"Lisa Tuttle - Honey, I'm Home!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tuttle Lisa)

that hot for a very long time, and although her uncharacteristically meek
response to his typical mach-ismo worried her, she reminded herself how
simple it had been to get rid of him.

After work she went out for drinks and dinner with a friend, and she
deliberately did not turn on the television when she got home. She thought
about it, though; she thought a lot about Ricky. The memories were
especially poignant when she was alone in bed. It wasnтАЩt fair, dammit. Why
shouldnтАЩt she have a little fun? When it was as easy as turning a television
on or off - could it really be that easy? She got up and went to find out.

There was no sign of I Love Lucy or The Lucille Ball Show or any
American sitcoms from that era on any of the channels. She wondered if
that meant she would have to wait until the right programme was playing or
make a choice from what was available. One channel had a group of real
people sitting in a studio having a serious discussion about sex-aids.
Another was showing a French movie with English subtitles.

There was something with sinister music that looked like an American
made-for-TV movie, something that was either a soft-core film or an ad for
chocolates, Sell-a-Vision, boxing, talking cats, dancing cows, a very old
Western and champion-ship darts. She wondered if what was on the
screen was related to the men who turned up in her flat. She hoped not.
The French movie seemed her best bet for sex (the chocolate ad didnтАЩt
feature any men), but without the use of subtitles communication would
probably break down long before they got to bed.

Restless, horny and bored she prowled her flat, looking in the
refrigerator, picking up books and setting them down, deliberately ignoring
the TV.

тАШCome on, Ricky,тАЩ she muttered, praying that it would be enough to
want him to get him. She wondered why Ricky had turned up in the first
place. If desire - her desire - was involved it didnтАЩt make sense. She was
ready to believe that Ward Cleaver had been summoned by some deeply
buried but still potent wish for the loving husband, two kids and house in the
suburbs which had signified happiness in her childhood, but - Ricky
Ricardo? Come on! She had never found him sexy - she would not believe
she found him sexy now except for the memories of her body. But
sub-consciously, if Ward represented the safe, non-sexual side of
marriage, then Ricky, a musician and a foreigner with a mercurial temper,
might stand for the more exotic and sexual possibilities in a marriage.
WasnтАЩt it, after all, the lure of the artistic and exotic which had drawn her to
publishing, and to London? Maybe the start of her whole career could be
located in those childhood hours spent watching, through a haze of
boredom, I Love Lucy.

What else would she learn about her own desires? Who would be the
next character to appear - Fred Flintstone? The thought made her shudder,
and she cast about desperately for some other televisual memories. She