our game not his: he still gets in, still gets the fuck if he wants
it bad enough: N bleeds. Anyone we know we use for money.
We find their weakness. We use them for what we need. We
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fuck their minds. We play with them any way we can: we take
what we can get: but now we are selling something different,
not the fuck but the idea of two women together, the promise,
the suggestion. It turns out even more men are buyers.
We take acid, take mescaline, drink vodka. The camera
breaks. We sit in a bar, 10 am, and start drinking with the
$200 we have managed to collect. By 4 pm there is almost no
money left. We are writing a letter to the Beatles to ask for
money. We are drinking vodka martinis. We spill them all
over the letter we have just finished and watch the liquid wash
away the ink.
We go to an artists’ colony. I am going to read poems. N is
going to talk about the film. We want them to give us money.
It is in upstate New York, rural, trees, air, the moon. We get
there but instead of reading and talking we drop acid. We
spend the next two days driving all over with two school
chums, one of whom is not tripping, one of whom is having a
bad trip, climbs under the van we have, won’t come out, we
drive to hayfields to sleep, we drive to the ocean, we undress,
we swim, N raises herself out of the roof that opens in the van
bare-breasted on a turnpike, we go a hundred miles an hour:
she and I are happy: our school chums feel bad: we laugh: we
watch every particle of light: we are happy: they don’t forgive
us.
We get the men: we make love: they watch: they pay. Or we
promise, we touch, we flirt, they pay.
The hotel tries twice to throw us out for prostitution. I am
indignant beyond belief. I scream at them about the First
Amendment and the Bill of Rights. They desist, confused. What
do whores know about the Bill of Rights?
We hustle day and night: we are busy: we have hit our stride:
we get money: we hold each other tight and we kiss and we
fuck and the man watches and sometimes he fucks one or the
other of us if there is no way around it and the man pays. We
anticipate them. We know them better than they know themselves. N bleeds.
She goes to the hospital. Her cervix is cauterized.
The time is running out in the hotel. Our school chum won’t
pay for it anymore. There is not enough guilt in the world to
make her pay. N bleeds. She has acute pain in her side. She
needs quiet, a place to rest. We need a place to live. We go to
Staten Island to look for a house. The film is not yet finished.
We find a house. It is raining. There are hundreds of steps up
