House of Holes: A Book of Raunch

Jackie heard the brokenness and despair, but also the excitement, in his voice. She took pity on him. “Everybody’s got to find their own porthole,” she said. “It’s harder for men to get in than women unless they pay and pay. Although you’re pretty cute—you’ll have a chance.” “Any hints on where to find a porthole?” “Try the fourth dryer from the left at the laundromat at the corner of 18th Street and Grover Avenue,” said Jackie. She waved. “Bye.” Her face began to blur and liquefy, and then she poured herself down into her straw and was gone. Cardell picked up the straw and looked through it. There was no blockage. “Jackie?” he said. The bartender stood watching him, holding a glass. “What just happened?” Cardell said. “Your lady friend seems to have been sucked into her straw,” the bartender said. “That’s what I think, too,” Cardell said. The bartender shrugged. “It happens, man.” “Well,” Cardell said, “I guess I’ll be heading out.” “Have a good night.” Cardell dropped a twenty in the brandy snifter and waved at the pianist, humming along to Hoagy Carmichael. In the elevator down, Cardell smelled his fingers. Then he felt in his pocket. Yes, the silver egg was still there. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Marcela Admires Koizumi’s Sculpture [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Marcela, an art critic, was in the sculpture garden. Koi-zumi, the well-known Japanese artist, was mounting one of her newest wooden sculptures onto its base. The sculpture was of a woman resting on all fours—large thighed and stylized, with a wide bottom and a moon face. She was carved out of black wood with yellow streaks. Marcela wore a boatneck shirt and white Bermuda shorts. She brushed her hair from her face, watching Koizumi bolt both of the wooden woman’s knees to her pedestal. Then the sculptress pulled out a big manual drill with a kink in it where the handle was. Marcela opened her notebook. “And what are you going to do with that?” she asked. Koizumi, a slight woman with a small mouth, said, “Once I get the sculptures mounted, I do the last step, which is to drill this auger bit into their asses.” “Can I watch?” Koizumi almost said no. She preferred to work in private. But then, struck by Marcela’s fresh, curious face and generous hips, she changed her mind. She took a metal poker and tapped it lightly into the wooden seam of the sculpted woman’s bottom. Then she removed it and fitted the tip of the auger into the tiny guide hole she had made. “Now I will drill her asshole,” Koizumi said simply. She pressed against the handle and began slowly turning the crank of the hand drill. Curls of wood came twirling up off the spirals of the bit. Marcela walked around to look at the wooden woman’s face. “She looks like she’s enjoying that pressure,” she said.

Jackie heard the brokenness and despair, but also the excitement, in his voice. She took pity on him. “Everybody’s got to find their own porthole,” she said.