"Dann,_Jack_-_The_Diamond_Pit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

"It's the bass that fools you, Paul," Jefferson said. "It's big as life, don't you agree? The old orthophonic machines aren't a patch on this one. The diaphragm of the loudspeaker is coil-driven, the acetate records are finely grooved, and the stylus is diamond, of course. The Victor Talking Machine Company will be bringing out a version like this -- sometime in the next four or five years, I would suppose." Jefferson seemed very pleased with himself.
I nodded, unsettled that I was the only guest. Phoebe's sister Marion must have been reading my mind because she complained, "It's not fair, Poppa, that Phoebe always receives special treatment. She's coming out before me, and I'm older. And you've allowed _her_ to have company. I haven't had _any_ company this summer." While Phoebe's voice was smooth, dulcet, Marion's was whiny.
"Phoebe has company for a reason," Jefferson said. "Would you have her give her concert unprepared?"
"She's never going to be prepared," Marion said, looking defiantly at Phoebe, who stared assiduously into her jeweled plate, as though she could move the broccoli by the mere power of her gaze. "She can't play the piano any better than I can, yet you've bought Carnegie Hall for her."
"I did no such thing," Jefferson said. "She was _invited_ to play, as you might have been if you had applied yourself."
"She only wanted to play piano because I did. And y'all went gaga over _her_ and couldn't even be bothered with me."
"That's not true."
"It is too. It's because Phoebe is a liar. She lies to all of you, and you believe everything she tells you. It's not fair, it's just not fair."
"Are you quite finished?"
"I'm sick of being here all by myself."
"You have your family here, or is that of no importance to you?"
Marion shook her head and said, "It's not fair."
"I'll spend time with her, Poppa," Phoebe said. "I will, Marion, I promise."
"That's the bunk!" Marion said to her father. "She's a liar."
"Morgan, what do you have to say?" Jefferson asked.
"Don't know, I -- "
"She's your sister, and it's your responsibility to take care of her, isn't that right?"
"Yes -- I suppose, but -- "
"Well, I've decided that you should follow up our little problem with the pilot who got away from us," Jefferson said. "What do you think of that? It's time you proved yourself to be a man."
"What do you want me to do?" Morgan asked.
"More to the point, what do _you_ think you should do?"
"I dunno -- go find him, I guess."
"And what does that have to do with me?" Marion asked. "You see, that's just what I mean. I'm invisible."
"Not at all," Jefferson said. "You're the eldest. Perhaps I should send _you_ out to test your mettle instead of Morgan."
"Perhaps you should send _me_," Phoebe said. "Mr. Orsatti could protect me."
"Indeed he could," Jefferson said. "Indeed he could," and they exchanged teasing looks, as if they had rehearsed this little skit -- as if Mother and Morgan and Marion were out, and only Poppa and Phoebe were in.
And I soon found out where I stood in their dangerous little universe.
* * * *
"Oh, Poppa wouldn't send either one of them to the grocer for a loaf of bread," Phoebe confided to me as we stood on the artificially lit, glaucous-green lawn that seemed to roll on forever into the night.
Fireflies pulsed in the perfumed air. I held her cool hand; and I must admit that against all logic and experience and plain good sense, I was head over heels in love. It wasn't about what kind of a person Phoebe might be -- how smart, immature, spoiled, and selfish she was. I knew her for a brat, and probably as dangerous as her father. Perhaps more dangerous. But she was -- perfect. The sound of her voice was perfect, the way her eyes narrowed when she was thinking was perfect, her smell, the cast of her hair, the way her eyebrows arched, the curl of her mouth -- all absolute perfection. I was smitten, but at least I had the presence of mind to conceal the extent of my ardor -- or so I thought, anyway. In fact, I was as transparent as the goblet I had been drinking from at dinner.
"I'm surprised that he lets either one of them go to school," she continued.
"You don't like Morgan and Marion very much, do you?"
"_Au contraire_, I love them both to pieces. But would _you_ let them out of your sight?"

"I'd rather not let you out of my sight."
She giggled and pulled me to a copse of trees that were silver and shadow in the dim, flickering lamplight. She sat down, her back against the bole of an elm.
"You'll catch cold on the damp ground," I said.
"Poppa will go alone," she said, as though talking to herself. "He won't take Morgan. I'll bet you a thousand -- "
"Don't start that again."
"Did Poppa try to make a bet with you?"
"Why do you ask?"
She twirled the ring on my finger -- the ring she had given me. "I expect he noticed my ring. Well, did he?"
"Did he notice -- ?"
"No, did he make you put it up for collateral?"
"I would never bet your ring."
"Good for you," Phoebe said. "Poppa likes you."
"He didn't suggest sending _me_ to find your flier."
"But he did take you out of the pit."
"Because you asked him to."
"And you'd just better remember that," she said, and then allowed me to fumble with her clothes, caress her breasts, kiss her in all the delicious, unmentionable places, and finally make love to her. Everything was rustling and whispering and breathing, and when we were finished -- and still half-dressed -- she said, "You haven't said you love me."