"Don Webb - The Shiny Surface" - читать интересную книгу автора (Webb Don)

Janet drank about half the bottle. I asked her for the other half and
she said yes.

I had other duties, but arriving in my office eventually I wet a chamois
with the Canadian water and polished the mirrorтАЩs bright surface. Janet
came in with the mail.

She bent down to hand it to me and when the depths of the mirror
shouldтАЩve reflected her features - I saw instead my own. The image lasted
only for an instant. She smiled and walked out.

Janet?

I could almost cry. I liked her so well as a friend, but she could no
more take MonicaтАЩs place than fly. I couldnтАЩt just play like I loved her back,
but I knew things would be creepy for me from now on. I would re-weigh my
every word. Am I giving her false hope or being too cruel? All the ease of
five years working together was gone.

Assuming - of course - that the mirror worked. That there wasnтАЩt some
strange ego projection or hallucination involved.

And yet I had something that was actually magical, actually fairy tale.
It was mine and it worked. I was in contact with and part of the mythic. I
knew a secret, a real secret, about the way the world worked.

I would have to test it. I couldnтАЩt stand not knowing. HalтАЩs party was in
three days.

****

I didnтАЩt own any singles. When IтАЩd bought my shop, IтАЩd sold off all my
treasures. The past had always been a thing for sale to me. IтАЩd majored in
classics - get this one - because my high school Latin teacher gave me a
brochure from the Junior Classical League that said that businessmen dig
classics majors. They respect the learning and dedication - and after all
they have to train you to do things their way anyway. Predictably I minored in
history. Neither of these impressed anyone, but I worked for a museum for
a while -unpacking things, moving them around - and I saw that the past
sells.

When I needed money for my business, I sold everything. My comic
books, my records, my grandmotherтАЩs china. Monica had a couple of 45s
and some period clothing which had hidden itself from my selling mania
deep within the garage.

But I needed some records. I went to the Half-Price Books store. Hal
had been right - not only were 45s gone, they were disappearing even from
used record stores. Half-Price had a bigger section of CDs - used CDs -
than 45s. The singles that were around disgusted me. Seventies light rock