"Esther M. Friesner - How to Make Unicorn Pie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

two-way traffic problem.



That is, it did unless you happened to be heading up the road at the same time

that Greta Marie Bowman was headed down it. She drove an old Rambler the color

of mud with a crumpled fender and enough dings in the sides to make it look like

the only car on the road suffering from cellulite. Wonderful to relate, she

could actually get that bundle of battered tin up to considerable speeds, even

over the humps and hollows of the Old Toll Road.
Wonderful to relate if you're safely out of the way, terrifying to tell if

you're driving the car that's right in her path. Like a deer caught in the

headlights, I spied the glitter of Greta Marie's Coke-bottle glasses and I

froze. My hands spasmed tight to the steering wheel, my foot refused to move

from the accelerator, and the only thing I could think was: Dear Lord, if I die,

what the hell body part will Rachel pierce to commemorate the funeral?



I felt like a complete idiot when Greta Marie brought her vehicle to a ladylike

stop with room to spare and nary the smallest squeal of brakes to be heard. She

peered over the steering wheel like a marmot testing the first sniff of spring

air, then dropped from sight behind the dashboard. One hefty car door swung wide

and she was walking toward me, all smiles. I lowered the window to greet her and

was nearly bowled into the next county by her preferred scent, Eau de Mothballs,

but in the name of preserving the honor of all Transients, I managed to dig up a

smile of my own and paste it to my face.



"You're that writer-person?' was how Greta Marie Bowman chose to say hello.