"Bradley-WeLoveLydiaLove" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradley Denton)

the highway points a camcorder at me. He's probably only a tabloid 'razzi, but I
wait until the driveway's automatic gate closes behind me before I turn toward
Kerrville. After all, Lydia Love has more than her share of obsessive fans. That
hasn't changed even though she hasn't recorded and has hardly performed in the
three years since Christopher Jennings came into her life. But I guess her fans
know as well as I do that the phoenix will rise again.

And it will rise thanks to me. To Willie.

You are Christopher.

Thanks to both of us, then.

The pickup doesn't have air-conditioning, which says something about
Christopher's economic situation before he met Lydia. I roll down both windows
and let the hot breeze blast me as I follow the twisting highway eastward
alongside the Guadalupe River. Kerrville, a small town with a big reputation, is
just a few miles away.

Its big reputation is the result of its annual folk-music festival, but I
stopped going to the festival two years ago. It seemed as if almost everyone was
using amplifiers and distortion, trying to be Lydia Love. She's my favorite
singer too, but some of these kids can't get it through their heads that if
Lydia didn't make it big by trying to look and sound like someone else, they
shouldn't try to look and sound like someone else either.

Like I've got room to talk. It's only now that I do look and sound like someone
else that I have a shot at a future in the music business.

The supermarket's the first thing on my left as I come into town. After parking
the track, I find a pay phone on the store's outside wall, run the cash card
through it, and punch up Danny Daniels' number in Dallas. Daniels is an L.A.
boy, but he says he'll be working at CCA-Dallas until he can get a new Lydia
Love album in the can. If he wants to stay close to her, he'd do better to
relocate to CCA-Austin -- but when I pointed that out, he gave a theatrical
shudder and said, "Hippies." I guess Dallas is closer to being his kind of
scene.

He comes on the line before it rings. "Yo, Christopher," he says. "Except for
that minor bout of impotence this morning, you're doing peachy-keen. Keep it up.
And I mean that."

Unlike the original Christopher, I know that I'm being observed while I'm with
Lydia. But there ought to be limits.

"You don't have to watch us screw," I say. "Sex is just sex. It's the other
stuff that'll break us up."

"But sex is part of 'the other stuff,' Chris," Daniels says. "So just pretend
you're alone with her. Besides, if everything continues going peachy-keen, I'm