner and sat down again.
    There was a lady at the desk, mid-forties, thin, with straight mud-colored hair embossed with a paper flower, red. She was drinking a beer and smoking a Pall Mall.
    “Shit, howdy!” she greeted us, “looking for a place, roundabouts?”
    “You might say,” I answered.
    “Well, say it then! Ha, ha, ha!”
    She knocked her beer off, handed me a card:

RAINBOW REALTY
    Indeed, I got what you need.
    Lila Gant, at your service
    Lila stood up.
    “Follow me...”
    She didn’t lock the office. She got into her car. It was a ‘62 Comet. I knew because I once had a ‘62 Comet. In fact, it looked like the same one I had sold for junk.
    We followed her up a rural winding dirt road. We drove for some minutes. I noted the absence of street lights. Also, on