Женщины

Chapter 99

           Itworkedlikethat.Onceitstartedringingitkeptringing.Iwalkedintothebedroomandansweredit.

           "Hello,"Isaid."Who’sthis?"

           "Youson-of-a-bitch.Don’tyouknow?"

           "No,notreally."Itwasadrunkenfemale.

           "Guess."

           "Wait.Iknow!It’sIris!"

           "Yes,Iris.AndI’mpregnant!"

           "Doyouknowwhothefatheris?"

           "Whatdifferencedoesitmake?"

           "Iguessyou’reright.HowarethingsinVancouver?"

           "Allright.Goodbye."

           "Goodbye."

           Iwalkedbackintothekitchenagain.

           "ItwastheCanadianbellydancer,"ItoldSara.

           "How’sshedoing?"

           "She’sjustfullofChristmascheer."

           Saraputtheturkeyintheovenandwewentintothefrontroom.Wetalkedsmalltalkforsometime.Thenthephonerangagain."Hello,"Isaid.

           "AreyouHenryChinaski?"Itwasayoungmalevoice.

           "Yes."

           "AreyouHenryChinaski,thewriter?"

           "Yeah."

           "Really?"

           "Yeah."

           "Well,we’reagangofguysfromBelAirandwereallydigyourstuff,man!Wedigitsomuchthatwe’regoingtorewardyou,man!

           "Oh?"

           "Yeah,we’recomingoverwithsome6-packsofbeer."

           "Stickthatbeerupyourass."

           "What?"

           "Isaid,’Stickitupyourass!’"

           Ihungup.

           "Whowasthat?"askedSara.

           "Ijustlost3or4readersfromBelAir.Butitwasworthit."

           TheturkeywasdoneandIpulleditoutoftheoven,putitonaplatter,movedthetyperandallmypapersoffthekitchentable,andplacedtheturkeythere.IbegancarvingasSaracameinwiththevegetables.Wesatdown.Ifilledmyplate,Sarafilledhers.Itlookedgood.

           "Ihopethatonewiththetitsdoesn’tcomebyagain,"saidSara.

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