"Thompson, Jim - Nothing Man, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Jim)

I gave Mr. Lovelace a big smile, including her in the corner of it. I complimented him on his previous day's editorial and asked him if he hadn't been losing weight and admired the new necktie he was wearing.
"I wish I had your taste, sir," I said. "I guess it's something you have to be born with."
No, I'm not overdrawing it. It doubtless seems that I am, but I'm not. He couldn't be kidded. However good you said he was, it wasn't ever quite so good as he _thought_ he was.
I poured it on, and he stood beaming and rocking on the balls of his feet, nodding at the woman as if to say, "Now, here's a man who knows the score." Even when she burst out laughing, he didn't catch on.
He looked at her a little startled. Then the beam came back to his face and he chuckled. "Uh--just finished telling Mrs. Chasen a little story. Kind of a delayed punch, eh, Mrs. Chasen?"
She nodded, holding a handkerchief over her mouth. "I'm s-sorry, but--"
"Nothing to be sorry about. Often affect people that way. .. . Uh, by the way, Mrs. Chasen, this is the Mr. Brown I spoke to you about. Come along with us, eh, Brown?"
I followed them out into the reception room. "Mrs. Chasen," he explained, "is a very dear friend of ours-- uh--of Mrs. Lovelace and myself. Unfortunately--uh-- we did not expect Mrs. Chasen's visit and Mrs. Lovelace is out of town, and--uh--well, you know my situation, Brown."
"Tied up every second of the day," I said promptly. "Not a moment to call your own. Perhaps it's not my place to say it, Mrs. Chasen, but there isn't a busier man in Pacific City than Mr. Lovelace. The whole town leans on him. Because he is strong and wise, they--"
She started laughing again, staring at him with narrowed, unblinking eyes. And it was a nice laugh to hear, despite the undertone of contempt. And the way it made her tremble--what it trembled--was pleasant to watch.
Mr. Lovelace waited, smiling, of course, but with a nervous glance at the foyer clock. "So if you'll--uh--take over, Brown," he resumed. "You know. Show Mrs. Chasen our local points of interest, and--uh--play the host, eh?"
I knew what he meant. I knew exactly where Mrs. Chasen stood. She was an acquaintance of his and his wife's, a friend, perhaps, of a friend of theirs. And as such, she could not be given the fast brush-off. But she was certainly not their very dear friend. She wasn't because Mrs. Lovelace was _not_ out of town, and he, Mr. Lovelace, was about as busy as the zipper on an old maid's drawers.
The Grade-C Tour. That was what Mrs. Chasen was supposed to get. A drive around the city, a highball or two, a meal in a not-too-expensive place, and a firm shove onto her train.
"I understand, sir," I said. "I'll show Mrs. Chasen what we mean when we call this the Friendly City! Just leave everything to me, Mr. Lovelace, and don't worry about a thing. You have far too many cares as it is."
"Uh--ha, ha--excellent, Brown. Oh, don't bother to come back today. Make a holiday of it. You can make the time up some other day."
"Do you see?" I turned to Mrs. Chasen, spreading my hands. "Is it any wonder we all love Mr. Lovelace?"
"Let's go," she said. "I need some fresh air."
If she'd been balancing a glass of water on her head, she wouldn't have spilled a drop with the nod she gave him. She turned abruptly and stepped onto the elevator.
I studied her, as best I could, on the way down to the street. And I liked what I saw, but I couldn't say why I liked it.
She wasn't any youngster--around thirty-five, I'd say. Added up feature by feature, she was anything but pretty. Corn-colored, almost-coarse hair, pulled back from her head in a horse's tail; green eyes that were just a shade off center; mouth a little too big. Assessed individually, the parts were all wrong, but when you put them all together you had a knock-out. There was something inside of her, some quality of, well, fullness, of liveness, that reached out and took hold of you.
When she stepped from the elevator, I saw that she toedin a little, her ankles were over-thin, the calves of her legs larger than the norm. But it was all right on her. On her it looked good. She preceded me to the street, the outsize hips swinging on the too-slender waist--or was it the slenderness of the waist that made her hips seem outsize?
One thing was certain, there was nothing at all wrong with Mrs. Chasen's bank balance. Not, that is, unless she'd given Saks Fifth Avenue and I. Magnin a hell of a kidding.
We reached the sidewalk and I started to take her by the elbow. She turned and looked up into my face.
"Have you," she said, "been drinking, Mr. Brown?"
"Why," I said, drawing away a little, "what makes you think I--why do you ask that?"
I didn't know what to say. The question had caught me completely off guard, and I still couldn't make up my mind whether she was stupid or only appeared to be.
As I say, I never could make it up.
"It's pretty early in the day to be drinking," I hedged.
"Not for me," she said, "under the circumstances. I'm going to have a drink, Mr. Brown. Several drinks, in fact. And you can come along or not come along, just as you please. As far as I'm concerned, you and your dear Mr. Lovelace--"
"Tut," I said. "Tish and pish, Mrs. Chasen. You have just said a naughty word, and there is only one thing to be done. We shall have to wash out your mouth."
"What"--she laughed a little nervously--"what do you--?"
"Come, Mrs. Chasen," I said. "Come with me to the Press Club."
I made a Charles Boyer face, and she laughed again. Not nervously, now. Rather, I thought, hungrily.
"Well, come _on!_" she said.

3
She leaned back in the booth, her green eyes crinkled and shiny with laughter, her breasts under the sheer white blouse shivering and shaking. I'd used to visualize breasts like those, but I never thought I'd live to see any. I'd considered them--well, you know-- physically impractical. Something that looked very good in the blueprint stage, but impossible of achievement.
It just went to show--as Mr. Lovelace often remarked. Yes, sir, here was the proof; there was no problem too big for American genius and know-how.
". . . You crazy thing, Brownie! Do you always talk so crazy?"
"Only with people I love, Deborah. Only with you and Mr. Lovelace."
"You said it, Brownie! You said it that time!"
"So I did," I said, "and I shall take my punishment with my elbows firmly on the table. . . . Close-order drill?"
"With a barrage, Brownie! A big barrage!"
"Jake," I called, "advance with artillery."
Perhaps she hadn't been too tactful about it, but she'd had a right to be sore at Mr. Lovelace. Her late husband, late and elderly ("_but he was a fine man, Brownie; I liked him a lot_"), had been an oil man. The Lovelaces had often visited them at their place in Oklahoma. Then, six months ago, her husband had died, and she had found herself with a great deal of money and even more than she knew what to do with.. . . Money and time and a growing suspicion that she was not highly regarded in the circles she had formerly moved in. ("_And why not, Brownie? I was good to him. I waited on him hand and foot for ten years_. ")
She had fought back; she had delivered two snubs for every one she received. But you lose at that game, even when you win. There is no satisfaction in it. Finally, she had begun to travel--she was on her way to the Riviera now--and today she had stopped off here. And Lovelace, of course, had given her the firmest brush-off of all. ("_But I'm glad I stopped, Brownie. You know?_") She was lonely as hell, though not the kind to admit it. The chances were that she would always be lonely. Because that manner of hers--whatever its motivation--was not something that would ordinarily win friends and influence people.
I had a hunch that she had even got under the Lovelace hide.
I stole a glance at my wrist watch and looked back at her. Thus far, she was holding her drinks very well. But train time was four hours away--she was catching the four-fifteen into Los Angeles. So it seemed to me that some food was indicated.
I picked up a menu, turned it right side up, and started to pass it across the table.
"I'll," she said, "have the hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes and buttered asparagus."