I booked a four-way once. I was sitting in a bar when
War & Peace sidled up and sat down on the stool next to me. "Gotta light?" she asked in a heavy Moscow accent. "I don't burn books," I replied; she laughed a long, low, melodious Russian laugh. "Actually," she said, "I only smoke afterwards," and winked, as she gently dragged a long blood-red fingernail across my cheek. "Have you met my friend,
Naked Lunch?" I'd been so transfixed by the Russian beauty–there was so
much of her!–that I hadn't seen the thin, waif-ish tart slipping up behind me. She looked like a walking STD–tattoos, piercings, nose & navel rings, wearing a black leather jacket that couldn't conceal the fact she had nothing on underneath. She must've seen the involuntary look of revulsion that passed over my face before I could readjust my bar mask. She looked hurt. "I know," she whispered, "but I bring a lot of coke to the table." I hadn't thought of that; this could be my lucky night! We continued to drink until
W&P suggested we go over to her apartment and "sort things out." I agreed, but
Naked Lunch said, "First we need a little spice." We pretended we didn't know what she meant but she knew we did. So we looked around the room. I saw
Beloved sitting at a table with
The Bluest Eye, but
NL pointed out that
Beloved was too old and
TBE a little too young.
War & Peace agreed. She said, "I met
The Intuitionist at a signing once," motioning with her chin toward a table in the corner where
TI sat, drinking alone. "Whoa," I said. "That's
too spicy for me!" and we all laughed. "How about a poet?"
Naked Lunch asked. "Don't turn around but
Thomas & Beulah is sitting a few tables over."
T&B was writing assiduously in a notebook, next to a half-empy (or half-full, depending on how you looked at it!) glass of wine. "I'm in," I grinned, and
W&P and
NL flipped a coin to see which one would make the approach. As it turned out,
T&B was
more than eager to join us–and in fact, showed us all what "poetic license"
really