"Davis, Jerry - Scuba" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

money is shares of DGD stock."
"How did he die? In bed with a blond?" She nudged him.
Jack laughed. "No, it's funnier than that. He died of
pneumonia because he didn't believe he was sick enough to go to a
hospital." But that's not the truth, he thought. Dad knew he was
going to die. I think he wanted to die. I think that after all
those years he couldn't handle it anymore. He wanted out.
There was an odd scratching sound. A key in a lock. Before
Jack could react the room door swung wide open and a man with an
auto-advance camera and an electronic flash was taking seven
pictures per second. Jack froze in shock. Christie reacted in a
strange way; she climbed half over him with her body and posed in
sexual positions.
The roll of film exposed, the man dashed out the door,
slamming it behind him. Christie pushed herself off of Jack and
slid into the darkness away from him. The room was again quiet,
and seemed even darker than before. Horrible, blotchy afterimages
of the flash haunted Jack's eyes. The warm air blowing down on him
now seemed like the sickly breath of a giant, inflated menace.
"I'm so sorry, Jack," Christie said in a small voice, lost in
the dark. "I like you. I'm sorry this happened."
Jack said nothing. The pressure was returning, the air
bubbling away. He felt it like a pressure on his face, like a
diving mask being shoved into his cheeks and forehead by the
overwhelming pressure.
"The job I took when I was in Hollywood was as a pornographic
actress," Christie was saying. "I'm a very good actress, I could
have made it, but I've never had the will power to stay on that
great straight and narrow, you know? From there I began working
conventions, I was a 'escort' girl. That was three to five hundred
dollars a night, Jack. I couldn't turn that down, I was starving.
Out here in Chicago I get more, much more. I'm a star here, Jack.
Isn't that strange? I'm a star."
Jack was drowning. He was literally drowning. The air had
turned to water, and it was in his throat.
"Don't hate me," Christie said.
Jack scrambled in a panic to the bathroom, bumping into walls
and tripping. In the bathroom he closed the door and turned on the
light. He stared at himself in the mirror; naked, beaded with
water. His eyes bulged. He vomited salt water into the sink,
vomited, vomited. It kept coming out, it seemed it would never
end.
His career was dead, his car wrecked, his marriage stained.
In all these years he had never cheated on his wife. He couldn't
handle it. He couldn't believe he'd let himself do something like
this.
Christie was knocking on the door. He could hear her muffled
voice coming through. "Are you okay? Jack? Hello, Jack?"
He fell back against the wall, slid to the floor. His breath
came in raw rasps. The room was rocking with the swells of the