"Levy, Robert J - Jack Stacey ASBR" - читать интересную книгу автора (Levy Robert J)

From this point on it was largely mop-up work. I soon presented her with my
reading list. It was a wildly divergent assortment, but, then again, she was a
woman of sharp contrasts: Molloy, Samuel BeckettClan of the Cave Bear, Jean
AuelThe Once and Future King, T.H. WhitePippi Longstocking, Astrid
LindgrenTractatus Logico Philosophicus, Ludwig WittgensteinThe Color Me
Beautiful Make-Up Book, Carole JacksonDr. Faustus, Thomas MannDestiny, Sally
BeaumanMonadology, Gottfried LeibnitzBill, the Galactic Hero, Harry Harrison

Perplexed by my choices, she nonetheless plowed through each of these texts over
the next few weeks. Soon enough a marvelous transformation had taken place. Her
pallor had given way to a ruddy glow. There was a new spring in her step, and,
on one occasion, I even detected an attempt at flirtation. Her outlook on life
improved. She showed renewed interest in ideas and herself. For example, while
Monadology went a long way toward convincing her that the universe was composed
of discrete particles, The Color Me Beautiful Make- Up Book made her realize she
had been employing far too muted a color palette for her skin tone.

Our final meeting took place where it all began-- in the library. I was in the
suspense section shelving books; I'd just finished the G's, my arms aching as I
tucked away the last Grisham. I heard footsteps behind me.

"Jack," she said breathily.

I turned to face her. She looked...how to describe it? Alluring, certainly. But
more than that. Like a new woman. A reader reborn. I motioned her to a secluded
cartel.

Her moist lips glistened in the soft glow of the reading lamp. A copy of Duras'
The Lover peeked seductively from her partially opened handbag. I sensed
something more than the usual reader-recommender relationship. There was a
tremor in her voice that I recognized: She had fallen for me. And hard. It was
common enough in my line of work. Restore the love of literature to enough young
women and you're bound to come across a few who want to remunerate you with a
little skin candy. Still, I was a professional.

"I don't know where I would be without you, Jack," she said, her voice smooth as
Updike's prose.

"Me? I was merely your guide, kid. Your Virgil in a journey through one woman's
personal hell. But, ultimately, you did it yourself. It took real guts."

"Oh Jack," she implored. "I'm scared. I'll feel lost without you. You're so
well. . .read."

She pressed my hand. The reader-recommender bond was always a hard one to break;
the truth was, I wasn't so sure I wanted to this time. Just then, I noticed she
had borrowed some books from the library's collection. I couldn't help observe
that several titles were all wrong for her. I started to gesture towards them.
She looked deep into my eyes.