"Roberts, Nora - Divine Evil(1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

As for herself, Clare was lucky if she could find both shoes of a pair in the
black hole of her closet. Her handbag collection consisted of one good black
evening bag and a huge canvas tote. More than once Clare had wondered how she
and Angie had ever become, and remained, friends.
Right at the moment, that friendship seemed to be on the line, she noted.
Angie's dark eyes were hot, and her long scarlet fingernails were tapping on her
bag in time with her foot.
"Stand just like that." Clare bounded across the room to search through the
confusion on the sofa for a sketchpad. She tossed aside a sweatshirt, a silk
blouse, unopened mail, an empty bag of Fritos, a couple of paperback novels, and
a plastic water pistol.
"Damn it, ClareЧ"
"No, donТt move." Pad in hand, she heaved a cushion aside and found a chalk
pencil. "YouТre beautiful when youТre angry." Clare grinned.
"Bitch," Angie said and struggled with a laugh.
"ThatТs it, thatТs it." ClareТs pencil flew across the pad. "Christ, what
cheekbones! Who would have thought if you mixed Cherokee, African, and French,
youТd get such bone structure? Snarl a little bit, would you?"
"Put that stupid thing down. YouТre not going to flatter your way out of this. I
sat in RTR for an hour drinking Perrier and gnawing on the tablecloth."
"Sorry. I forgot."
"What else is new?"
Clare set the sketch aside, knowing Angie would look at it the minute her back
was turned. "Want some lunch?"
"I had a hot dog in the cab."
"Then IТll grab something, and you can tell me what we were supposed to talk
about."
"The show, you imbecile!" Angie eyed the sketch and smothered a smile. Clare had
drawn her with flames shooting out of her ears. Refusing to be amused, she
glanced around for a clear spot to sit and finally settled on the arm of the
sofa. God knew what else lurked under the cushions. "Are you ever going to hire
somebody to shovel this place out?"
"No, I like it this way." Clare stepped into the kitchen, which was little more
than an alcove in the corner of the studio. "It helps me create."
"You can pull that artistic temperament crap on someone else, Clare. I happen to
know youТre just a lazy slob."
"When youТre right, youТre right." She came out again with a pint of Dutch
chocolate ice cream and a tablespoon. "Want some?"
"No." It was a constant irritation to Angie that Clare could binge on junk food
whenever the whim struck, which was often, and never add flesh to her willowy
figure.
At five-ten, Clare wasnТt the stick figure she had been during her childhood,
but still slender enough that she didnТt check the scale each morning as Angie
did. Angie watched her now as Clare, wearing her leather apron over bib
overalls, shoveled in calories. In all likelihood, Angie mused, she wore nothing
under the denim but skin.
Clare wore no makeup, either. Pale gold freckles were dusted across her skin.
Her eyes, a slightly darker shade of amber-gold, were huge in her triangular
face with its soft, generous mouth and small, undistinguished nose. Despite
ClareТs unruly crop of fiery hair, just long enough to form a stubby ponytail