Read Online Hollywood by Charles Bukowski - Free Book Online

The door opened and there stood this beautiful girl! Never have I seen such a beautiful girl!”
    “Ah, god, Jon, please ...”
    “Only it wasn’t the lady , it was the interpreter!”
    “Jon,” Sarah asked, “what are you drinking beside this wine?”
    “Nothing! Nothing! It’s true ! I walked into the room and there was an old hag sitting there dressed in black. She had no teeth but many warts. I walked forward, bent down, took her hand, closed my eyes and kissed it. The interpreter sat in a chair and watched us. I turned to the interpreter.
    “ ‘I’d like to be alone with you , I said.
    “She spoke to the old woman. Then she turned to me and said, ‘Metra desires to be alone with you. But in a church. Metra is very religious.’
    “ ‘I believe that I am in love with you,’ I told the interpreter.
    “She spoke to the old woman. The old woman spoke back to her. Then the interpreter spoke to me: ‘Metra says that love is possible but first she wants you to go to church with her.’
    “I nodded yes and the old lady got up slowly from her chair, and we left the room together, leaving the beautiful young girl behind...”
    “This fucking thing could win an Academy Award,” I said.
    “Please. Remember, I am trying to get the money for your future screenplay.”
    “Yes, please go on, Jon. Tell me the rest...”
    “All right, we got to the church. We kneeled in the pews. I am not religious. We kneeled for some time in silence. Then she tugged at me. We rose and went forward to an altar full of candles. Some were lit. Many weren’t. She started lighting many of the unlit candles. It excited her. Her mouth trembled and little streams of saliva came down out of each corner of her mouth. It ran down and disappeared into her wrinkles. Please believe me, I have nothing, nothing against old age! But why is it that some people age so much worse than others?”
    “I dunno,” I said, “but I have an idea that people who don’t think too much tend to look young longer.”
    “I don’t think this one thought too much...anyhow, after lighting many candles she became excited again. She took my hand and squeezed it. She was strong, a strong old lady. She pulled me over to a statue of Christ...”
    “Yes...”
    “She let go of me and kneeled and started kissing the feet of this Christ. She went at it. The toes were wet with her saliva. She was in a grand passion. She was quivering. Then she stood up, took my hand, pointed to the feet. I smiled. She pointed again. I smiled again.
    Then she grabbed me and started pushing me down to the feet. Shit, I thought, and then I thought of $80 million and I kneeled down and kissed the feet. You know, they don’t clean those feet well in Russia. Metra’s saliva...and the dust...it was only with great will that I was able to kiss. Then I stood up. Metra led me back to the pew. We knelt again. Suddenly she grabbed me and her mouth was on mine. Please understand, I have nothing against the old, the aged, but it was like kissing a sewer hole. I pulled away. Something turned in my stomach and I went to the confessional booth, pulled back the curtains, entered, kneeled and puked. Then I rose and we left the church together. I left her at her doorway. Then I got a bottle of vodka and went back to my room.
    “You know, if I wrote a screenplay like that they’d run me out of town.”
    “I know. But wait. This thing is not over. Drinking the vodka, I thought it all over. No need to back off. The old lady was evidently crazy. One doesn’t kiss in church, does one? Maybe at a wedding. So there I was...”
    “Kiss and get married, huh?” I asked.
    “Well, I wanted to be sure of the $80 million. After finishing the vodka, I began a long love letter to Metra, only all the time I was thinking of the interpreter. It was some love letter. And in between the love talk I explained to her that I wanted to make a film about the two of us and that I had heard of her money in Switzerland,