Soul of a Whore and Purvis (2 page)

HT
: I didn't mean—

MASHA
:                   I know.

HT
:                                       I didn't mean—

MASHA
: But I'm just comfortable. I'm good right here.

HT
exits through Surplus Store.

CLERK
: Now, there's a guy got bubbles in his brain.

…Well, looky here: The show's not over, folks.

BILL JENKS
enters from the street door.

MASHA
: You are
sucking
on me with your
eyes
.

You're staring like a laser beam.

BILL JENKS
:                                          My wife was here

She'd read my mind and kill me on the spot.

…Did I hear someone singing, while ago?

CLERK
: Just some bubble-brain with vocal cords.

BJ
offers
MASHA
a smoke. She ignores it; finds her own.

BILL JENKS
: You hang around the Greyhound all the time?

MASHA
: Don't mistake me, hon.

BILL JENKS
:                               For what?

MASHA
:                                                    For what you think.

BILL JENKS
: And what am I thinking?

MASHA
:                                          That's for me to know.

She lights his smoke.

BILL JENKS
[
smoking
]: I'm ready to believe in God again!

MASHA
: Could you, like, hold the revival over there?

BILL JENKS
: The gods combust our dreams for sport and suck

The fumes. Our spirits serve as censers.

MASHA
:                                                        Shit.

You dudes are never right when you come out.

[
Smoking
] What's a censer?

BILL JENKS
:                                    It's the—hell,
you
know—

Those things they burn the incense in at Mass?

Come on, don't kid around—a name like Masha—

MASHA
: From where do you know my name?

BILL JENKS
:                                                    From here.

I overheard. Your lovely back was turned.

You breathed your name into the telephone.

MASHA
: That was my boss! I didn't breathe a-tall!

BILL JENKS
: Masha's Russian. You could be Orthodox:

They're always swinging censers.

MASHA
:                                              Let 'em swing,

'Cause I ain't Russian! I'm from Texas, son.

BILL JENKS
: So where'd you get the Masha from? Odessa?

MASHA
: Hell if I know. It's my name, is all…

You're not from Texas.

BILL JENKS
:                            No, ma'am. Mississippi.

But I was mostly raised in California.

Don't get me wrong, I love you Texas women.

MASHA
: How long were you in prison for? This time?

BILL JENKS
: What makes you think I've been incarcerated?

MASHA
: The checkered pants, the polo shirt, those big

Enormous shoes, no belt, that stubbly head—

The outa prison used-up fashion show.

BILL JENKS
: They don't have threads like these in prison, doll.

Except the shoes. And shoes like these are common.

MASHA
: You cashed your fifty at the Surplus Store

And dumped your whites and bought the nearest thing.

Last week the streets were full of guys with boot-camp

Haircuts sporting stripèd Ban-Lon shirts

And almost iridescent green bell-bottoms.

Pouring rain outside, and here they come,

This mob of palpitating free men kind of

Trailing a verdant dribble off their cuffs.

Their T-shirts shrank right on them as we watched.

BILL JENKS
: “Palpitating”? “Verdant”? What a smarty.

“What's a censer?” What a smarty pants.

Ain't you a genius. Where'd you go to school?

MASHA
: I didn't go. I didn't need to go.

BILL JENKS
: You knew it all.

MASHA
:                             Enough to not get busted.

BILL JENKS
: But not to not divide infinitives.

MASHA
: Fucked-up grammar is not a crime in Texas.

He smokes. Offers one. She ignores it.

BILL JENKS
: They cost a buck apiece inside…How much are

you?

MASHA
: I dance. I'm not for sale. I dance.

BILL JENKS
:                                              You strip.

MASHA
: I'm not exactly a ballerina, no.

BILL JENKS
: But you done quit the life. Or so I heard.

MASHA
: Heard when? When I was on the telephone?

BILL JENKS
: Yeah, and I could smell the putrid karma

Percolating in the interaction,

And I say this: Whatever's going on

With you and him can only improve with distance.

MASHA
: I didn't see you around. Just prisoners.

BILL JENKS
: One was me. And then I bought the outfit…

Pack of smokes…and we're not prisoners.

We're out—How do!—We move among you now.

MASHA
: What were you in for? Dealer? Killer?—Rapist.

BILL JENKS
: Victim of religious persecution.

MASHA
: Jewish, huh?

BILL JENKS
:                 I was irregular.

MASHA
: And went to prison for it?—What'd you do,

Diarrhea all over somebody?

BILL JENKS
: My
conduct
was irregular. That is,

With money.

MASHA
:                  Sure. You stuck somebody up.

BILL JENKS
: I was convicted of commingling funds.

It means a stick-up with a ballpoint pen.

MASHA
: Do tell. Co-mingling funds. Is that Chinese?

BILL JENKS
: Lady, is that the way you play your game?

