'Thank you.'
'Thank you, Kent.'
'Wardell's new one opens Friday night, at the Beppo,' Kent informs.
'It won't last a week,' I tell him, then look at Tulpen: Who is Wardell? Her look back at me says, Where is the Beppo?
'Right, right,' says Ralph.
We watch Kent cramming the coffee pot. 'Don't make it waterproof, Kent,' says Tulpen.
Ralph is visibly upset with his two jellies. 'Red jelly,' he says, prodding with a cautious finger. 'I like the purple.'
'Grape, Ralph,' I say.
'Yeah, grape,' he says. 'This red shit is uneatable.'
Kent is worried. 'I heard that Marco is out on the Coast,' he tells us, 'doing the riots.'
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'How's the cruller, Thump-Thump?'
'An excellent cruller, Ralph.'
'Two crullers, Kent,' says Ralph. 'Can you eat another one, Thump-Thump?'
'No,' Tulpen says. 'He's getting fat.'
'Three more crullers, Kent,' says Ralph, poking the foul red jelly.
'You're already fat,' Tulpen tells him. 'Trumper can still be saved.'
'Three crullers, Kent,' says Ralph.
A static friction in the room escapes when Kent opens the door. Ralph listens for Kent's cloddy walking sounds out on the sidewalk. Something conspiratorial and special is being saved for our ears alone; we can always tell. Ralph goes a fair bit out of his way to avoid anything too personal with Kent. A kind of professional self-protection, I assume.
'Boy, Thump-Thump,' he says; his broad arms draw Tulpen and me together. 'Boy, you should have seen the tail I met last night ...' But he is watching Tulpen, waiting for her to raise one breast with the back of her hand. She's subtle with him; she turns away. Moving toward the door, her elbow lifts a little behind her.
'I saw that!' Ralph shouts. But she's gone; the door to the editing room closes, and I am left alone with Ralph Packer, who - in spite of (perhaps, because of) never knowing what he means - is a vanguard in underground film.
We are waiting for crullers.
8
Other Old Mail
Fred Trumper
918 Iowa Ave.
Iowa City, Iowa
Oct. 3, 1969
Humble Oil & Refining Co.
Box 790