The Most Beautiful Woman in Town Read Online Free

street and began looking for photography studios. I walked into the first one.
    â€œYes, sir? Care to have your photo taken?”
    She was a fine-looking red head and smiled up at me.
    â€œWith a face like mine, what would I want my photo taken for? I’m looking for Gloria Westhaven.”
    â€œI’m Gloria Westhaven,” she said, then crossed her legs and pulled her skirt back. I thought a man had to die to get to heaven.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with you?” I asked her. “You’re not Gloria Westhaven. I met Gloria Westhaven on a bus from Los Angeles.”
    â€œWhat’s she got?”
    â€œWell, I heard that her mother owned a photography studio. I’m trying to find her. Something happened on the bus.”
    â€œYou mean that nothing happened on the bus.”
    â€œI met her. When she got off, she had tears in her eyes. I rode all the way into New Orleans, then got a bus back. No woman ever cried over me before.”
    â€œMaybe she was crying about something else.”
    â€œI thought so too until all the other passengers began cussing me.”
    â€œAnd all you know is that her mother owns a photography studio?”
    â€œThat’s all I know.”
    â€œAll right, listen, I know the editor of the leading newspaper in this town.”
    â€œThat doesn’t surprise me,” I said, looking down at her legs.
    â€œO.k., leave me your name and where you’re staying. I’ll phone him the story only we’ll have to change it. You met on an airplane, you see? Love in the air. Now you’re separated and lost, you see? And you’ve flown all the way back from New Orleans and all you know is that her mother owns a photography studio. Got it? We’ll have it in M––––K––––’s column in tomorrow morning’s newspaper. O.k.?”
    â€œO.k.,” I said. I took one last look at those legs and walked out as she dialed the phone. Here I was in the 2nd or 3rd largest city in Texas and I owned the town. I walked down to the nearest bar …
    The place was quite full for that time of day. I sat down on the only empty stool. Well, no, there were two empty stools and one of them was on each side of this big guy. He was around 25, 6-4, a neat 270 pounds. I took one of the stools and ordered a beer. Drained the beer and ordered another one.
    â€œThat’s the kind of drinking I like to see,” said the big guy. “These punks in here, they just come sit around and nurse a beer for hours. I like the way you handle yourself, stranger. Whatta ya do and where ya from?”
    â€œI don’t do nothin’,” I said, “and I’m from California.”
    â€œGot any ideas?”
    â€œNo, none. Just floatin’ around.”
    I drank half of my second beer.
    â€œI like you stranger,” said the big guy, “so I’m going to confide in you. But I wanna say it real quiet, because even though I’m a big guy, I’m afraid we’re a bit outnumbered.”
    â€œShoot,” I said, finishing my second beer.
    The big guy leaned close to my ear: “Texans stink,” he whispered.
    I looked around, then quietly nodded my head, Yes.
    When he had finished his swing I was under one of the tables the barmaid served at night. I crawled from under, wiped my mouth with a hanky, looked at the whole bar laughing, and walked out.…
    Back at the hotel I couldn’t gain entrance. There was a newspaper under the door and the door was open just a slit.
    â€œHey, lemme in,” I said.
    â€œWho are you?” the guy asked.
    â€œI’m in 102. I paid a week’s rent here. Bukowski’s my name.”
    â€œYou’re not wearin’ boots, are ya?”
    â€œBoots? What’s that?”
    â€œRangers.”
    â€œRangers? What’s that?”
    â€œCome on in,” he said .…
    I hadn’t been in my room about ten minutes and I was in bed