"Madeleine E Robins - Abelard's Kiss" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robins Madeleine E)

I don't let it rule my life, Beatrice --"

"What else rules your life, then? You haven't had a love; since whatsisname
walked out --"

"Greg," Susannah whispered.

Beatrice made no sign of hearing. "You won't enjoy yourself, you act like you
haven't earned the fight. That's the difference between us: you think you
haven't earned anything. I know I've earned everything I can lay my hands on. We
survived, Susah. We're alive. We don't owe anyone anything. I don't, anyway."
Beatrice raked her hair back from her broad forehead with one hand and looked up
at the ceiling. "Why do I bother? Come on, love. Let's go meet Abelard."

They went down a string of corridors, stopping just as Susannah began to get
seriously lost. The room Beatrice led Sue into was almost empty, uncarpeted,
dimly lit, painted a shining white. The floor was a parquet pattern, doubtless
of real wood. There was a clean soft smell to the air, like talc or running
water; two lush throw rugs and a futon in the comer, a fern hanging in a ceramic
pot. Nothing stirred.

Beatrice crossed the room. "Shut the door behind you, Susah." Then she went
through a door at the far side of the room. Susannah had a moment to look around
curiously, breathe the sweet air, wait for revelation.

"Come on, precious. Come on, sweetie-pie." Beatrice stood in the doorway a
moment to assure herself of Susannah's attention before she reentered the room.
Something moist and gibbous squirmed uneasily into the room behind her, moving
by throwing its weight forward, falling and rolling over until it "stood" again.
It was ovoid, dull red, strangely plastic, with a faint sheen that gave no
impression of sliminess. Ugh, Susannah thought, but was unable to take her eyes
away as the thing rolled after Beatrice like a puppy after its master,
struggling with that sidling somersault to keep up with Beatrice's elegant long
stride.

"Abelard." Beatrice stopped in the center of the room, one palm extended to
present the thing to Susannah. With the other hand she reached caressingly down
to it and it responded, stretching upward in an effort to reach her circling
finger. At last they touched, and the thing grew round her finger, nursed it.
For the first time in all the years she had known Beatrice, Susannah saw her
entirely captivated, not thin king of the next moment or the next, caught
entirely in the present, all attention focused in that one finger.

The mood was contagious. Susannah's faint revulsion at her first sight of the
thing dissipated. She felt a warmth and sweet laziness born of the fragrant
humidity of the room and the unsettlingly erotic sight of the creature suckling
Beatrice's manicured finger. She sighed quietly in the stillness.

"Do you want to touch him?" Beatrice's voice sounded abnormally loud.