"Jerry Davis - Scuba (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

She saw him and got out of her car to talk. It was the new
girl, Christie. She was crying. "I'm sorry. Mine's a rental, it
came with insurance. I'll make sure yours is fixed."
"The whole side of my car is bashed-in."
"I know, I'm sorry. This rain, it made the road slick, and
the front wheels slid. I'm sorry." She walked up and grabbed his
hands, holding them. She stared into his eyes, her expression
asking for forgiveness. She was so earnest that he suddenly felt
bad for her.
"Are you okay?" he asked her.
"I'm really shaken up." He could feel her tremble, it wasn't


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a lie. "I really need a drink," she said. "Let me buy you a drink.
Don't say no."
Jack helped her push her car into a parking place near his
and then walked with her to a bar at the top of the Hilton
building a few blocks away. By the time they were seated both were
soaking wet with the rain. To Jack it felt like salt water. It was
heavy, thick, and stayed cold. He ordered double martinis for both
of them and wondered how he was going to explain this to his wife.
"This is so nice of you," Christie was telling him. "I hope
you're not mad at me."
"No, I'm not mad." Truth was he wasn't; the shock of the
situation had knocked him out of his rut. Not only was she paying
for the drinks, there was a good chance her insurance company
might pay off the car.
Christie's hair hung in wet, blond spikes down over her face.
Her mascara had run just a little, and somehow it was sexy,
intimate. Jack didn't want her to fix it. He only half-listened as
she explained over and over again about the rental car, and how
she had wrecked. He felt light, relaxed. They ordered drinks
again, and then again.
At some hazy point Jack noticed a change. Christie had
started picking invisible flecks of lint off his suit, and he had
been compelled to compliment her on her ear rings, and then the
color of her eyes. They had admitted to each other verbally and
openly that they were getting along quite well. Jack knew these
were the warning signs, but he was ignoring them. He was quite
conscious of himself ignoring them, but he couldn't bring himself
to care. It's like nitrogen narcosis, he thought. Drunk on air,
oblivious to immediate danger. He put his fourth martini glass
down, empty, and thought he'd had enough. I should be leaving, he
thought. I should go call my wife. Instead he sat there, letting
it continue.
They were facing each other on the bar stools. Their legs
were touching. She leaned forward and kissed him. "We have a lot