"Jack Womack - Ambient 06 - Going, Going, Gone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Womack Jack)

weaselly Lou glowered like a nine-year-old looking to get
spanked. Blondie sat off in the corner slapping her tambourine
and making with the teutonics. I was just starting to settle in for
a long decadent night when I heard Trish shouting at Borden.
┬╗New girls in town, must be.┬л
┬╗Tres wild,┬л Borden shouted back. ┬╗Canadian?┬л
┬╗Hardly,┬л Candy said; even though she tried to whisper, her
voice always carried. I turned in what had become an unexpect-
edly popular direction. That was it, listeners. I saw them, and I
was sunk.
┬╗Check the ensembles,┬л Trish told Candy. ┬╗These girls can
shop.┬л
The little one тАУ five four, near as I could tell тАУ was severely
mod, and radiated cuteness. Hair Sassooned, eyes raccooned.
The white go-gos were strictly 1967 but I wasnтАЩt going to argue
with the Nancy Sinatra look. Her mini kept riding up over the
shoreline but that gave her something to do with her hands.
Most inviting indeed, but that night it was hard not to savour
the lure of the economy size. At first I thought Little ModтАЩs gal
Friday was tall as Sterling, maybe six four. Then I realized she
was taller.
┬╗WhatтАЩs that on her hip?┬л Borden asked.
┬╗Looks like a whip,┬л Trish said. ┬╗GerardтАЩs understudy?┬л
┬╗Nobody told me,┬л Candy said.
Big GirlтАЩs queenly strut distracted the audience and even the
band, but they kept playing. As she and Little Mod crossed stage
front Lou swallowed his lines but recovered nicely and nobody
really noticed. For the first time in her life Nico demonstrated a
facial expression. I guided my mouth towards charming Miss
DarlingтАЩs ear. ┬╗Candy, my brother sister. Is that a him?┬л
She shouted into my own receiver. ┬╗Goodness, no. SheтАЩs
real.┬л
┬╗Seriously?┬л
┬╗The hands,┬л she said, glancing at her own, frowning.
┬╗Muchas thankas, my angel.┬л
Where she wasnтАЩt black, Big Girl was blonde. She drew her
crowning glory up in thick golden ropes tied in a topknot. Over
her birthday buxotica she wore beatgirl tights, though hers
covered arms as well as legs. She hid her hands in fingerless
gloves and her stems in boots of shiny shiny leather. No ques-
tion she was blessed in the torso department. The plastic shell
sheтАЩd squeezed herself into clung to her soft centre like frozen
chocolate. Knobs big as desk erasers tipped her rocket launch-
ers. Sunnyside up, she was unsinkable, and miraculous to
behold, but I favour mine over easy. When Little Mod aimed for
the stairs, Big Girl followed and I caught the full rear view in
Cinerama. You could stack a weekтАЩs dishes on that shelf.
┬╗My brothers. My sisters,┬л I mumbled, feeling that the win-
dow for action was a narrow one indeed. ┬╗The pink rayтАЩs nailed
me. Please excuse.┬л