"Christopher Pike - The Immortal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pike Christopher)

if they were going to be the first off. Helen and I were patient. I stacked my books back in my carry-on
bag. I was currently into courtroom thrillers and was thinking of becoming a lawyer. Helen and I had
graduated from high school a month earlier, in June. But with that thought I was being practical, because
what I really wanted to be was a screenwriter like my father. The problem was, even though I was
wonderful at thinking up stories, I didn't have the discipline to sit down and write anything. I couldn't even
complete a letter. I wondered if Ralph hadn't written because I had never written to him.

Eventually we got off the plane. Customs was a joke. They didn't even look at our passports--just saw
that we were Americans and waved us through. No one even glanced at our bags. And Helen had
lectured us on how strict they were.

The airport was hot and sweaty and crowded. We each changed some money. I had my own; it wasn't
courtesy of my dad. I worked with a caterer twenty hours a week. The official currency of Greece was
the drachma. Right then we got a hundred and sixty of them for a dollar. I changed two hundred U.S.
dollars, and with the wad they handed me in return I felt rich. Helen was anxious to get us over to the
other airport to make our connection to Mykonos. Helen was always neurotic about time.

No one spit on us, but no one smiled either. We left the airport, our bags piled in a couple of rental carts,
and got in a long line to catch a cab. The sun was
CHRISTOPHER PIKE

intense and I began to perspire. The buildings in the vicinity were dirty. I couldn't complain--I was from
L.A.

"It's cooler on Mykonos," Helen said as I wiped my forehead.

"That's good," I said. "How long is the flight there?"

"A half hour," Helen said.

"Will there be someone to meet us at the airport?" Silk asked. She had dressed up for the trip--always a
mistake. Her purple dress and coat were close to being ruined. She had brought more bags than the rest
of us combined. Helen and I were dressed casually in khaki shorts. Dad had on a pair of pants he should
have thrown out the year before. He had to unbutton them to sit down.

"It's questionable," he said.

"Oh, Bill, didn't you make sure?" Silk asked, a whiny tone to her voice. Silk had a habit of whining when
she was tired and if she didn't get her daily nap, which was supposed to be at about five o'clock. I hated
whiners.

"I faxed the people at the hotel a number of times, honey," Dad said. "They said they'd do what they
could. We can always catch a cab."

"The cab drivers on Mykonos are all crazy," Helen told Silk. "They hate redheads with a passion. They
think they're witches."

"Oh, dear," Silk said.

We finally got a cab. The driver drove like a madman. I supposed I would have done the same if I