Hang around the Greyhound lookin' down,

Makin' fun of other folks's clothes—

And Masha is a Russian nickname, sis.

MASHA
: No, it's not. “Sis” is a nickname. Masha's

What I got at birth. My name is Masha.

BILL JENKS
:…
Mar
-sha—!

MASHA
:                            Yeah…

BILL JENKS
:                                  Well, I like Masha better.

MASHA
: When I dance I'm Fey or I'm Yvette

Or I'm Nicole and then I'm naked.

BILL JENKS
:                                               Naked!

MASHA
: I start out topless and proceed from there,

And logic does the rest.

BILL JENKS
:                              I'll bet it does.

I'll bet it ends up running down the road

Yodeling and firing off both guns.

MASHA
: You're pretty slick with words.

BILL JENKS
:                                          Ain't but a tic.

MASHA
: I'll bet your mouth gets you in trouble. Lots.

BILL JENKS
: And where would someone fresh from prison go

To watch you executing logic so

Ruthlessly and gracefully? To Heaven?

Or someplace even higher?

MASHA
:                                       Try the Texas.

BILL JENKS
: The Texas Bar?

MASHA
:                              The Big-As-Texas.

BILL JENKS
:                                                    …O!—

Sylvester's Big-As-Texas Topless Lounge!

I guess I wasn't off by very much:

“Just fifty miles from Houston and right next

To Paradise on Highway 35.”

How do you get to and from? You got a car?

MASHA
: No, but I can always catch a ride.

BILL JENKS
: I do believe you can. I guarantee it.

And what's your next stop? Dallas?

MASHA
:                                                     I'm not sure.

BILL JENKS
: Not sure?

MASHA
:                      I need to pick the proper move.

It's heads or tails, and devil take the hindmost.

BILL JENKS
: Sounds like you better grab the first thang smokin'.

MASHA
: The
tips
were big as Texas—then the road

Got all torn up, and now it's like a tomb,

And I got Peter Lorre for a boss, who just

Keeps jacking up the price of doing business.

BILL JENKS
: I guess that happens all the time.

MASHA
:                                                       Huh-uh,

It ain't what you imagine. It's much weirder,

Wilder—
unnatural
—and no, no, no,

It still ain't what you're thinking. It's not sex.

…You mentioned a wife.

BILL JENKS
:                             O! Yeah. I probly did.

And did I mention that her lawyers mentioned

A divorce?

MASHA
:                It wasn't really necessary.

BILL JENKS
: You turn me on. I think you make me wild.

Smart women get me going. Thus my downfall.

MASHA
: Step right up and blame it on a woman…

How long did Texas guard your purity?

BILL JENKS
: One and one-sixth years. That's fourteen months.

—And I went in there in a monastic spirit:

I've been voluntarily celibate,

And celibate, God willing, I'll remain.

MASHA
: Well, you've been talking like your holy vow

Escaped your mind and pulled your trousers down.

BILL JENKS
: Matter of fact it did. Wow. Fourteen months.

…I like the way your heel's a little dirty.

I like the way you point your toes. I like

That silvery sort of robot-colored sort of

Sequined toenail polish.

MASHA
:                                  You are sick!

BILL JENKS
: Wow. Just the sight of your foot makes me drool.

Your human foot. Wow. Fourteen months locked up.

MASHA
: Aren't there any humans with feet in there?

BILL JENKS
: Humans? Yeah. Humans too goddamn human:

Misused and violent Negroes, and abused

And violent Texas crackers, and confused

Bilingual Meskin desperados—also

Violent—and sweet, retarded boys

Who can't recall the violence they've done…

Deranged mulattos, and mestizos scrambled

In their natural brains…

Saints and suckers stirring in a stew

Of HIV and hepatitis C and walls

And years. And, yes: I guess they've all got feet.

But none of them ever dreamed of a foot like yours.

MASHA
: You're not a lover, are you…You're a preacher…

BILL JENKS
: Fourteen months exactly to the minute,

The same as Elvis did in
Jailhouse Rock.

[
He goes to the counter.
]

Got me a voucher for the Dallas bus.

CLERK
: Dallas'll be along behind the Houston.

BILL JENKS
: The Houston bus came not an hour ago.

CLERK
: The Dallas end of things is crumbling.

While Texas undertakes repairs, there's just

This formless ooze of throbbing vehicles

From here to there and back that never moves…

(I would love to strafe those motherfuckers…)

BILL JENKS
: That lady got a pulse?

CLERK
:                                         That's Granny Black,

Mourning her man who died in the electric chair.

Yeah, she was young and wild. And he was wilder.

Crazy little gambler with a temper.

Shot four niggers in a poker game,

Killed 'em all though he held the winning hand.

Well, you could get away with shooting one

Or two along back then around these parts,

But even colored you can't slaughter by

The dozens and not expect to meet Joe Byrd.

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