The Hilliker Curse

I understood the distinctions between the two professions and treated both sets of women the same. I looked for a cultural component in the hookers and a brusque wantonness in the string players. I got action from the former and zilch from the latter. My extreme acuity was delusional and acutely self-serving. I read faces for signs of the worthiness of love and demanded reciprocated love instantly. It was all crude male barter -- money and mock-impromptu favors. I came in with prepared text and crumbled at the first sign of improvisation. Prostitutes did not want to hear my rationale for buying their body. Violinists did not want my loser ass -- they wanted a straight Sviatoslav Richter. Both groups saw me as a zealot with a smoke-screened agenda.
The prostitutes put faith in the banality of sex and trusted fuck me-pay me men on the basis. I could not accept the implied dictum. The musicians viewed sex as an integrated aspect of their lives in search of refinement. That idea was just as restrictive. The proper answer is sex is everything -- so show me the faces and I'll write the story.
My agenda was women as muse. I ran the entire gender through an obstacle course. The few and the proud cleared the last hurdle. Selected prostitutes survived a run of drive-by sightings and were deemed fit to be with me once and reside in me forever. The musicians survived chastely. I never lugged their instruments. I got a few smiles that sent me through to next week. (p. 52)


Boutade:
James Ellroy, o Nelson Rodrigues norte-americano.