"David,.Peter.-.Howling.Mad" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

slightly, prick up his ears a little, concentrate on everything I was saying.
It was only later, when I heard him use one of my pet phrases (in this case it
was "Well, that's all there is to say about that.") that I realized he was
learning, and continuing to learn, constantly. From me, from Darlene, from
anybody. That's probably how he learned to express himself so well.
I realize that I've mentioned Darlene a couple of times. She and I go way back.
We met in the ecology club back in high school. Darlene was what we used to call
"hyper." She was always involved in something, could barely ever sit still. At
about 5-foot-nothing or maybe a little more, she was always the smallest one in
the group. And still everything always seemed to center around her. Her straight
black hair reached down to her butt, which always irritated the teachers, and
her nose was a little long. We always figured that's how she scented out
problems.
She had this incredible knack for always zeroing in on somebody with a problem.
One day I came into algebra pissed about something or other, I don't even
remember what. And she was immediately over there, asking me what was on my
mind.
Incredible.
We stayed in touch when we got older. She wound up working for one of her
favorite causes, an animal-rights group. One of those outfits that takes care of
dogs and finds homes for them instead of turning them into dog pate or whatever
pounds do.
Me, I became a comic book writer. It was a lot of fun, but when I wanted to get
out of it, I made the unpleasant discovery that my mind had turned into the
creative equivalent of tapioca pudding. I wanted to write about something elseЧ
anything elseЧand found I couldn't. I had what is politely called in my
profession "writer's block."
And while I was going through this, Darlene called me to chat and immediately
figured out something was wrong. She wouldn't shut up until I told her.
"I don't know what to write about," I told her.
"How about nonfiction?" she asked. "You don't have to make that up, right?"
Now I'd considered that, but the problem was that not only was I blocked, I was
also the laziest son of a bitch you could find. I hated the idea of having to do
a lot of research and all that junk. But I didn't want to say that, so I just
said "Nah. I'd rather stick with fiction. Something wild, something weirdЕ
something commercial. Maybe something they can make into a movie."
She was quiet for a real long time and then she said, "Let me get back to you,"
and hung up.
She didn't get back to me for a few weeks, and I'd almost forgotten about it
when she called me. She sounded real weird and told me she was going to
introduce me to someone who was fiction and nonfiction all rolled into one. "And
he looks like that Arnold Shwartznokker guy," she said, "so there you got your
movie all set."
And then she told me a little about him, and I really have to tell you, I
thought she was jerking me around.
But she arranged the meeting, or maybe I should say meetings. And I have to tell
you, after talking with Josh, and doing as little research as I could, I'm
prepared to say that, as far as I'm concerned, it's real. The story, that is.
Now of course, Josh could only tell me his view of what happened. There's stuff
that he didn't know, couldn't know. Stuff that nobody could know for sure. So