"Murphy, Pat - Departure" - читать интересную книгу автора (Murphy Pat)

Jan fidgeted with her wine glass. "I'm afraid all the time. All the time. In the
apartment at night; in the subway; when I'm walking to work. All the time."

Marsha reached across the table to pat Jan's hand. "It's hard to get used to
being alone."

Jan noticed that her hand was in a fist, and she made an effort to relax.
"Things are out of control," she said softly. "I don't know what's going on
anymore. I don't know who I am. When Dennis was with me, I didn't worry. Now I
worry all the time."

"You're spending too much time alone," Marsha said. "I'll tell you what -- I'm
going to an art show on Thursday night. The artist is a friend of mine. He's a
nut, but the opening will be fun. We can both get dressed to the teeth. Why
don't you come with me?"

Jan shook her head. "I don't have anything to wear. I left most of my clothes at
the condominium. I escaped with one suitcase and my life." She tried to laugh,
but it sounded wrong.

"You can borrow one of my dresses. I have a great little basic black number that
will fit you just fine."

"I don't know."

"We're going" Marsha said. "And that's that."

It was late when they finally called for the check. Outside the restaurant, snow
was falling -- great flakes that drifted lazily down and melted when they hit
the pavement. Marsha hailed a cab. At first, she insisted that Jan take it, but
for once Jan prevailed. "You take it -- I'll catch another." Marsha acquiesced
at last, and Jan waved goodbye.

She hesitated for a moment, glad of the cold air on her face. Another taxi
passed, but she did not hail it. She wanted, for reasons that were not clear to
her, to take the subway. Neon signs were lit and the colors reflected from the
wet asphalt, making glistening streams of color. She liked the darkness and the
cold and the neon red reflections that ran like blood on the street.

The subway entrance was marked with tall old-fashioned green-tinted
streetlights. A straight-backed woman dressed in Salvation Army blue was
standing by the stairs, handing out leaflets. Without thinking Jan accepted a
leaflet and hurried down the grimy stairs into a hallway that stank of urine.

Only a few people were waiting on the platform. A teenager in a dirty denim
jacket lounged against one of the pillars. A bag lady lay on a wooden bench, her
head cushioned on a shopping bag filled with old clothes. An elderly man sat at
the end of the bench, resting his head in his hands.

One of the fluorescent lights over the platform had been broken: bits of glass