"Terry Dowling - Clownette" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dowling Terry)

that was because of the anticipation, the weird feeling I knew I'd have when I first opened the door. That
was because ofтАФsomething. It didn't last more than a few seconds, otherwise no cut-rate plan on earth
would have made me keep taking the Clownette. It was the love-hate, yes-no of it for me, the whole
complex mix of "What's going on here?"/"You won't get me this time!" bravado and determination.

I smiled at how intense I was being. These were pretty much my usual daytime observations for 516
anyway, the ones I always had after I'd first felt the Rush of Weird again, but the business with
GordonтАФparts one and two!тАФhad thrown me.

I checked my watch by the digital clock alongside the bed. Three forty-five on a bright, sunny afternoon.
The Motley was in its day phase, its blotches so ordinary, so formless, like any of the other countless
stainings in countless second-rate hotel rooms across the country, across the world.

I smiled at a wordplay that was suddenly there, paraphrasing the famous movie line.

Of all the grin joints in all the world, why did you have to walk into this one?

There was nothing like a face now, certainly no more than in any other set of stains in any other place.
The day was too sunny, too bright.

And, to be fair, the features probably didn't get any more definite after dark. Not really. It was more to
do with the ambient lighting, how the shift to evening let the room's lighting focus the observer's eye
differently.

With the Rush of Weird behind me, I could deal with all that. I shifted my bag to the stand beside the bed
and went to say hello.

"Tonight, Mr. Motley," I said, running my hand over the sooty spread of blotches as I always did, "we're
going to try happy trails together. See if we can make you move a bit!"

There. Intentions declared. Our latest meeting formalized, everything stated up front. I sat on the edge of
the bed then, studying how the smudges sat in the tan. Just an overnight stay, but somehow I felt this visit
would be the one!

I wanted the Motley to move, wanted to be the one to make it moveтАФsee what Gordon and other hotel
staff said happened.

"Guess we're just at that stage in our relationship, Mr. M.," I said, then went down to the bar to get a
drink.



┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖


The sunlight was well and truly gone from the back lane when I returned at five thirty, and the Motley had
fallen into shadow with the rest of the room's features. No face. Nothing like a face yet.

But I knew only too well how to hasten Bozo on his way, knew from experience to draw the curtains and
switch on both bedside lamps to compensate.