āWhy do you haggle your beauty?ā I asked. āWhy donāt you just live with it?ā āBecause people think itās all I have. Beauty is nothing, beauty wonāt stay. You donāt know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you, you know itās for something else.ā āO.k.,ā I said, āIām lucky.ā āI donāt mean youāre ugly. People just think youāre ugly. You have a fascinating face.ā āThanks.ā We had another drink. āWhat are you doing?ā she asked. āNothing. I canāt get on to anything. No interest.ā āMe neither. If you were a woman you could hustle.ā āI donāt think I could ever make contact with that many strangers, itās wearing.ā āYouāre right, itās wearing, everything is wearing.ā We left together. People still stared at Cass on the streets. She was a beautiful woman, perhaps more beautiful than ever. We made it to my place and I opened a bottle of wine and we talked. With Cass and I, it always came easy. She talked a while and I would listen and then I would talk. Our conversation simply went along without strain. We seemed to discover secrets together. When we discovered a good one Cass would laugh. It was like joy out of fire. Through the talking we kissed and moved closer together. We became quite heated and decided to go to bed. It was then that Cass took off her high -necked dress and I saw it- the ugly jagged scar across her throat. It was large and thick. āGod damn you, woman,ā I said from the bed, āgod damn you, what have you done? āI tried it with a broken bottle one night. Donāt you like me any more? Am I still beautiful?ā I pulled her down on the bed and kissed her. She pushed away and laughed, āSome men pay me ten and I undress and they donāt want to do it. I keep the ten. Itās very funny.ā āYes,ā I said, āI canāt stop laughingā¦ Cass, bitch, I love youā¦stop destroying yourself; youāre the most alive woman Iāve ever met.ā We kissed again. Cass was crying without sound. I could feel the tears. The long black hair lay beside me like a flag of death. We enjoined and made slow and sombre and wonderful love. In the morning Cass was up making breakfast. She seemed quite calm and happy. She was singing. I stayed in bed and enjoyed her happiness. Finally she came over and shook me, āUp, bastard! Throw some cold water on your face and pecker and come enjoy the feast!ā I drove her to the beach that day. It was a weekday and not yet summer so things were splendidly deserted. Beach bums in rags slept on the lawns above the sand. Others sat on stone benches sharing a lone bottle. The gulls whirled about, mindless yet distracted. Old ladies in their 70ās and 80ās sat on the benches and discussed selling real estate left behind by husbands long ago killed by the pace and stupidity of survival. For it all, there was peace in the air and we walked about and stratched on the lawns and didnāt say much. It simply felt good being together. I bought a couple of sandwiches, some chips and drinks and we sat on the sand eating. Then I held Cass and we slept together about an hour. It was somehow better than lovemaking. There was flowing together without tension. When we awakened we drove back to my place and I cooked a dinner. After dinner I suggested to Cass that we shack together. She waited a long time, looking at me, then she slowly said, āNo.ā I drove her back to the bar, bought her a drink and walked out. I found a job as a parker in a factory the next day and the rest of the week went to working. I was too tired to get about much but that Friday night I did get to the West End Bar. I sat and waited for Cass. Hours went by. After I was fairly drunk the bartender said to me, āIām sorry about your girlfriend.ā āWhat is it?ā I asked. āIām sorry, didnāt you know?ā āNo.ā āSuicide. She was buried yesterday.ā āBuried?ā I asked. It seemed as though she would walk through the doorway at any moment. How could she be gone? āHer sisters buried her.ā āA suicide? Mind telling me how?ā āShe cut her throat.ā āI see. Give me another drink.ā The Most Beautiful Woman in Town | Charles Bukowski
