Last Exit to Brooklyn - Hubert Selby Jr by Hubert Selby Jr. Page A

cold,
doya?
    She rose with dignity—come and get it
Sweetchips—and they walked hand in hand through the softness and he
gave her a rose and she laid it across her hand like a scepter and
gendy raised it to her lips and its fragrance was enchantment and she
smiled the smile of a rose, so soft, delicate, so lovely and the Bird
was there oncemore, blowing, and she placed the rose on its satin
cushion and let the robes slip from her body—Whatta yadoin?—and
they folded sofdy at her feet—ya just gonna suckit. Here yaare
sweetchips, and make sure ya dont biteit, haha—A rose. Rose! No. It
was Harry. Nevermore! Evermore. EVERMORE EVERMORE!!! O Vinnie, Vinnie
my love my love—Stop the shit man and start suckin. (my love, love)
He flicked his ashes, laughing, and took a drink. Will he groan? Make
him groan, and she opened his belt and pulled his pants down and slid
her hands along his sweaty ass (love, love) and he grabbed her ears
and laughed, and she ran her fingers gendy along his tightened thigh
muscles (now, brother, now!) felt the hairs on his ass . . . the
feeling, the feeling . . .—no. NO. O JESUS NO!!! Its just a smell
from the bed-Watch the balls fa chrissake—from Harry. Harry. Its
not shit. Please. He didnt fuck her. Dont let it be shit—the feel,
taste, smell— SMELL! Vinnie picked up the slip from the floor.
Youre alright Georgie, patting the kneeling queen on the head. Yacan
do me anytime. Too bad I didnt haveya upstate. We couldda had a ball.
She looked up at him and smiled. Vinnie? He looked into her face,
bent and patted her cheek gendy. Comeon Georgie, Lets havea drink.
    She sat amongst her robes and watched him leave. Why
didnt he kiss me? If he would only let me kiss him. She looked at her
slacks and the small hole in one leg, running her finger tips over
the scab on her calf. Dance Ballerina Dance. Dreams? Now? When? When?
I had him. I did have him. He didnt fuck her. Smell, feel, taste ...
It was on the bed. From Harry. It was right. It is beautiful. It was
what I wanted. It is . . . is ... I had him. Vinnie. Again. She tried
to scrape the scab off the wound, sticking her fingernail under the
edge, but only a tiny piece broke loose; she felt the slime of puss
and tried to tear the scab loose with one quick rip . . . her hand
wouldnt move. It hurt. Pained . . . She covered the wound with her
hand and took a syrette from the drawer, found a vein in her arm then
put her hand back on her leg. And it was now. Now. It wasnt yesterday
and it isnt tomorrow . . . but there will be a tomorrow and there
will be dreams . . . fulfilled . . . fulfilled ... no it wasnt ... It
was Harry. Vinnie has me. Anytime . . . yes anytime . . . But Rosie
is different ... its not the same . . . She took another syrette,
toyed with it for a few moments, hit a vein in her leg then placed it
on the bed and rushed from the apartment. The others watched her
leave and Camille asked where she was going. O her libido is probably
twitching so madly shes going to run around the block 3 times. Yeah.
She wishes she had one.
    The door banged shut and she leaned against the
banister until the nausea subsided then stumbled down the stairs
(Tony watching her) and out to the street. The sun was hot and bright
and light rammed and slashed her from windows, windshields, hoods of
cars, from tin signs, shirt buttons, bottle caps and slips of paper
lying in the street. Her gut glowed and she bumped against parked
cars, but she was moving, moving, and everything got brighter,
whiter, hotter. She clutched the railing and stumbled down the stairs
to the subway, the beautiful dark subway. Only a few people. No one
near her. She folded her arms and rested her head on the seat in
front of her. Cool. It cooled. Yes, it was cooler and her head was
beautifully warm and she would have Vinnie again and the next time,
some time, he would kiss her. And they would go out together. A movie
and hold-hands or go for walks and he would light her cigarette . .