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

Rita chewed on a bagel, sitting at the slate gray counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area. She wrinkled up the note she'd been writing when he walked out of his studio.
"Hi, darling. Wasn't sure if I'd see you before I left."
"Aren't those bagels stale?" He wanted to avoid "morning after'' conversation. Sometimes that could be stale too.
"It's fine." She wrenched another bite free with her straight, white teeth. "You've been working since that nightmare?"
"Got a lot done. The shots for Guess came out great. Well, except for a few of the them."
He poured himself a cup of the almond coffee Rita had brewed. He didn't care for fancy coffees, but as long as it was fresh and potent, he could live with nuts in his java.
Rita smiled over her cup, letting her gaze linger on his bare chest. "You should do some modeling, Adrian. With those eyes, that mouthЕ you'd be a magazine ad god."
"Humph," he replied. "I have no desire to be on the other side of the camera, thank you."
With a loud meow, Oscar, his white cat, made a grand entrance. He walked over to the super-size cat food bowl and sniffed at its emptiness. Rita opened the cabinet door and filled the bowl.
"Do you think Giovanni will ever come back from Australia and get Oscar?" she asked, stroking his soft fur.
He smiled, remembering Giovanni's plea for Adrian to watch his cat while he "found himself" in the Outback. He found himself all right, along with a lucrative contract for National Geographic. Adrian didn't keep pets or plants, since he was gone a lot, but he'd agreed to his good friend's request. A year later, Oscar was still in residence, and Rita took care of him while Adrian was away.
"Probably not. The last letter I got from him detailed his new life with some Aborigine tribe, with a three-hundred-dollar check for Oscar's upkeep. And of course, lots of buttering up for not sticking him in the pound."
"Ah, you wouldn't do that, would you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Only if he does his business in my clean clothes again."
Rita laughed. "In protest for his owner leaving him, I'm sure. He's been good ever since, hasn't he?"
"He's been fine."
Oscar, as if sensing his existence being discussed, wandered over to Adrian and rubbed against his leg. Adrian leaned down and scratched his head.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you."
Rita leaned on her elbows, looking up at him under thick, dark lashes. "If I behave, will you keep me too?"
Adrian closed his eyes, too tired to deal with this again. He made it a point never to lead a woman on, just as he never lied to them. "RitaЕ"
"I know, I know. You're too busy to have a relationship. Adrian, I wonder if you're capable of loving someone, even if you did have time. Lucky Oscar here, the only reason he gets to stay is because he was foisted on you. Is that the only way to get to you?" She took a sip of her coffee, keeping her eyes on him. "What if I got pregnant?"
Adrian dropped his cup on the counter, splashing coffee on the gray-flecked surface. "Don't even think about it, Rita. The only way that's going to happen is if you poke a hole in my condoms. If I catch you anywhere near my drawer with a needle, we're over. Understand?"
She understood, all right. Her eyes narrowed, as catlike as Oscar's. With a lift of her chin, she said, "I wouldn't do that. But I could still get pregnant, you know? Those things aren't a hundred percent. Even with the foam."
"Then maybe we'd better stop fooling around, just to make sure."
Rita pushed her coffee cup away and gathered her overnight bag. "I'm out of here." At the door, she paused. "See you later?"
His fingers still tensed on the counter at her subtle threat. He lit a cigarette, taking his two drags before crushing it out. "Sometime." Then he walked into the bedroom to get dressed.
By the time Adrian returned to the darkroom, he'd forgotten about both Rita and the ragamuffin. He aimed the remote at the central music system, and piano sounds boomed throughout the apartment. The Bang and Olufsen stereo system wired into every room had sold Adrian on the place.
He sat at his white table, the contact sheets spread out before him. A yellow pencil marked the ones he would recommend to Guess. He picked up the last contact sheet and stared at the figure in the background. Holding it under the bright studio light, he automatically reached for the loupe. Something about the woman's posture sent a funny feeling curling through his insides. Even magnified, the woman still looked obscure.
