"Linda Evans - Time Scout 3 - Ripping Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

eyes perplexed. The holographic video simulation they’d been running, the one
they’d been thrown into fits of giggles over, trying to get ready for their
grand adventure, time touring in London, flickered silently behind Jenna’s
roommate, forgotten as thoroughly as last summer’s fun and games. Carl
blinked, owl-like, through his glasses. “Nikki? What’s wrong?” He always
called her by her middle name, rather than her more famous given name-an
endearing habit that had drawn her to him from the very beginning. He brushed
Jenna’s hair back from her brow. “Hey, what is it? You look like you just
heard from a ghost.”
She managed a smile. “Worse. Aunt Cassie’s in town.”
“Oh, dear God!” Carl’s expressive eyes literally radiated sympathy, which
was another reason Jenna had moved in with him. Sympathy was in short supply
when your father was the John Paul Caddrick, the Senator everybody loved to
hate.
 Jenna nodded. “Yeah. What’s worse, she wants me to meet her by six. At
Luigi’s, for God’s sake!”
Carl’s eyes widened. “Luigi’s? You’re kidding? That’s worse than bad.
Press’ll be crawling all over you. Remind me to thank the Lady of Heaven for
not giving me famous relatives.”
Jenna glared up at him. “Some help you are, lover! And just what am I
supposed to wear to Luigi’s? Do you see any six-thousand-dollar dresses in my
closet?” Jenna hadn’t put on much of anything but ratty jeans since hitting
college. “The last time I was seen in public with Aunt Cassie, she had on a
blouse that cost more than the rent on this apartment for a year! And I still
haven’t lived down the bad press from that horrible afternoon!” She hid her
face in her hands, still mortified by the memory of being immortalized on
every television set and magazine cover in the country after slipping headlong
into a mud puddle. “Cassie Tyrol and her niece, the mudlark . . .”
“Yep, that’s you, Jenna Nicole, the prettiest mudlark in Brooklyn.” Jenna
put out her tongue, but Carl’s infectious grin helped ease a little of the
panic tightening down. He tickled her chin. “Look, it’s nearly four, now. If
you’re gonna be in any shape to walk into Luigi’s by six, with a crowd of
reporters falling all over the two of you-” Jenna just groaned, at which Carl
had the impudence to laugh “-then you’d better jump, hon. In case you hadn’t
noticed, you look like shit.” Carl eyed her up and down, wrinkling his nose.
“That’s what happens when you stay out ’til four A.M., working on a script due
at six, then forget to go to bed when you get back from class.”
Jenna threw a rolled up sock at him. He ducked with the ease of a born
dancer and the forlorn sock sailed straight through a ghostly, three-
dimensional simulation of a young woman laced into proper attire for a lady of
style, prim and proper and all set to enjoy London’s Season. The Season of
1888. When Jenna’s sock “landed” in the holographic teacup, while the
holographic young lady continued smiling and sipping her now-contaminated tea,
Jenna’s roommate fell down on the floor, howling and pointing a waggling
finger at her. “Oh, Nikki, three-point shot!”
Jenna scowled down at the idiot, who lay rolling around holding his ribs and
sputtering with laughter. “Thanks, Carl. You’re all heart. Remind me to lose
your invitation to the graduation party. If I ever graduate. God, if Simkins
rejects this script, I’ll throw myself in the East River.”
Carl chuckled and rolled over, coming to his feet easily to switch off the