"Jack Dann - Ting-A-Ling" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

show you my new car. It's a gift. And it's fabjous."
"From who?"
"I got it for doing a show with Art Linkletter. It's a Caddy DeVille convertible, and it's p
as your cute little ass. I love it." She giggled and blew into the phone. "I'll give you a ride."
"You sure you didn't get it for riding that pink elephant in Madison Square Garden? That
was a stunt-and-a-half."
"It was for a good cause. Now make up your mind, I'm hanging up ... one . . . two . . ."
"Okay," Jimmy said. "I'm awake. But how the hell am I supposed to drive to Salinas
tomorrow?"
"I'll bring you some pills."
"I can't drive stoned out. You want to kill me?"
"No, Jimmy."
He knew she was laughing at him.
"I'd show you the new Porsche, but it's at my mechanic's. I can pick you up with my stati
wagon. Where are you?"
"No, I want to drive," she said. "I'll be at your place in fifteen minutes. I've got somethin
tell you that you won't believe. You're still on Sunset Plaza, right?"
"No, Marilyn, I moved, remember? I'm in Sherman Oaks. 14611 Sutton Street. It's a log
cabin, you have to-"
"I'll find it. Bye."
"I can't stay out long."
But Jimmy was speaking to dead air.

Although he couldn't be sure when-or if-Marilyn would arrive, Jimmy waited outside ne
the road for her. He wore jeans, a white T-shirt, scuffed black penny loafers, and the bright
jacket that Nick Ray had bought for him to wear in Rebel without a Cause after Jack Warne
ordered the film to be re-shot in color. Eartha Kitt had told him to wear the jacket, that it w
bring him luck. Something about its color.
Jimmy grinned as he thought about Eartha. He had once tried to seduce her, but she only
laughed at him and curled up on his couch. "You shouldn't screw your friends ... or your ca
she said. Jimmy could still hear the purr in her voice.
It was a cool night, with the promise that tomorrow would be a perfect day to drive his n
flat-four 547 Porsche Spyder. He daydreamed about dancing with Eartha in Sylvia Forte's
dance class in New York. He daydreamed about driving, dancing, driving; but there was
nothing, nothing better than speed, the adrenaline surge that would open deep inside his che
the pressure in his eyes as the liquid silver curve of the hood swallowed the road in one lon
drawn gulp, and the beautiful, perfect, third-eye sense that he was about to rise, to lift right
the pavement, to go so fast that the car would shudder like a plane as it became airborne; an
he'd rip a hole right through the sky.
Marilyn drove into the gravel driveway. The top of the pink Cadillac was down, althoug
she had neglected to snap on the decorative leather boot. She smiled at him, but she looked
tentative, as if frightened that he wouldn't recognize her, or, worse yet that he would recogn
her and turn away. She didn't look like Marilyn Monroe. That was the guise that she turned
and off like a lightbulb. Jimmy understood all about that. They'd even discussed it. They we
both lightbulbs. Brother and sister lightbulbs. They were monsters that could turn into . . .
themselves, that which was perfect and beautiful and completely cool-hep-can-do-no-wron
and when they turned themselves on to each other, it was like . . . driving fast, except it was
the eyes and the crotch. She wore tan slacks, a man's sweater that was several sizes too lar
for her, and a black kerchief tied around her head. If it were daytime, she'd be wearing
sunglasses-all part of the uniform of a private person. She wouldn't be wearing makeup eith