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

paunch.

I set up a folding table in the comer. IтАЩd done Tarot readings as a
party trick a couple of years ago. It didnтАЩt exactly fit the theme, but people
always want a peek at the future. Even a fake peek. I spread red velvet over
the table, setting the mirror down where it would reflect my subject. If
anybody asked IтАЩd tell them it was my тАШfocusтАЩ. TheyтАЩd probably be too
blitzed to ask. I kept my chamois and water under the table. Dr Randolph
had been wise in his day to prescribe snow water. The owner couldтАЩve only
used it a few times a year. How many Christmas parties did it darken?

Liz walked to my table, handing me a joint. I took a long drag and
managed not to cough despite lack of practice. I handed her the cards to
shuffle, while I gazed into the mirror. I wasnтАЩt surprised it wasnтАЩt Hal, but the
young black stud who swept up the shop.

Just as I was predicting that money - possible a small legacy - was
coming her way (and her green eyes alive with the death of Aunty) Hal
walked up and put his hand on her shoulder.

Hal was next. I polished my relic. Somebody put on тАШStairway to
HeavenтАЩ. I laid down the Ten of Swords and saw MonicaтАЩs reflection where
his should be. Poor sap. Monica would never return his love. Should I pity
this friend from college days or should I arrange to keep him the hell away
from my wife? Card after meaningless card. Another joint went around.

I found out that Ernst loved Betty and Edward loved Ernst and Betty
loved herself. I found out that Cindy loved Robert and Robert loved Laura
and that Laura loved nobody at all - just black space - or maybe she loves
death. I found out Kitty loved John and John loved Kitty - which was the only
complete circle in the room.

And the Cobra-Marie played тАШLetтАЩs. Spend the Night TogetherтАЩ, тАШDOAтАЩ,
тАШStairway to HeavenтАЩ, тАШHouse of the Rising SunтАЩ, тАШRikki DonтАЩt Loose That
NumberтАЩ. And I was going back to the head I used to have, when I heard
those songs.

It wasnтАЩt a bad head. It was different from my current Faustian self. It
was a head that said I could slack off, and not work so damn hard all the
time. It was a head that said, тАШLet It BeтАЩ. Maybe I shouldnтАЩt be prying into
things. Maybe I should relax and not play with the mirror. That old lost
innocence seemed not so lost. I resolved to put the mirror away after this
party. Then IтАЩd buy an old record player from Hal and start collecting
singles.

But it didnтАЩt work out that way. Once Faust, always Faust.

Someone broke out his hash pipe and a chunk of Lebanese hash the
colour of burnt umber. And I thought about Lebanon and the Middle East
and the cradle of civilisation for a while. The Cobra-Matic played тАШI Am the