"Kim Newman - The Serial Murders" - читать интересную книгу автора (Newman Kim)

"B-b-but тАж," b-began Porko.
Squiers waved the cap about by its tassel.
"Who wants the thinking cap this week? Come on, you fellows. Pitch in. There's all to play for. Yaroo. What
about Ben's new bit?"
"Lovely Legs," said someone, approving.
"That's right. The lovely Lovely Legs. The bogus Brenda, of whom we just spoke, people! More formally, Miss
Priscilla Hopkins. Granddaughter of тАж come on, anyone, it wasn't that long ago? I know you were all in
nappies when the series started. Come on тАж"
Blank looks all around.
"Barnaby Hopkins," said Barbara. "Da Barstow's original partner, whom Mavis cheated out of his share of the
business."
Squiers nodded approval.
"Thank you, whoever you are. It goes to show we do better with strangers off the street тАж I beg your pardon,
madam, but I'm making a point тАж than with you bright new graduates and ashram drop-outs. With my
producer's hat on, I have to wonder why we pay you all so much."
Faces fell in shame.
"Yes, Priscilla Hot-pins," emphasised Squiers, "away being Eliza Doolittled to extreme poshness, not to
mention tending and caring for her remarkably glamorous gams, and now back for тАж what?"
"Revenge," suggested Glasses Girl, tentative.
"One of your basic plot motors, yes. But what else? Is she cracking a bit? Learning to love the enemy? Has
Ben's crooked smile and sans-gorm charm worked a spell on her? Who knows? I don't. But let's get them
together a bit more and find out, eh?"
The business of putting a scene together seemed a lot like CluedoтАФColonel Mustard in the Library with the
Poison. This was Priscilla in the Barstow Boardroom with the Suspender Belt. About the first thing Richard
had noticed about The Northern Barstows was that every other scene involved sex. The writing pack got
excited as they frothed up the seduction of Mavis' nephew. With the Bogus Brenda back as a new face, a
whole spiral of story possibilities fell into place. It was another Barstows standard procedure: over the years,
especially since the Bona Fide Brenda was written out, several other women had been brought in as
antagonists for Mavis, built up either as villains or martyrs, and eventually ejected in some cataclysmic plot
event, such as the murder which had just removed Delia Delyght from the screen. Richard wondered if these
women tended to depart soon after the actresses started to get as much fan mail or column inches as June
O'Dell.
He tuned out what was being said and tried to get a feel for the room, for the way the meeting worked.
Squiers was in control, but barely. He tossed the prefect's cap to whoever was in favour at the moment, and
other rituals established a tribal pecking order, and ways to jostle for position, claim or forfeit advantage, or be
expelled from the light. At times, Squiers was like a preacher, at others like an orchestra conductor. The
stenos kept taking it down in shorthand, and yellow strips were waved, spindled, or shredded in the writers'
fingers.
"The Moo tells Ben that Priscilla is the Bogus Brenda, that she has always known this, thatтАФin factтАФshe
was responsible for getting her out of jail and bringing her to Bleeds with a new face," said Squiers. "Ben
stunned, as usual. Close on Junie's Number Two Expression: Smug Triumph. In with the oompah-and-custard
music, and we're done 'til next Tuesday. And God bless us every one. Now scatter and make babies."
He waved, and the writers moved away. Porko's face was wet with tears. Glasses Girl, who had proposed
Mavis be behind the Bogus Brenda's return, looked flushed under the prefect's cap, as if experiencing the
aftershocks of the best orgasm of her life.
Squiers discarded the now-soaked handkerchief in a receptacle and slumped on his raised couch. Then he
noticed Richard and Barbara were still in the circle.
"Not writers, luv," explained Lionel. "They don't vanish when you clap your hands."
Squiers looked at them again, as if this was all new to him. Richard realised the writer-producer's brain had to
contain all "the evolving totality" of The Northern Barstows. He was like a medium, a conduit for all the voices