"Robert Reed - 555" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

"You are neither fat nor ugly," I reply.
"Thank you."
"But your face is a little crooked, I guess. And that dark material under
you chin--"
"It's a three-day beard," he explains. Which explains nothing.
I just nod and smile, and return to my waiting.
"I'm the Head Writer," he repeats, "and I'm a considerable fan of yours.
Did you know that, Joan?"
 "A fan?"
"One of many. In my world, millions of people are interested in you."
That is not an impressive number. The other world holds billions of
people, each with a name, and almost everyone watches Claudia and the
City. But I want to be polite, nodding as I tell him, "Thank you."
"You're very pretty," he maintains.
"But I don't have a desirable body," I argue. "My breasts are small, and
my nose is too large."
Claudia has a wonderful body. I have seen it on occasion, usually when I
am told to walk into her office unannounced. My personality is
heterosexual but even I feel a longing when I stare at those firm creations
that ride before her imaginary heart. As with everything about Claudia, I
am smaller. Lesser. Yes, I am the same kind of creature, but always lost in
her considerable shadow.
"You have a marvelous body," Mitchell tells me. "Don't sell yourself
short."
But I do an excellent job of self-appraisal. Politely, I tell him, "I'll try not
to. I really will."
"You've had lovers, haven't you?"
The Head Writer should know that I have. Three men stand in my past.
But only one had any name, and he stayed for only a few weeks, leaving me
for the black sleep that comes when you have served your purpose and get
filed away.
"Not three men," Mitchell corrects. "Look again."
The Writer has placed a memory in my soul.
"Look carefully," he advises with a wink and a delighted grin.
I straighten my back and grow cold.
"Remember the other day, Joan? When you came into this office
through that door, and you thought you heard a mysterious noise in
Claudia's office--?"
"Yes."
"And you found her with who?"
"My lover."
"Sonny Cotton," he says. "The great, secret love of your life."
I shiver and sob.
 "What was Sonny doing?"
I cannot say it. But I can't stop seeing it, even with my eyes pressed
shut.
"And where is he now, Joan? The love of your life...?"
"With Claudia."
"Is he?"
"Clinging to her arm," I mutter, imagining the two of them happily