In Linda's Own Words
I first met Charles Bukowski when Peter told me not to miss his first poetry reading at The Bridge. My husband had gone ahead with the divorce and it had become final. I went to the reading early and put pink stick-on dots on my maroon car. I was celebrating my divorce with a pink polka dot car that I was driving to Utah for the 4th of July. I was anxious to leave, but didn't want to miss Charles Bukowski's first reading.
After the reading I said to him, “You don't seem to like women much.” He said, “I love women.” He announced the party was at his house. I hit the road for Utah.
My dreams came into play with Bukowski telling me he needed help to get over a small hill to the grocery store. In the heavens I saw many things waiting for him — fame, fortune, readings, people. When I told him this dream he said he hadn't eaten for five days. Another dream showed him hanging off the edge of a cliff with no one around to help him but me. I protested telling my instructors — no, not him. I knew his reputation.
He left me for a younger woman with nice ankles. He always was a leg man.
