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that has since been copied by big firms in the East. I ve been trying to
collect on that for
some years now. If I only had enough money to raise a decent lawyer . . .
But it was too
late to raise a decent lawyer; and he sat in his house dejectedly. In the
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evening we had a
wonderful dinner his mother cooked, venison steak that Chad s uncle had shot
in the
mountains. But where was Dean?
7
The following ten days were, as W. C. Fields said, fraught with eminent
peril and
mad. I moved in with Roland Major in the really swank apartment that belonged
to Tim
Gray s folks. We each had a bedroom, and there was a kitchenette with food in
the
icebox, and a huge living room where Major sat in his silk dressing gown
composing his
latest Hemingwayan short story a choleric, red- faced, pudgy hater of
everything, who
could turn on the warmest and most charming smile in the world when real life
confronted him sweetly in the night. He sat like that at his desk, and I
jumped around
over the thick soft rug, wearing only my chino pants. He d just written a
story about a
guy who comes to Denver for the first time. His name is Phil. His traveling
companion is
a mysterious and quiet fellow called Sam. Phil goes out to dig Denver and
gets hung-up
with arty types. He comes back to the hotel room. Lugubriously he says, Sam,
they re
here too. And Sam is just looking out the window sadly. Yes, says Sam, I
know.
And the point was that Sam didn t have to go and look to know this. The arty
types were
all over America, sucking up its blood. Major and I were great pals; he
thought I was the
farthest thing from an arty type. Major liked good wines, just like
Hemingway. He
reminisced about his recent trip to France. Ah, Sal, if you could sit with
me high in the
Basque country with a cool bottle of Poignon Dix- neuf, then you d know there
are other
things besides boxcars.
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I know that. It s just that I love boxcars and I love to read the names on
them like
Missouri Pacific, Great Northern, Rock Island Line. By Gad, Major, if I could
tell you
everything that happened to me hitching here.
The Rawlinses lived a few blocks away. This was a delightful family a
youngish
mother, part owner of a decrepit, ghost-town hotel, with five sons and two
daughters. The
wild son was Ray Rawlins, Tim Gray s boyhood buddy. Ray came roaring in to
get me
and we took to each other right away. We went off and drank in the Colfax
bars. One of
Ray s sisters was a beautiful blonde called Babe a tennis-playing,
surf-riding doll of the
West. She was Tim Gray s girl. And Major, who was only passing through Denver
and
doing so in real style in the apartment, was going out with Tim Gray s sister
Betty. I was
the only guy without a girl. I asked everybody, Where s Dean? They made
smiling
negative answers.
Then finally it happened. The phone rang, and it was CarloMarx. He gave me
the address
of his basement apartment. I said, What are you doing in Denver? I mean what
are you
doing? What s going on?
Oh, wait till I tell you.
I rushed over to meet him. He was working in May s department store nights;
crazy Ray
Rawlins called him up there from a bar, getting janitors to run after Carlo
with a story
that somebody had died. Carlo immediately thought it was me who had died. And
Rawlins said over the phone, Sal s in Denver, and gave him my address and
phone.
And where is Dean?
Dean is in Denver. Let me tell you. And he told me that Dean was making
love to two
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girls at the same time, they being Marylou, his first wife, who waited for
him in a ho tel
room, and Camille, a new girl, who waited for him in a hotel room. Between
the two of
them he rushes to me for our own unfinished business.
And what business is that??
Dean and I are embarked on a tremendous season together. We re trying to
communicate with absolute honesty and absolute completeness everything on our
minds.
We ve had to take benzedrine. We sit on the bed, crosslegged, facing each
other. I have
finally taught Dean that he can do anything he wants, become mayor of Denver,
marry a
millionairess, or become the greatest poet since Rimbaud. But he keeps
rushing out to see
the midget auto races. I go with him. He jumps and yells, excited. You know,
Sal, Dean
is really hung-up on things like that. Marx said Hrnm in his soul and
thought about
this.
What s the schedule? I said. There was always a schedule in Dean s life.
The schedule is this: I came off work a half- hour ago. In that time Dean is
balling
Marylou at the hotel and gives me time to change and dress. At one sharp he
rushes from
Marylou to Camille of course neither one of them knows what s going on and
bangs
her once, giving me time to arrive at one-thirty. Then he comes out with
me first he has
to beg with Camille, who s already started hating me and we come here to talk
till six
in the morning. We usually spend more time than that, but it s getting
awfully
complicated and he s pressed for time. Then at six he goes back to
Marylou and he s
going to spend all day tomorrow running around to get the necessary papers
for their
divorce. Marylou s all for it, but she insists on banging in the interim. She
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says she loves
him so does Camille.
Then he told me how Dean had met Camille. Roy Johnson, the poolhall boy, had
found
her in a bar and took her to a hotel; pride taking over his sense, he invited
the whole gang
to come up and see her. Everybody sat around talking with Camille. Dean did
nothing but
look out the window. Then when everybody left, Dean merely looked at Camille,
pointed
at his wrist, made the sign four (meaning he d be-back at four), and went
out. At three
the door was locked to-Roy Johnson. At four it was opened to Dean. I wanted
to go-right
out and see the madman. Also he had promised to fix me up; he knew all the
girls in
Denver.
Carlo and I went through rickety streets in the Denver night. The air was
soft, the stars so
fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a
dream. We
came to the rooming house where Dean haggled with* Camille. It was an old
red-brick
building surrounded by wooden garages and old trees that stuck up from behind
fences.
We went up carpeted stairs. Carlo knocked; then he darted to the back to
hide; he didn t
want Camille to see him. I stood in the door. Dean opened it stark naked. I
saw a brunette
on the bed, one beautiful creamy thigh covered with black lace, look up with
mild
wonder.
Why, Sa-a-al! said Dean. Well now ah ahem yes, of course, you ve arrived
you old sonumbitch you finally got on that old road. Well, now, look here we
must
yes, yes, at once we must, we really must! Now Camille And he swirled on
her.
Sal is here, this is my old buddy from New Yor-r-k, this is his first night
in Denver and
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it s absolutely necessary for me to take him out and fix him up with a girl. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
