"Barker, Clive - The Great and Secret Show v1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barker Clive)

"Well, comedians aren't my strongest point. I majored in Sex Goddesses. But I looked him up when I heard the news. Married six times; once to a seventeen-year-old. That lasted forty-two days. His second wife died of an overdose..."
As Grillo had hoped, Tesla had chapter and verse on the Life and Sordid Times of Buddy Vance (nй, of all things, Valentino). The addictions to women, controlled substances and fame; the TV series; the films; the fall from grace.
"You can write about that with feeling, Grillo."
"Thanks for nothing."
"I only love you because I hurt you. Or do I mean the other way around?"
"Very funny. Speaking of which: was he?"
"Was he what?"
"Funny."
"Vance? I suppose, in his way. You never saw him?"
"I must have, I suppose. I don't remember the act."
"He had this rubber-face. You looked at him, you laughed. And this weird persona. Half idiot, half slimeball."
"So how come he was so successful with women?"
"The dirt?"
"Of course."
"The enormous appendage."
"Are you kidding me?"
"The biggest dick in television. I got that from an unimpeachable source."
"Who was that?"
"Please, Grillo," Tesla said, aghast. "Do I sound like a girl who'd gossip?"
Grillo laughed. "Thanks for the information. I owe you dinner."
"Sold. Tonight."
"I'll still be here, looks like."
"So I'll come find you."
"Maybe tomorrow, if I'm still here. I'll call you."
"If you don't, you're dead."
"I said I'll call; I'll call. Go back to Castaways in Space."
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And Grillo—"
"What?"
Before answering she put the phone down, winning for the third consecutive time the game of who hangs up first they'd been playing since Grillo, in a maudlin stupor one night, had confessed he'd hated goodbyes.

V
"MOMMA?"
She was sitting by the window as usual. "Pastor John didn't come last night, Jo-Beth. You did call him like you promised?" She read the look on her daughter's face. "You didn't," she said. "How could you forget a thing like that?"
"I'm sorry, Momma."
"You know how I rely upon him. I've got good reason, Jo-Beth. I know you don't think so, but I do."
"No. I believe you. I'll call him later. First...I have to speak to you."
"Shouldn't you be at the store?" Joyce said. "Did you come home sick? I heard Tommy-Ray..."
"Momma, listen to me. I have to ask you something very important."
Joyce looked troubled already. "I can't talk now," she said. "I want the Pastor."
"He'll come later. First: I have to know about a friend of yours."
Joyce said nothing, but her face was all frailty. Jo-Beth had seen her turn that expression on too often to be cowed by it.
"I met a man last night, Momma," she said, determined to be plain in her telling. "His name is Howard Katz. His mother was Trudi Katz."
Joyce's face lost its mask of delicacy. Beneath, was a look eerily like satisfaction. "Didn't I say?" she murmured to herself, turning her head back towards the window.
"Didn't you say what?"
"How could it be over? How could it ever be over?"
"Momma, explain."
"It wasn't an accident. We all knew it wasn't an accident. They had reasons."
"Who had reasons?"
"I need the Pastor."
"Momma: who had reasons?"