"A. R. Morlan - Dear DB" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morlan A R)

By the seventh of June, I realized that I _had_ it with crazy New
Yorkers. Never mind the _gringo_ bit of the month before, or Mr. "Night Job
Sleeping"'s jibes (I'd _give_ him something to go banging his walls and
bellowing about!), or even the snafu at the bank just who would have thought
that the sort of thing would happen at _Bloomies?_ (Saks, _maybe,_ but good
old _Bloomies?_ My God, they let Paul Mazursky make that _movie_ there! If
Robin Williams could _defect_ there, I thought they'd be good sports about
almost _anything!_)
Hold on, try to calm down. I must try to figure out what went on, where
it all went wrong. (Put it down, good old black and white.) But thinking about
it, even after everything _else_ which has happened, still makes me shake ...
it didn't _seem_ like the end of the world, not then. But it was close.
_Anyhow_ I went there to buy myself a new half-slip, some panties, and
maybe a nightgown if the pennies stretched far enough. So. Once through the
door, I made my way past the endless cosmetic counters, mildly surprised that
the floorwalkers didn't rush up to me, begging me to let them spritz me with
some much-too-expensive perfume, hoping I'd find it irresistable and buy five
gallons of the slop, or just spray me and ask later for permission. Usually,
by the time I'd made it to the second floor I'd end up smelling like a cheap
streetwalker on Friday night, but that day I lucked out and escaped the
scented hordes. It really seemed like my day, no Lorelei-like calls from the
cosmetic clerks, begging me to wander over for a makeover, and I rode the
crowded escalators until I found the intimate apparel. I was happily looking
over the unmentionables, no stuffing things into my jeans pockets, no hiding
panties in a false-bottom bag, simply minding my own biz-niz ... when the
saleslady came up, hovering like a polycotton hummingbird. With too much
eyeshadow. She began to pester me, asking if I was looking for "something for
a special someone?" Not understanding why she couldn't go bother one of the
dozens of other shoppers milling around us, I said, "No thanks, just browsing
until I find something I like." I held a pair of panties up to the light,
trying to see how sheer they were, when she tried another line of questioning:
"Did you happen to have someone special in mind? Maybe that would aid
in your selection "
Thinking _Read my lips, honey,_ I tossed over my shoulder, "Just
looking for something for myself ... if you don't mind. Thanks for asking!"
She didn't leave. I could smell her, and feel her breathing down my neck.
Turning around, I saw her give me a look, like I had feathers growing out of
my ears, or a less appropriate part of my anatomy, then exit Ms. Too Much
Eyeshadow. Followed shortly by _my_ exit. I figured that she'd have to take a
coffee break sometime; I'd check out the undies then. Walking away, I
remembered that the World Fantasy Con would be coming up soon, and decided to
check out the junior dresses.
Bad move. And no warning signs this time; the salesclerk initally left
me alone, in peace, while I looked over the racks of new fall arrivals and she
didn't even flinch when I picked out two reasonably priced streetlength
dresses (one with a side slit, the other a sweater-dress) and approached the
counter. Then
Her: "_Yes,_ will that be cash, charge or "
Me: "Oh, no, not yet ... could I please try them on? I have two items
here "