"Replica03 - Another Amy - Kaye, Marilyn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kaye Marilyn)

As Amy watched, Aimee stepped over Jeanine's body and went into the rest room across the hall. Holding her breath, moving swiftly and silently against the wall, Amy edged down to the rest room door and slipped inside.
Aimee was just coming out of a stall. Her eyes flashed when she saw Amy. "You again? What are you doing here? What do you want?"
"We need to talk," Amy said eagerly. "Please, it's important."
"Really? I have no interest in talking to you."
"Why not?"
"Because we have nothing to talk about!" She started past Amy, and Amy threw herself against the door.
"Hey!" Aimee yelled in outrage. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Look at me," Amy pleaded. "Can't you tell that we have something to talk about?"
Aimee's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I know what you're after."
"You do?"
"You think you can take my place in this film, don't you? You're trying to get me fired!"
"No! That's not it at all! Aimee, there's a reason we look so much alike!"
The actress stared at her coldly, but at least Amy had her attention.
"Do youЧDo you know about yourself? Do you about us? Do you know what we are?"
Suddenly Aimee pushed her, and Amy was knocked away from the door. She wasn't sure whether Aimee had used unusual strength or she'd just been taken by surprise. She reached out and grabbed Aimee's hand as Aimee reached for the door handle.
"Aimee, listen to me! Can't you feel it? We're alike!"
"There's no one like me!" Aimee hissed.
"Yes, there isЧI mean, there are! There are twelve of us!"
Just then the door of the rest room opened. Aimee's mother stood there. She took one look and screamed.
"Get your hands off my Aimee! Guards! Guards! Help!"
But Amy was long gone before any help arrived.


9

"Don't forget," Amy told Eric as he combed his hair. "Check her arm for bruises. I grabbed it pretty hard this afternoon. If she's a regular person, she should have some black-and-blue marks. But if she's a clone, they'll have faded by now."
"Okay, okay," Eric said, trying to get an even part in his hair. Then he presented himself for inspection in the Morgans' living room.
"Shouldn't you be wearing a jacket and tie?" Mrs. Morgan asked.
"Sue Adams said I should dress casual," he told his mother.
"Dressing casual doesn't mean dressing like a slob," Tasha remarked.
"He doesn't look like a slob," Amy objected.
Eric didn't think so either. In his khaki pants, UCLA T-shirt, and high-top sneakers, he thought he looked exactly right for the part he was about to play; an average, ordinary ninth-grader going out on a date with a movie star and possible clone.
"Oh my, will you look at that," said his father, and he wasn't referring to Eric's clothes. The others gathered around him at the window and looked out onto the street.
It wasn't uncommon to see stretch limousines in Los Angeles. But very few came to their condo community on the western fringes of the city. Eric had the awful feeling that half the neighborhood was looking out their windows and gaping.
"See ya," he said. He grabbed his denim jacket off the coatrack by the door and ran out. He couldn't believe his whole family, plus Amy, were going to be watching him get into that fancy car.
It got worse. A man in a uniform got out and opened the back door for him. Eric climbed in next to Aimee Evans.
"Hi," he said.
She gave him an uninterested glance and looked out the window on her side. He glanced down at her arms. Too bad; she was wearing long sleeves.
Sue Adams turned to him from the front passenger seat, and she was a lot friendlier. "Hi, Eric! Now, listen, I want you to relax and have fun tonight, okay? Just treat this like any ordinary date."
Considering the fact that he'd only had three dates in his entire life, he wasn't sure what that meant.
"The photographer will be meeting us at Playland," she went on. "Have you ever been there?"
"Sure." When he was around eight years old, he'd had a birthday party there. He spoke to Aimee. "Do you like miniature golf?"
She didn't even look at him when she replied, "Not particularly."
"Me neither," he confessed. "Couldn't we just go to the movies?" He thought he'd prefer to be in a dark place where he was less likely to be seen.
"Miniature golf makes for good pictures," Sue Adams told him.
When they arrived, Eric discovered that the entire miniature golf course had been rented for their private use. He was grateful that there wouldn't be people staring at this miserable-looking couple followed by a chaperone and a photographer.
They were given clubs and directed to the first hole. Eric vaguely remembered itЧa fairly easy one, just a windmill that passed slowly in front of the hole. But he must have been nervous, because it took him two shots to get into the hole.
"Don't worry, we won't print that," Sue told him. "Aimee, you know what we want you to do here."
Aimee grimaced, but she nodded. She took the club and swung. The ball hit the windmill and bounced off. She let out a gasp of dismay. All the while, the camera was flashing.
She couldn't be a clone, Eric thought. Amy would have gotten that shot easily.