"Tina Wainscott - Dreams of You [rtf]" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wainscott Tina)

"Perhaps, but doubtful. Adrian isn't exactly a common name."
Nikki sighed, leaning on the counter. "I know. But how could the man who came in here have connected me with those photographs? It's impossible!"
"I don't know, Nicolina. I don't know. Please be very careful. Stay away from this man. Isn't it strange that a man comes in asking about a woman who looks just like you, buys your photographs, and then soon after another man with similar features and the same first name shows up on the streets?"
"Maybe." She took a deep breath, feeling a tremor inside. "Don't worry. He may be handsome, but I'm not in love with him or anything like that."
"Then stop smiling every time you speak about him."
"I'm only smiling because I'm glad you worry about me. At least someone does." She squeezed his hands, knowing she was lying. "I don't plan to see him again, okay? I'm going to avoid that area for the next day or so, and he'll probably be gone when I return."
"Check in with me next week, just so I know you're still alive. I worry about you out there by yourself. I wish you'd just move into my apartment and hide out there."
"I'm not by myself. Right now I have a puppy, though he's hardly a threat when all he wants to do is lick my face and cuddle in my lap." She already knew it was going to be hard to put him back on the streets again when his leg healed. "And I can't move in with you. I refuse to disrupt your life like that. We've already talked about it."
"I know, I know. Be careful, Nicolina." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Don't let him into your heart."
"What the hell are you doing down there? We've got enough muff up here in New York City to last you a lifetime. You don't need to go down South for it."
Adrian held the phone away from his ear for a second, picturing the short, balding man with the horn-rimmed glasses he considered a fashion statement. "Stan," Adrian tried to cut into the Stanley Fiske tirade. He was the manager of Dreams in Color, the ad agency Adrian did most of his work through. УI am not chasing muff. Geez, is that all you ever think about?"
"No, I also think a great deal about money. Making it, specifically. But we're not talking about what I'm thinking about, we're talking about what you're thinking about. What are you thinking about? Why aren't you in New York City making thousands of dollars a week for us?"
"Aren't I entitled to take a vacation?"
"Sure you are," he said sweetly. "When you give me a week's notice!" His voice bellowed. "I've been calling your place for the last two days every ten minutes, and you just now decide to call and let me know you're in the middle of some cockeyed vacation? It's crazy!"
"This is why I'm self-employed, Stan. So I don't have to answer to anybody."
"You're self-employed so you can make a fortune and become the best damn photographer in the business. That means being available, and giving people notice when you decide it's time for a break."
Adrian laughed, refusing to let the little son of a bitch get to him. "Have you been drinking darkroom chemicals again, Stan? Geez, you're uptight."
"I'll have you know I haven't touched a drink for five days. That's a record, but if you keep this up, I'll have to make myself a martini within ten minutes. You want to ruin my wagon record?"
"Don't give me that-what's going on?"
"All right," Stan said, taking a calming breath. "Calvin Klein wants you to do the next layout for their briefs. They're talking to Tom Cruise and Paulina. How often do you have a chance to get a megastar like Cruise to pose in his briefs, and you get to be a part of it. They want you to be a part of it. Be back in the City tomorrow morning. They want to meet with you and brainstorm some ideas. Get this: They want something bold this time."
Adrian sipped a glass of wine, enjoying the feel of his silk shirt and the heavy fragrance of Obsession he'd overdosed on after scrubbing away all the sadness and hopelessness that had touched him that day. He glanced at the old clothes he'd discarded the minute he'd stepped into the house, still lying in a heap on the tile by the front door. But to return to the high life wasn't tempting enough to leave Nikki without at least trying to help her.
"Stanley, put them off for a week. They can wait. Or they can have someone else do the layout. I've got some emergency business to take care of."
Stanley put on the whiny voice he used when he really got desperate, like in those early days when it was tampons they wanted photographed, not pretty women. "Adrian, they want you. I told them they could have you, and tomorrow is the day they chose. How can I go back to them and say you changed your mind?"
"Temperamental artist?" he suggested, deciding not to point out that Stan had no business sealing deals without consulting him. "Tell them my wife left me and my dog died."
Stan laughed without humor. "Now you sound like a country music song. AdrianЕ"
"Stan, I'll be back next Wednesday night. First thing Thursday we'll do the brainstorming." That would give him a week to accomplish his goal. He didn't think he could handle much more than that.
Stan paused before speaking. УWhat time are you flying in?"
Adrian grabbed the note pad that actually had nothing written on it because he hadn't made a return flight. "Nine."
"Good. Be ready to meet with them at nine-thirty."
"Ten. I'll meet them at my studio." Adrian knew his quick agreement would irritate Stan. Stan liked to wrangle compromises.
"All right then. So, is everything all right?"
"Too late to ask now. I already know how much you care." Adrian leaned the note pad on his knee, jotting down the information.
Stan's tone lightened. "You know I do, Adrian. You got me worried, taking off like this. You just don't do this kind of thing. So really, is everything all right?"
"I told you, it's the wife and dog thing."
"You don't have a wife," Stan said, as if the statement would surprise Adrian.
"No, and I don't have a dog, either," he said, though he thought of Crackers. "Bye, Stan."
His next call was to Rita. When he'd left, it was with only a quick call to ask her to watch Oscar and a promise to take her out to dinner when he returned, which he'd left vague. Now that he had a deadline of sorts, he could firm things up with her.
Rita's answering machine kicked on, and Adrian felt a bit of relief at not having to answer any of her questions. Her breathy message came to an end, and he readied himself to leave instructions.
"Hi, it's Adrian. I'll be back in town-"
"Hi, darling!" her voice abruptly answered. "Did you say you were back in town?"
"No, I was about to say I'd be back in town next Wednesday night, about nine o'clock." He made a note to call his travel agent to see if there even was such a flight.
"A whole week from now?" she said, her voice taking on that whine he hated. She must have remembered that, because she changed tone. "Great! I'll pick you up at the airport and we'll have that dinner you promised me."
"Can't do it. Stan's set me up for a meeting right after I get in, and I'm not exactly sure when that is yet. I'll just get a limo."
That disappointed pause. "Okay. How about dinner the following night?"
"Fine. Listen, thanks again for taking care of Oscar. Sure you don't want a cat?"
She laughed. "Oh, no, you don't! He's my best reason for seeing you these days." Her tone became serious again. "Adrian, what are you doing?"
"Taking care of business," he said, refusing to lie to her. Equally refusing to answer her.
"Are you staying at a hotel where I can reach you?"
"No, I had to rent this house for the whole month when I came down for the shoot, so I'm using the rest of the time."
"Adrian, did you meet someone while you were down there? I know I have no rights to you, but I'd like to know."