WE lived right by St. James Park in one of those old, four-storey tenements, across the street from King Peter of Yugoslavia; he was in exile or something at the time. At first I worked at the Marlborough Street jail. We stayed there for twenty-four hours and then we were off twenty-four. The prisoners were American soldiers who were AWOL and deserters. If they had a long time to do, we would transport them to Paris because they didn’t have space enough in London. We’d fly them to Paris carrying sawed-off shotguns and .45s. I’d fill a small suitcase with soap and nylon stockings and cigarettes and razor blades, things you could get through the army that people in Paris couldn’t get at all. We’d deliver the prisoners to the Paris detention barracks, and then we’d get a three-day pass. Somebody had given me the name of a woman in Pigalle, so I’d go to this lady and she’d buy whatever I had. She’d give me francs and I’d stay in Paris for three days and spend them.
They put us in some billets the army had taken over, miserable but cheap. I never went with any of the other guys. I’d stay by myself, wander around, riding the subway, drinking cognac, and every now and then I’d run into some pot. They had what they called Gunje, which was black, and I got some absinthe a few times, when it was the real stuff, and got wiped out.
Once in Pigalle I went into a club where there was a group playing jazz; they were from South Africa or Morocco. One guy played saxophone. I was drinking, so I went up and talked to them. I got across to them that I was a musician and that I would like to play. The guy let me use his horn, and they were amazed that I played so good. After I finished, this beautiful French girl smiled at me. She didn’t speak English, but we sat together and I bought her a drink and then we left together. We walked until we came to a gate. She said, “You have money?” I said, “A little.” She rang a buzzer and a light went on over our heads. A buzzer rang back, and the iron door opened, and we walked in.
It was a whorehouse. It was a place where the women take their tricks, but she didn’t seem like that. I’d been to Tijuana when I was a kid and I’d been to San Bernardino when there were whorehouses there, and they were really a drag. This was different. I gave them a certain amount when I checked in, and that paid her; it paid for the room and it paid for the drinks. We had a couple of drinks and went upstairs to a room with one of those little French balconies. It was really like making love. It was almost like being with Patti. The girl was gorgeous. She had short, straight, black hair with a little wave at the bottom; beautiful skin; small, perfect breasts; and a beautifully rounded ass. She was really a woman. She seemed to have character and depth. She had little lines around her eyes, and she had such soul and such feeling. We made love all night long. She talked to me in French. She had a beautiful voice, and afterwards I thought about her a lot. I went back to Paris once more after that and looked all over for her, but I couldn’t find her. I never saw her again.
The English girls had blotches on their legs, red blotches from a lack of protein. The English people never got eggs or anything like that. When I was in Bournemouth we’d have dances, and to get the girls to come, the girls from the surrounding territory, they’d get out all the old cheese and salami and “horse cock” bologna and make these godawful sandwiches using dry bread and stale mustard. They’d have old fruit all messed up and no good. They gave this stuff out, and no one was allowed in the dances except the girls. And the girls would come, and you could see them sneaking the food inside their clothes and then going over by the door, where their mother or grandmother or a little kid would be hiding out in the bushes. They’d sneak them a sandwich. That’s how the girls got paid off. Some of them would ball you for a bar of soap, a pack of chewing gum, a piece of chocolate, a stale piece of cheese or salami; they’d cut the mold off.
It was very hard to get liquor. The English would line up by the pubs because at a certain hour each pub would have two or four fifths of gin which they’d put in the spigot and start selling, first come, first served, and that would be it for the evening. The soldiers used to get Old Kuchenheimer 100-proof rye whiskey at two dollars a quart; it cost us ten shillings (we got paid in English money). I’d buy it and I’d buy up the rations of a couple of guys that didn’t drink so I always had my footlocker filled with alcohol.
I had been transferred to patrol duty in Picadilly, and when I had the day off I’d wander around the parks or Picadilly Circus, get drunk, observe things. This one time I went over to St. James Park, and there was a girl there, very pretty; her skin wasn’t like most of them, pale, pasty, sickly looking; their teeth were all bad. This one looked pretty good. She was sitting on the grass. It was morning, around ten o’clock, and I had a sack with two quarts of whiskey in it. The girl smiled, and I noticed that she had a beautiful body, so I walked over and said hello. She said hello, and I said, “What are you doing?” She said, “Just relaxing. What are you doing?” I said, “Nothing. I got the day off.” She said, “What have you got in the sack?” I said, “Oh, I have some goodies. Do you drink?” She said, “Yeeeesss!” I’d even brought a couple of little paper cups so I could drink outside. I went and got a cup of water from the drinking fountain and sat down beside her on the grass.
It was a pretty day. There’s very few days in London that are warm and pleasant, so when you have one it’s a joyous thing: everyone’s outside and happy. I filled the other cup with Old Kuchenheimer and we started drinking and talking, and I told her I was a musician, and I think she had heard of me. When I was in London I played at the Adelphi Theatre. George Shearing was on the card. They had jazz concerts, and I was the young American, the Yank. I played at the London Palladium as a guest star with Ted Heath’s band, so my name had been in the subways.
We talked and drank, and the time went by. She was pretty and I was very lonely. I balled only rarely, and then I’d suffer terrible feelings of guilt. And I’d look at myself every time I’d urinate. I’d be afraid there would be something dripping out the end of my thing, that I’d have a disease. But this girl appealed to me and I’d already made up my mind. We started lying close and goofing around with each other, and time kept passing. I asked her what she would like to do and she said, “Oh, don’t worry about it; everything will be alright.” At one point I said I could rent us a room but she said, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.” It got later and later. At last I said, “There’s no point in laying here in this park. Why don’t we find some place that’s a little more private?” And she said, “Alright, let’s go.”
She lived way on the outskirts of London, so we got on the subway and rode and rode and rode, and by the time we got there it was dark. Then we walked. And as we’re walking, all of a sudden she says, “Well, it was nice meeting you. We’ll have to get together again.” I said, “What are you talking about?” Here I’d spent the whole day! We’d drunk almost the whole two quarts of Old Kuchenheimer! And I’d given her cigarettes! I said, “What do you mean? Yeah, naturally it’s been nice, but where are we going?” So then she said, “Well, I’ve got to get home, and my parents are home. We can’t go there.” I said, “Why didn’t you tell me? I told you I would have rented a room.” She said, “But I just met you.” Here she’d been rubbing up against me and spreading her legs! It was outrageous and I thought she was joking. I said, “Look, I went through all this thing with you and spent all this time, I’m not going to waste it. We’re going to make love regardless!” She said, “No, we’re not!” And she started to get snotty. I thought, “This fuckin’ broad is not going to make a chump out of me! No!” I really hate prick teasers.
We were walking. I looked over to the right and saw a church there and a cemetery. We were way out in the country and hadn’t passed anybody since we got off the subway. I said, “We’re going to make it one way or another; either you’re going to do it peaceable or . . . Suit yourself! She really got indignant and she started to pull away from me, but I held on to her and dragged her to this cemetery and threw her down on the ground. I said, “Come on! Are you kidding?” I thought she was playing a game with me. She said, “No, I can’t! Please believe me! I would if I could,