JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 134 из 425”
One nice thing about being a best selling author—even one whose books only appear, as a general rule, on lists that go to fifteen—is that your agent almost always happensto be in. Another is if he’s vacationing on Nantucket, he’ll be in to you there. A third is that the time you spend on hold is usually quite short.
“Mike!” he cried. “How’s the lake? I thought about you all weekend!”
I3ah, I thought, and pigs will whistle.
“Things are fine in general but shitty in one particular, Harold. I need to talk to a lawyer. I thought first about calling Ward Hankins for a recommendation, but then I decided I wanted somebody a little more high-powered than Ward was likely to know. Someone with filed teeth and a taste for human flesh would be nice.”
This time Harold didn’t bother with the long-pause routine. “What’s up, Mike? Are you in trouble?”
Thump once r yes, twice jr no, I thought, and for one wild moment thought of actually doing just that. I remembered finishing Christy Brown’s memoir, Down All the Days, and wondering what it would be like to write an entire book with the pen grasped between the toes of your left foot. Now I wondered what it would be like to go through eternity with no way to communicate but rapping on the cellar wall. And even then only certain people would be able to hear and understand you… and only those certain people at certain times.
Jo, was it you? And if it was, why did you answer both ways?
“Mike? Are you there?”
“Yes. This isn’t really my trouble, Harold, so cool your jets. I do have a problem, though. Your main guy is Goldacre, right?”
“Right. I’ll call him right aw—”
“But he deals primarily with contracts law.” I was thinking out loud now, and when I paused, Harold didn’t fill it. Sometimes he’s an all-right guy. Most times, really. “Call him for me anyway, would you?
Tell him I need to talk to an attorney with a good working knowledge of child-custody law. Have him put me in touch with the best one who’s free to take a case immediately. One who can be in court with me Friday, if that’s necessary.”
“Is it paternity?” he asked, sounding both respectful and afraid. “No, custody.” I thought about telling him to get the whole story from the Lawyer to Be Named Later, but Harold deserved better… and would demand to hear my version sooner or later anyway, no matter what the lawyer told him. I gave him an account of my Fourth of July morning and its aftermath. I stuck with the Devores, mentioning nothing about voices, crying children, or thumps in the dark. Harold only interrupted once, and that was when he realized who the villain of the piece was.
One nice thing about being a best selling author—even one whose books only appear, as a general rule, on lists that go to fifteen—is that your agent almost always happensto be in. Another is if he’s vacationing on Nantucket, he’ll be in to you there. A third is that the time you spend on hold is usually quite short.
“Mike!” he cried. “How’s the lake? I thought about you all weekend!”
I3ah, I thought, and pigs will whistle.
“Things are fine in general but shitty in one particular, Harold. I need to talk to a lawyer. I thought first about calling Ward Hankins for a recommendation, but then I decided I wanted somebody a little more high-powered than Ward was likely to know. Someone with filed teeth and a taste for human flesh would be nice.”
This time Harold didn’t bother with the long-pause routine. “What’s up, Mike? Are you in trouble?”
Thump once r yes, twice jr no, I thought, and for one wild moment thought of actually doing just that. I remembered finishing Christy Brown’s memoir, Down All the Days, and wondering what it would be like to write an entire book with the pen grasped between the toes of your left foot. Now I wondered what it would be like to go through eternity with no way to communicate but rapping on the cellar wall. And even then only certain people would be able to hear and understand you… and only those certain people at certain times.
Jo, was it you? And if it was, why did you answer both ways?
“Mike? Are you there?”
“Yes. This isn’t really my trouble, Harold, so cool your jets. I do have a problem, though. Your main guy is Goldacre, right?”
“Right. I’ll call him right aw—”
“But he deals primarily with contracts law.” I was thinking out loud now, and when I paused, Harold didn’t fill it. Sometimes he’s an all-right guy. Most times, really. “Call him for me anyway, would you?
Tell him I need to talk to an attorney with a good working knowledge of child-custody law. Have him put me in touch with the best one who’s free to take a case immediately. One who can be in court with me Friday, if that’s necessary.”
“Is it paternity?” he asked, sounding both respectful and afraid. “No, custody.” I thought about telling him to get the whole story from the Lawyer to Be Named Later, but Harold deserved better… and would demand to hear my version sooner or later anyway, no matter what the lawyer told him. I gave him an account of my Fourth of July morning and its aftermath. I stuck with the Devores, mentioning nothing about voices, crying children, or thumps in the dark. Harold only interrupted once, and that was when he realized who the villain of the piece was.