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

foul mood by the time I return home. I watch Marcia for a few hours before going to bed and I feel
better.
****

Friday, June 17

The unveiling is glorious today, as always, and I become so engrossed that I almost miss the bus. Still,
there is a certain sameness to it, it lacks a certain spark, and I find myself wishing that she would do
something a little different, so I call her at her office just after lunchtime.

тАЬHello?тАЭ she says in a brisk, businesslike voice. тАЬMay I help you?тАЭ

тАЬYou certainly may,тАЭ I answer. тАЬI sent you a present three days ago and you haven't even tried it on
yet.тАЭ I think I hear something at the other end of the line, perhaps a gasp or a sob, but she doesn't say
anything, so I continue: тАЬI think you should wear it to bed tonight, Marcia. After all, I spent a lot of time
selecting it, and it seems very ungracious of you not to wear it at least once.тАЭ

She hangs up the phone, or perhaps we are cut off. I spend the rest of the afternoon putting new mystery
and science-fiction titles in the racks and setting aside the old ones for the distributor to take away.
Someone comes in right at closing and I miss my regular bus, but somehow it doesn't bother me at all
because I have already seen Marcia in the dress she is wearing today and I am looking forward with
almost frenzied eagerness to seeing her wear my present tonight.

I walk up the stairs to my apartment and unlock the door. I haven't eaten all day and suddenly I realize
that I am ravenously hungry, but I decide to take a quick look at Marcia first. I race to the Celestron,
hoping against hope that she has decided against waiting until bedtime to put on the bra and panties. I
press my eye to the sight, and I stare, and suddenly I emit a howl of rage.

She has pulled all her shades down!

Horrified, I turn the scope from her bedroom to the other rooms. In each of them the flimsy curtains
have been pulled together and the shades have been drawn. I dial her on the phone to demand an
explanation, and the operator tells me she has just changed to an unlisted number.

This is intolerable! All ties are broken, all vows unmade, and I race down the stairs and across the
street. I know that the ungrateful, spiteful, back-stabbing bitch will never answer the doorbell, so I climb
up the creaky wooden stairs to her back door. It is locked, but I break the window and reach my hand
through and let myself in.

She is running from the bedroom when I get there but I grab her by the arm (it doesn't feel anywhere
near as soft as I had thought it would) and hurl her onto the bed.

тАЬWho are you?тАЭ she blubbers, tears streaming down her face and mingling with her mascara. тАЬI know
you from somewhere! What do you want with me?тАЭ

тАЬYou can't treat me like this!тАЭ I scream. тАЬNot after all we've meant to each other!тАЭ

тАЬMy God!тАЭ she says, her eyes suddenly going wide with horror. тАЬYou're that strange woman from the
bookstore!тАЭ