The Captain Is Out to Lunch

„You will send us a copy of the interview, yes?“ I asked.

„Of course, of course,“ he said. „Mexican…“ We closed the door and he was gone.

Then we had to drink to rid him from our minds.

That was months ago. No article ever arrived. He had nothing to do with the Guardian. I don't know if he really phoned from London. He was probably phoning from Long Beach. People use the ruse of interview to get in the door. And since there is usually no payment for an interview, anybody can up and knock on the door with a tape recorder and a list of questions. A fellow with a German accent came by one night with his recorder. He made claim to belonging to some German publication that had circulation of millions. He stayed for hours. His questions seemed dumb but I opened up, tried to make it lively and good. He must have gotten 3 hours worth of tape. We drank and drank and drank. Soon his head was falling forward. We drank him under the table and were ready to go further. Really have a ball. His head bent forward on his chest. Little driblets ran out of the corners of his mouth. I shook him. „Hey! Hey! Wake up!“ He came around and looked at me. „I have got to tell you something,“ he said, „I am no interviewer, I just wanted to come and see you.“ There have been times when I was a sucker for photographers too. They claim connections, send samples of their work. They come by with their screens and their backgrounds and their flashes and their assistants. You never hear from them again either. I mean, they never send back any photographs. Not any. They are the greatest liars. „I'll send you a complete set.“ On man said, „I am going to send you one that will be full size.“ „What do you mean?“ I asked. „I'm going to send you a 6 by 4 foot photo.“ That was a couple of years ago.

I've always said, a writer's job is to write. If I get burned by these fakes and sons-of-bitches, it's my fault. I'm done with them all. Let them toady up to Elizabeth Taylor.

10/22/91 4:46 PM

The dangerous life. Had to get up at 8 a.m. to feed the cats because the Westec Security man was coming by at 8:30 a.m. to begin the installation of a more sophisticated warning system. (Am I the one who used to sleep on top of garbage cans?) Westec Security arrived at exactly 8:30 a.m. A good sign. I took him around the house pointing out windows, doors, etc. Good, good. We would wire them, we would install glass– breaking detectors, low beams, cross beams, fire sprinklers, etc. Linda came down and asked some questions. She is better at that than I.

I had one thought: „How long will this take?“ „Three days,“ he said.

„Jesus Christ,“ I said. (Two of those days the racetrack would be closed.) So we fumbled around and left him in there, told him we'd be back soon. We had a $100 gift certificate at I. Magnin's somebody had given us for our wedding anniversary. Also, I had a royalty check to deposit. So, off to the bank. I signed the check.

“I really like your signature,” the girl said.
Another girl walked over and looked at the signature.
“His signature keeps changing,” said Linda.
“I have to keep signing my name in books,” I said.
“He's a writer,” Linda said.
“Really? What do you write?” one of the girls asked.
“Tell her,” I said to Linda.
“He writes poems, short stories and novels,” she said.
“And a screenplay,” I said. “Barfly.” “Oh,” smiled one of the girls, “I saw it.” “Did you like it?” “Yes,” she smiled.
“Thank you,” I said.
Then we turned and walked off.
“I heard one of the girls say as we walked in, “I know who that is,” said Linda.
See? We were famous. We got into the car and drove over to the shopping center to get something to eat near I. Magnin's.
We got a table, had turkey sandwiches, apple juice and cappuccinos. From the table we could see a goodly portion of the mall. The place was virtually empty. Business was bad. Well, we had a hundred dollar coupon to blow. We'd help the economy.
I was the only man there. Just women sat at the tables, alone, or in twos. The men were elsewhere. I didn't mind. I felt safe with the ladies. I was resting. My wounds were healing. I could stand a little shade. Damned if I could leap off of cliffs forever. Maybe after a respite I could dive over the edge again. Maybe.
We finished eating and went over to I. Magnin's.
I needed shirts. I looked at thirts. Couldn't find a damned one. They looked like they had been designed by half– wit. I passed. Linda needed a purse. She found one, marked down 50%. It was $395. It just didn't look like $395. More like $49.50. She passed. There were 2 chairs with elephant heads on the backs. Nice. But they were thousands. There was a glass bird, nice, $75 but Linda said we had no plae to put it. Same with the fish with blue stripes. I was getting tired. Looking at things made me tired. Department stores wore me down and stamped on me. There was nothing in them. Tons and tons of crap. If it were free, I wouldn't take it. Don't they ever sell anything likeable?
We decided maybe another day. We went to a bookstore. I needed a book on my computer. I needed to know more. Found a book. Went to the clerk. He tabbed it up. I paid with a card. “Thank you,” he said, “would you be good enough to sign this?” He handed me my lastest book. There, I was famous. Noticed twice in the same day. Twice was enough. Three times or more and you were in trouble. The gods were making it just right for me. I asked his name, wrote it in, scribbled something, my name and a drawing.
We stopped at the computer store on the way in. I needed paper for the laser printer. They didn't have any. I showed my fist to the clerk. Made me think of the old days. He recommended a place. We found it on the way in. We found everything there, cut-rate. I got enough laser pape to last two years and likewise mailing envelopes, pens, paper clips. Now, all I had to do was write.
We drove on in. The security man had left. The tile man had come and gone. He left a note, “I will be back by 4 p.m.” We knew the tile man wouldn't be bak at 4 p.m. He was crazy. Bad childhood. Very confused. But good with tiles.
I packed the stuff upstairs. I was ready. I was famous. I was a writer.
I sat down and opened the computer. I opened it to STUPID GAMES. Then I started playing Tao. I was getting better and better at it. I seldom lost to the computer. It was easier than beating the horses but somehow not as fulfilling. Well, I'd be back Wednesday. Playing the horses tightened up my screws. It was part of the scheme. It worked. And I had 5,000 sheets of laser paper to fill .

10/31/91 12:27 AM

Terrible day at the racetrack, not so much in money lost, I may even have won a bob, but the feeling out there was horrible. Nothing was stirring. It was as if I was doing time and you know, I don't have much time left. The same faces, the same 18 percent take. Sometimes I feel as if we are all trapped in a movie. We know our lines, where to walk, how to act, only there is no camera. Yet, we can't break out of the movie. And it's a bad one. I know each of the mutuel clerks all too well. We sometimes have small conversation as I bet. It's my wish to find a noncommital clerk, one who will simply puch out my tickets and say nothing. But, they all get social, finally. They are bored. And they are on guard too: many of the horseplayers are somewhat deranged. There are often confrontations with the clerks, loud buzzers sound and security comes running. By talking to us, the clerks can feel us out. They feel safer that way. They prefer the friendly bettor.