"Kathleen Ann Goonan - Angels and You Dogs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goose Mother)

country music, and there I drew the line and made her realize that she
could not fill our shared space with it no matter what the lease said.
She had a striking collection of handmade boots and went line dancing
at least once a week, leaving Ambrose in my care, as she so often did, after
kissing and squeezing him and telling him how sorry she was to leave him.
Early in the mornings, unless it was windy and the thrash of palm fronds
interfered, I was awakened by Ambrose's emergency canal-exiting lessons.
"Over here, honey, come on, that's right, climb on up, ooo, ooo, that's
okay, I've got a nice warm towel right here, baby. Good, good, here's the
bacon, sweetie, here's the bacon. Mmm, good, isn't it?"
After the first week, she could no longer study in her room, since it was,
she said, "too distracting," being strewn with books and clothing, so she
took over the living and dining rooms. She also used my shower so as not
to disturb the rescued snapping turtles she installed in the soaking tub,
complete with coral rocks on which to pull their bodies out of the
chlorinated water, which I was sure wasn't good for them.
She had an annoyingly lively contingent of friends and had several over
at least once a week for dinner, though I quickly discerned that she had no
steady boyfriend. "No," was all she said when I inquired directly, which
seemed slightly unfair since I had answered her question regarding my
state of coupledness in anguished detail. But for a second her face was so
vulnerable and open I thought that perhaps she was experiencing a
religious conversion.
After the first gala dinner, I insisted that the kitchen be returned to its
previous condition before she retired. This, like other, similar, insistings,
she usually ignored, so that the haven of my tiny but classy black-granite
15,000 btu's/hour cooktop kitchen with infinite indirect lighting options
was not a pretty sight when I made my midnight chamomile tea, which
rather negated the soothing aspects of my ritual. Mercifully, none of her
crowd could stand country music, either. They preferred jazz. As they
laughed and drank in the dining room at the glass-top table, she
occasionally called, "Evan! Sweetie! Come join us! Stuart wants to meet
you!"
 Actually, I had exchanged a few words with Stuart and found him
disturbingly interesting. There was electricity that surprised me when he
squeezed past me in the kitchen once, and he seemed kind as well as
knowledgeable about tropical plants; he collected botanical prints and
once brought a beautiful portfolio of waiting-to-be framed palms. But I
generally claimed that I had to work, though Lulu referred to it as sulking,
especially when I closed my office door because scenes of Charles and me
entertaining our friends rose vividly. I had a deposit from her father, and
he always paid the rent a day early, so the passive-aggressiveness of which
Charles had often complained had my permission to blossom into exotic
forms which surprised even me. I had dreams of feeding Ambrose the
small dry turds he regularly left behind the potted monstero delicioso in
the corner of the living room, and even considered smearing its poisonous
fruit with chopped liver to encourage him to take a bite. His sharp barks,
surprisingly throaty considering his size but always delivered with
staccato zest, were incessant and annoying, and he snapped at the ankles
of the clients whom Lulu informed me I should not be seeing in my home