"Destroyer 025 - Sweet Dreams.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

"You'll tell me outright," she said.
"That's sort of hard. It's complicated."
"If you're calling me stupid, you'll never get your hands on one of these again," she said, poking a finger into the yellow bulge of her blouse, a purple lacquered fingernail that glistened.
"You're going to let me tonight then?" he asked.
"Not bare," said Janet.
"I wouldn't think of bare. But then again I did," he said and he explained.
The mind worked on signals, electric impulses. But they were different from the impulses of the television screen. The mind created images which a person saw in his imagination. Television created images taken from light waves or what was called reality. What his invention was able to do was to translate mental images into the electronic beams that ran television. Thus the tube was an ordinary television tube but instead of a station somewhere sending out signals, it was the mind that sent out signals, so you could watch what you were thinking.
He took her hand to the plastic enclosed cir-
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cuitry. He put her hand on the clear plastic case. It felt warm to Janet.
"This is what makes it work. This is the translator."
He took her hand and put it on the electrodes.
"These attach to your head. They pick up the signals. Thus we have the signals from the mind into these, running along this, into this, which makes them into television signals and into the picture itself On the set. Dum de dum dum dum."
"You're not allowed to show dirty pictures on television," said Janet Hawley.
"You don't understand. We're not beaming these things through airwaves. It only goes on the wires in this room."
"They're dirty pictures," said Janet and that night she did not allow him more than a kiss on the cheek. She was thinking. This was a somewhat difficult exercise for Janet because it was a relatively new experience, and it so preoccupied her that William Westhead Wooley did not get to touch her bosom, bare or covered.
Not that her bosom remained untouched for the rest of that night. When she returned home to her apartment, her bosom was pinched, tweaked, slapped, and bitten by one Donald (Hooks) Basumo as her punishment for "wasting the night with that faggy teacher when I been here waiting for you. Whatta you two doing anyway?"
"I told you, dearest," Janet said, bending to pick up the five empty beer cans that littered the living-room floor. "I stay close to him because I think someday he may have some money."
"Yeah? How close are you staying is what I want to know?"
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"Darling." Janet Hawley smiled. "Nothing. He never even touches me. He never even tries."
"He better not and you better not let 'im. I don't like my broads being handled by other people," explained Donald (Hooks) Basumo, displaying a morality based upon the fact that of twenty-seven arrests upon his record, a full one-third of them had failed to result in convictions.
Hooks emphasized this with a stinging right hand slap across Janet's bare breasts, then he sat back in a living-room chair and watched her clean the mess he had made in her apartment. When she finished sponging up the last of the spilled onion dip, Hooks pulled her into the bedroom and threw her onto the unmade bed where he raped her, Basumo's sexual technique bearing the same relationship to making love that the Blitzkrieg did to backgammon.
Then, still fully clothed, Hooks rolled off Janet onto his side and began to snore, the peaceful purr of the pure at heart. Janet Hawley undressed herself and lay in bed thinking.
An hour later, she kissed Hooks on the neck. He growled but snored on. A half-hour later, she tried again and this time, the snoring stopped.
"Honey," she said. "I've been thinking."
Hooks blinked himself into the waking world.
"Whadja say?"
"I've been thinking, honey," said Janet.
"Get outta here," said Hooks and belted her in the ear.
She screamed. She yelled that it was her apartment. That she paid the rent. She bought the beer. He had no right to hit her.
So he hit her again and now he was fully
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awake. The screaming had done it. He told her he would listen to her if she brought him a beer.
She answered that she wouldn't bring him a beer if his face was on fire. He hit her in the other ear.
She brought him the beer and told him that all night she had been thinking about a marvelous device she had just seen. You could get thoughts on a television screen, see whatever you imagined. All you had to do was think something and you would see it acted out for you on TV.
"For this you woke me?" he said.
He didn't like the idea. Anything that required thought would not sell to the American public, he said. Things that sold to the American public were things you didn't have to think to use.
She said she had seen dirty pictures on the screen.
Hooks Basumo cocked his head.
"You say dirty?" he asked.
"Yeah. You can imagine yourself humping anybody."
"Yeah? Raquel Welch? Sophia Loren?"
"Yeah. Burt Reynolds. Robert Redford," she said.
"Yeah? Charo? Maude's daughter?"
"Yeah," she said. "Clint Eastwood. Paul Newman. Charles Bronson. Anybody."
He belted her again because she seemed able to think of more names than he could, but then he stayed awake the whole night, making Janet tell him all the details, making sure she didn't forget anything. What he heard was money, lots of money.
And when he described it to a local fence the
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next day, he said he knew where he could get his hands on a new kind of porno machine. Anything you imagined would appear on the screen.