[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
He almost went on faking sleep.
Instead, he reached suddenly, grabbed a handful of her abundant, silk-thin tresses and
said, Hey!
What happened was surprising. The girl whirled about She d shed her easily removed
two-piece costume somewhere in her antic and naked, with a great smile breaking like
sunshine, she said, Ah! Monsieur! Bon jour! Je vous baisseriez encore, oui? Je l adore.
Magnifique!
Now, he said, his voice deep and amused as he moved swiftly out of instant reach,
why in hell did I think of French maid before I even saw anything but that lovely hair and
your back elevation?
She rocked back on folded legs and for a moment her face was disconcerted, dashed,
but only for a moment. Aha! I am French! Rather, my mother and father. Who were visiting
Los Angeles a long while ago. And so, saved. I am Lysette.
The cutest damn Lysette who ever woke me up that way, at least as far as I recall!
She laughed. Then, for another brief space, she gazed at his body, specifically, and
said, at the end, Non?
Glenn had remembered his surroundings in time. He waved an arm about in a circle.
Too much audience!
She shrugged and that was gallic, too. Me? I do not mind? You? How silly! In
another minute or two
Yes, he said, wryly. Look, Lysette. Is the coffee here? The toast? Juice? Or did
you come in alone, first?
That brought silver mirth. In the living room. She tossed a light robe at him and he
donned it while she dressed in the same time. Glenn had already noted how quickly the
current dress-style came off, and went back on. She moved toward the door. Is there
anything else?
He gave a negative head-motion. The door was opened. You do not like French
girls? Or young ones? Or, maybe, brunettes?
What a dreadful thought!
I can be rung for, anytime. La-la voir! The bell-jingle laughter went away on the
silent hall carpeting.
Glenn consumed his modest breakfast, his routine one, thoughtfully. Then he dressed,
choosing from the rather elaborate wardrobe a suit with the most sombre and dark hue and
the minimal area of transparency. In an hour, he was to start a tour of the city. That would be
his routine for some days.
He looked forward to it with interest.
To pass time, he examined the titles of the books that covered a whole wall. Pretty
complete selection, he thought, for the time Leandra had. If he read them all, he d know as
much about modern, underground L.A. and how it came into being, as anybody was allowed
to know, he thought. There was, on another wall, a map of the city, dated 2015. He studied it
with attention that soon wandered in a way it would, at odd times, and would for a long
time, he imagined.
The map blurred and he looked into space. In his mind, he was back in 1971 and in
his own Howard Building, that giant and modernistic skyscraper in downtown L.A. He saw
people and among them, of course, Linda, his super-bright secretary. He had planned things
to do for this day and then with a shock he came back to reality. He sat down, wondering
about them all: friends, relations, men he admired and trusted, important men, men and
women he employed, the best, and paid to be, editors, writers, every sort of radio and
television professional and technician, pilots for his own and company planes the faces
were numberless and for each, the same sad thought came.
When and how, where and in what way did it end for Max, Bill, Sam, Stan, Maxie,
Hank, Lana, Ethel, Lillian, Sue, Tony, another Sam, and on, and on. One unanswerable
question for all one, for most if not all with some unknowable but horrifying answer.
His door chimes sounded. He abandoned that miserable reverie and crossed the room.
His eyes sparkled with expectation Leandra but when he swung the door wide and he
began his planned embrace, his intended sign of capitulation, it was another girl, woman.
Tall, as was Leandra, five eight, about, with blonde hair, too, but blue eyes and much
more emphatic contours. Scandinavian, he thought. And very beautiful, classically so. Perfect
features, wonderfully deep blue near-violet eyes and a voice that was the young, fresh, true
sound that Eula Baker had, in some imitated, exaggerated, or artificial and specifically meant
form. Good morning, Mr. Howard. I m your guide for the day. My name s Donna Bronson.
She had seen his commencement of a hug and how it had been checked and it made her
smile, directly and sympathetically? Seemed so to him anyhow, a smile with some
understanding that what he d commenced was intended for Leandra. She must know that,
but not mind.
Come in, then, and hello!
She came in with grace. Ballet? Not that sort. She moved with natural ease, with the
sure use of strength under that perfect skin, under the tissues that curved it, and covered the
muscles her motions guaranteed invisible sinews, as in many women, the sound ones with
that lush yet not plump, not quite soft type. Her hair was all one sort of blond, though like
grain, like some tinted wood-heart, apple or maybe pear. Not white, not tow-colored, but
evenly pale and lively. He always noticed a woman s hair if he had noticed the woman at all;
eyes, then hair. Hers wasn t coarse but not fine-spun, either. It looked heavy around her
shoulders, as if lifting it would give a sense of weight.
He realized that he was staring at her, rather looking at her like some sort of inspector.
He should have felt embarrassed but she did not allow that. She just let him eye her, not
smiling, not anything though maybe she did faintly show she enjoyed what in any normal
case was rudeness.
If I were very young, and ill-mannered, I d whistle, he finally said.
Whistle?
Unmannerly young men in my day and grown ones, too, for that matter when
they saw an extraordinarily attractive damsel, would whistle.
Oh? How? Show me? It was very calm, very interested.
He gave a wolf whistle. She chuckled, pleasurably but with restraint. How funny!
He whistled again. How appropriate! Will you sit? Coffee?
Thank you.
She sat. He summoned more coffee. If they should hurry she d have told him. There
was that about this woman for she was in her late twenties. She was candid and you knew
it. She didn t kid, hide anything, dodge, cheat or, on the other hand, she wasn t utterly serious
or solemn, either. She knew and enjoyed herself quietly.
Seated, she looked at him almost as lengthily and nearly as closely as he d done.
You are a very attractive man, she said. Somebody had told her that and Glenn didn t deny
it to do so would have been idiotic. But he wasn t vain about his rugged and yet sensitive
face, his fine eyes, high forehead, mobile countenance, deep voice, tallness, strength, any of
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]