JК
The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 146 из 213Computer paper, ink pens medium point, one prostitute, manila file folders. See, it fit right in.
Bert was going to love this one.
25
We took Wanda back to my apartment. There are no elevators in my building. Two flights of stairs are not exactly wheelchair accessible. Jean-Claude carried her. His stride was even and fluid as he walked ahead of me. Wanda didn't even slow him down. I followed with the wheelchair. It did slow me down.
The only consolation I had was I got to watch Jean-Claude climb the stairs. So sue me. He had a very nice backside for a vampire.
He was waiting for me in the upper hallway, standing with Wanda cuddled in his arms. They both looked at me with a pleasant sort of blankness.
I wheeled the collapsed wheelchair over the carpeting. Jean-Claude followed me. The crinoline in Wanda's skirts crinkled and whispered as he moved.
I leaned the wheelchair against my leg and unlocked the door. I pushed the door all the way back to the wall to give Jean-Claude room. The wheelchair folded inwards like a cloth baby stroller. I struggled to make the metal bars catch, so the chair would be solid again. As I suspected, it was easier to break it than to fix it.
I glanced up from my struggles and found Jean-Claude still standing outside my door. Wanda was staring at him, frowning.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I have never been to your apartment."
"So?"
"The great vampire expert … come, Anita."
Oh. "You have my permission to enter my home."
He gave a sort of bow from the neck. "I am honored," he said.
The wheelchair snapped into shape again. Jean-Claude set Wanda in her chair. I closed the door. Wanda smoothed her long skirts over her legs.
Jean-Claude stood in the middle of my living room and gazed about. He gazed at the penguin calendar on the wall by the kitchenette. He rifled the pages to see future months, gazing at pictures of chunky flightless birds until he'd seen every picture.
I wanted to tell him to stop, but it was harmless. I didn't write appointments on the calendar. Why did it bother me that he was so damned interested in it?
I turned back to the prostitute in my living room. The night was entirely too weird. "Would you like something to drink?" I asked. When in doubt, be polite.
"Red wine if you have it," Wanda said.
"Sorry, nothing alcoholic in the house. Coffee, soft drinks with real sugar in them, and water, that's about it."
"Soft drink," she said.
I got her a can of Coke out of the fridge. "You want a glass?"
She shook her head.
Bert was going to love this one.
25
We took Wanda back to my apartment. There are no elevators in my building. Two flights of stairs are not exactly wheelchair accessible. Jean-Claude carried her. His stride was even and fluid as he walked ahead of me. Wanda didn't even slow him down. I followed with the wheelchair. It did slow me down.
The only consolation I had was I got to watch Jean-Claude climb the stairs. So sue me. He had a very nice backside for a vampire.
He was waiting for me in the upper hallway, standing with Wanda cuddled in his arms. They both looked at me with a pleasant sort of blankness.
I wheeled the collapsed wheelchair over the carpeting. Jean-Claude followed me. The crinoline in Wanda's skirts crinkled and whispered as he moved.
I leaned the wheelchair against my leg and unlocked the door. I pushed the door all the way back to the wall to give Jean-Claude room. The wheelchair folded inwards like a cloth baby stroller. I struggled to make the metal bars catch, so the chair would be solid again. As I suspected, it was easier to break it than to fix it.
I glanced up from my struggles and found Jean-Claude still standing outside my door. Wanda was staring at him, frowning.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I have never been to your apartment."
"So?"
"The great vampire expert … come, Anita."
Oh. "You have my permission to enter my home."
He gave a sort of bow from the neck. "I am honored," he said.
The wheelchair snapped into shape again. Jean-Claude set Wanda in her chair. I closed the door. Wanda smoothed her long skirts over her legs.
Jean-Claude stood in the middle of my living room and gazed about. He gazed at the penguin calendar on the wall by the kitchenette. He rifled the pages to see future months, gazing at pictures of chunky flightless birds until he'd seen every picture.
I wanted to tell him to stop, but it was harmless. I didn't write appointments on the calendar. Why did it bother me that he was so damned interested in it?
I turned back to the prostitute in my living room. The night was entirely too weird. "Would you like something to drink?" I asked. When in doubt, be polite.
"Red wine if you have it," Wanda said.
"Sorry, nothing alcoholic in the house. Coffee, soft drinks with real sugar in them, and water, that's about it."
"Soft drink," she said.
I got her a can of Coke out of the fridge. "You want a glass?"
She shook her head.