Adios, Scheherazade

So I got laid, and I saw a movie, it’s tomorrow, and here I am back on the old treadmill again. I saw a book once, in a used bookstore I went to with Pete, called Treadmill to Oblivion, by a radio comedian called Fred Allen. The title was so great, so beautifully great, that I right away bought the book; and discovered that Fred Allen was a great man. He spent his entire life in the wrong place, simply because that’s where circumstance put him, and he always knew it was the wrong place, and he never knew how to get the hell out of there. Treadmill to Oblivion. Right.

Every once in a while there’s a movie on Channel 2 at four-thirty in the morning with Fred Allen in it, and I wait up and watch it. It’s usually terrible, but Allen is fascinating to watch. You can see him acting out his dilemma, being a basically nice guy who doesn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings but who thinks he and all the other people around him are involved in a piece of shit, which they are.

Which aren’t we all.

The movie I saw last night was called Point Blank, which could also be the title of my life, particularly if you reverse the order of the words, and it was about Lee Marvin being a gangster of some kind and the gangster syndicate owes him ninety-three thousand dollars and he wants it. The whole movie is about him trying to get his ninety-three thousand dollars. It was sort of spoiled for me because all the way through I kept thinking, Lee, what if you get the ninety-three thousand dollars? Do you think that’ll make you happy? It won’t. You’ll just spend it, and then next month you’ll need ninety-three thousand dollars more, and you’ll have to go through all this shit all over again, and after a while you’ll just give up and move to San Francisco and jump in the bay, because San Francisco has the highest suicide rate in the nation, and I know why. It’s because when people are desperate they move somewhere else, and because the sun goes from east to west so do people, and eventually they wind up in Los Angeles, where they either go crazy or to San Francisco. If they go crazy they can live in Los Angeles for the rest of their lives, but if they go to San Francisco there’s no place to go after that, the only thing westward is the ocean, so plunk they go. So forget the ninety-three thousand dollars, Lee, you and me and all of us we’re just rats in a maze, the only thing to do is stop the world I want to get off. Therefore, Lee, go to San Francisco, go directly to San Francisco, do not pass Go, do not collect ninety-three thousand dollars.

The movie left it open, at the end, whether or not he got the money, which was the truest thing about it. Anyway, after Betsy and I made up we thought it might be a good idea if we went out to a movie, take a break from work (no, she doesn’t know the truth, she thinks I have two chapters done) and come back to it refreshed and with a better attitude. I said fine, and this Point Blank was playing at the Floral in Floral Park so we drove over through the rain and saw it. We got Angie to baby-sit, and the girl in the movie with Lee Marvin was Angie Dickinson, which is one of those pointless concidences life is full of, and I don’t even know why I mention it.

Well, I suppose because I laid Angie. Her father drops her off here when she’s baby-sitting for us, but I drive her home, and a couple months ago we started in necking, me feeling her up and like that, and this new generation of kids doesn’t seem to mind doing its own grabbing. I mean, the first time I felt her fumbling around between my legs I about fell over. I’m not used to the girl being aggressive. She’s seventeen, she’s only eight years younger than me, but I feel ancient with her. She’s part of the hippie generation, which I just missed, and I miss having missed it, if you know what I mean. Anyway, the point is she gave me a blow job a couple weeks ago, and tonight I finally got it into her. What a nice little body. We were in the back seat of the Buick, all cramped up, and she still managed to be great. Smooth legs, nice tight ass, good muscles. I lasted, which is sometimes a problem, and she had a good loud come. I can hardly wait to have her baby-sit again.

In the meantime, Betsy and I had made up and the idea was we were going to put the icing on the cake in bed, so driving back from Angie’s place I was a little worried. Would I get it up twice in a row? But it was all right. It had been a couple weeks since we’d made it, so Betsy was kind of horny too, so the whole thing worked out just fine. Except, of course, I didn’t get back to work last night.

Today, frankly, I’m a little bitter about that, and it’s just as well she’s out of the house. She took Fred to see the parade, and I’ve got the house to myself for a few hours.