"Kit Reed - Playmate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Kit)

A gated community was never Karin's idea of a good time -- up market,
manicured "homes" and yuppie neighbors cut from the same social cloth --
but she understood what big Dan was buying when he moved them in. "Life's
too short to deal with downscale neighbors," he told her. "We both work
too hard to waste time hunting suitable friends for our kid."
So what if it's lonely? Dan is right. With everything going on at the ad
agency, Karin's hard pressed to get in all her mothering before work and
early evenings, when she drags herself home so tired that she's walking on
her knuckles. She's spread too thin to check out every little friend Danny
tries to make. During the week, Blanca copes. Even though Blanca is from
Ecuador and not too good at English, she's terrific. Danny adores her,
which is both necessary and a source of jealousy. She cooks, cleans,
manages play dates; she carpools to the community preschool where Danny is
supposed to get socialized. Which is what the Fowlers are paying the five
K for, according to the brochure. But Blanca also gets the best of his
smiles and those cute new words. It's the only reason she hasn't quit.
Listen, Karin tells herself. That's weekdays. The weekends are mine.
Denny comes over Saturdays and every Sunday. If he's there weekdays,
Blanca doesn't say. He picks the best time -- after Karin's had her kid
fix and before Danny starts whining, "I'm bored."
Danny lights up. "Doorbell!"
"I bet I know who it is." Smiling, Karin opens the door and looks out at
eye level. At his giggle, she looks down and pretends to be surprised.
"Why, it's Denny!" She does not say, again.
Green OshKosh overalls today. Canary yellow shirt. Blond hair, bowl
haircut just like Danny's. Karin thinks that's why she likes the child so
much. They look like brothers. Who wouldn't like a neighbor child, looks a
lot like one of her own? She thinks sentimentally, the second child I ever
had. "Can Danny play?"
"Benny?" she tries. He blinks those green eyes. "Or is it Lenny?" He
murmurs in that little kid way. With a frisson she leans closer. Why does
this part creep her out? She tries, "Danny?"
He blinks. Doesn't exactly evade; he says "Denny," or something like it --
she thinks. Then, clearly, "Is Danny here?"
"Of course, sweetie, come on in." When Karin bends to hug him, he clings
so she has to pry his fingers off. Poor kid, she notes. Full time mother
and starved for love. With a darling smile, he trots off to Danny's room.
The child's mother would speak clearly -- real name, nickname, might even
reel off a pedigree and a list of food fetishes, but Karin has decided not
to like her. If she was that good a mom, Denny wouldn't be over here all
the time. The woman seems to drop him on the doorstep, ring the bell and
go. Unless, since Cadogan Hills is so quiet and ultrasafe, he trots over
on his own. Unlike hellacious Terry McGonnigle, whose parents are brokers,
Denny is an ideal guest. With Terry, Karin has to be on the phone with
Patti McGonnigle every living minute -- hitting, fights, better come over,
Terry started it, but he's going to need stitches.
She never, ever has to discipline Denny. It's a little eerie, but he's
never bad! And bless him, he never overstays. Comes after lunch so she
won't need to feed him or phone his mom about allergies, and just when she
starts wondering whether to call and ask if he can stay for supper, he