Adrian decided to blow up that shot to see if he could make her out. Even with the negative in the enlarger and the head extended all the way to the top, he still couldn't get the magnification he was after, so he reached for the 130-millimeter lens. The negative's image projected onto the easel, and he shifted it to capture just the woman in the background. After testing, he set the exposure for ten seconds and dropped the print in the developer, watching the figure instantly appear as he pushed it around with the tongs. Magic. That was what photography was: magic.
Fingers of deja vu gripped his heart in a tight hold as he examined the print in its bath of fix. What he could see of her features beneath the scarf was delicate, her lips sensual and full. She seemed oblivious to all the activity further down the beach as she looked out at the ocean. His fingers trembled as he transferred the print to the wash, then held it beneath the blow dryer. He knew this woman with her arms crossed protectively in front of her, fingers up by her throat. She had haunted his life for three years. Madame Blue!
As he started from the table, he shook his head and calmed down. Lack of sleep was catching up to him. Looking at the print again, he reasoned that it couldn't be her. In his visions, Madame Blue lived in a mansion on the ocean, drove a Mercedes Benz, and was exquisite. This woman appeared to be homeless, with her shabby coat and faded scarf.
Adrian set the photograph on the corner of his table and looked through the other shots on the contact sheets. As if a ghost, the woman didn't appear anywhere else. It was crazy to even think she was Madame Blue.
Adrian sorted through the prints, focusing on his work and not on his notions. But his attention kept drifting to the woman. Something deep within him felt it was her. The feeling persisted throughout the morning and afternoon. Time and again he picked up the print and held it under the light. He brought it with him to the glass dining table while he ate his lunch of a stale bagel loaded with lox and cream cheese. His fingers held it when he walked to the window and looked at the cityscape.
Adrian remembered the flashed image of Madame Blue standing on a lawn of manicured grass, her blond hair flowing out behind her as she looked out to the ocean. She did that a lot, looked out at some body of water.
He wondered if some force larger than himself wouldn't let him dismiss that photograph. He glanced upward, then back at the print. Adrian was sure he'd seen her in this exact pose in that tunnel. While he'd always believed his visions to be real, he hadn't been able to prove it. This photograph certainly wasn't proof, not to anyone but him. But it explained his feeling of familiarity with Palm Beach, especially now as he remembered the palm trees and mansions facing the ocean.
What if it was her? The possibility sent pinpricks down his spine. What if that fiery event had somehow turned her life upside down and made her a ragamuffin? And worst of all, what if he airbrushed her and never found out?
He dropped down into one of the leather seats behind him, letting out the deep breath he'd been holding. The thought was incredibly exciting. But another more foreboding thought crept in. His Aunt Stella's prediction.
Stella was the only person he had ever confided his strange experience in. Those images haunted him afterwards, and the nightmares about drowning had gripped him in fear and panic every night for months.
His mother scoffed at her sister's psychic abilities, calling Stella a phony every time her name came up. Adrian wasn't inclined to believe in things paranormal, but he knew he'd go crazy if he didn't talk to someone.
"Do we have to do this here?" he'd asked, feeling uncomfortable in her shop with the red velvet drapes obliterating the light outside.
"Good a place as any. Stop being silly." She rubbed her hands with a lotion from a ruby red jar. "Something is troubling you."
"I was hit by lightning a few months ago. That's when it started."
She took his hand in hers, and he swore that it tingled. "Yes, I know. Your mother told me." Her fingers fluttered across his palm. Her eyes were closed, face relaxed. Suddenly her eyes opened again. "Did you die? I mean, did your heart stop beating for any length of time?''
"Yes. For a few minutes. Why?"
"Something very strange happened while you were dead."
He felt a tightness in his chest. "Yes," he whispered.
Stella's eyes closed again, and her hand tightened on his. "This is very strange. I've never felt anything like this before. I can feel your life force, very strong. But there is another force, fainter, inside yours. Your soul left your bodyЕ and connected with another soul. A woman."
Adrian hadn't realized his eyes had drifted shut until they snapped open. "Yes! Can you see her? Who is she?"
Stella raised her other hand, issuing a command of silence. Her eyes remained closed, but a muscle above her lip twitched. "She has golden blond hair, and is quite lovely. But there is much pain."
"From what?"