"Mike Resnick - Marcia" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

Wednesday, June 8

My lunch break is almost over and I wait by a tobacco stand in Marcia's office building. The smell of the
cigars, even though they're all wrapped in cellophane and stacked in boxes, irritates my nostrils, and I
find myself wondering why Royal Jamaicans cost twice as much as Royal Caribbeans when they both
look so much alike. Finally she emerges from the elevator, her tight little ass fighting against her tight little
skirt, her heels click-click-clicking in an almost sexual rhythm on the dirty tile floor.

She walks right by me without noticing, which is not unexpectedтАФafter all, I am the watcher and she is
the watchedтАФand I fall into step behind her, mesmerized by the twin globes of her buttocks as they race
ahead of me like some sexual incarnation of Affirmed and Alydar locked in an eternal neck-and-neck
struggle. I think of a horrible pun about no quarter being asked and emit a falsetto cackle which draws a
few strange stares, but Marcia, everything moving in sync, shaking, bobbing, twitching, does not turn
around.

She walks into the bookstore (I know her habits and could have been waiting for her there, but then I
wouldn't have been able to watch her walk) and goes right to the romance section while I punch in and
walk to my station at the cash register. She bends over to look at a title at the bottom of one of the racks,
and her skirt climbs up her thighs and it is all I can do not to scream as inch after inch of that smooth
white flesh which I know so well is revealed to me. I wonder if she is wearing panties (I woke up late this
morning and didn't get a chance to check) and hope that she is; that soft, slippery little mound of ecstasy
is for my eyes only. I start thinking of all the things I want to do to it with my lips, my tongue, my teeth,
my fingersтАФand suddenly I realize that I have been staring blankly at the place where Marcia had been
but that now she is standing in front of me with a pile of paperbacks and I am so nervous that I have to
count her change three times before I get it right.

She smiles at me, an amused kind of smile, and I mumble and apologize and have to dig my fingers into
my palms to keep from ripping her blouse open and covering her tits with love-bites right there in front of
everyone. She takes her books and her change and walks out, Alydar and Affirmed jostling each other
furiously for position. I wipe the sweat from my face and feel very stupid.

Which, by the way, is all wrong. Would a stupid person have had enough sense to demand that Marcia
write down her phone number the first time she paid for her books with a Visa card? Without her name
and number I'd never have been able to confirm her address in the directory, and without her address I
wouldn't have been able to rent the apartment across the street, or set up my Celestron C90
three-and-one-half-inch refractive scope with its off-axis guiding system, or learned about the tiny mole
on the inside of her left thigh. So there.

In point of fact, I am possessed of enormous animal cunning (which is a very nice word and reminds me
of all kinds of things I'd like to do with Marcia). When I started writing notes and slipping them under her
door, I knew better than to do it in my own handwriting or even on my own typewriter. Do you know
how much work it was to cut out the letters from newspaper headlines to spell I WANT TO EAT YOU?
(I did it all in 48-point Tempo Bold, but I couldn't find a capitalY forYOU . I hope she doesn't think she's
dealing with an illiterate.)

And I drove all the way to Greenwich, Connecticut, to mail her the vibrator and the K-Y Jelly. I mean,
not just to the Bronx or even Scarsdale, but toConnecticut for God's sake!

So I guess that shows you who's stupid and who's not.
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