"Kathleen Ann Goonan - The Bride of Elvis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goose Mother)

omelet was plasticky but not bad, and the biscuits dripped with gravy full of cracklins. She shoved food in her mouth
just about as fast as she could get it on the fork, elbows wide on the formica table, not caring if he stared at her, and he
did.
"I never seen a lady eat so fast -- now wait, sorry, I just seem to say the wrong thing, but it's true."
He offered her one of his Marlboros as they talked over coffee.
"So what was that you were saying now?" he asked. "Elvis is gone? Something about you being a bride?"
"Yeah, well, a Bride is just a caretaker, that's what we call ourselves, see? The estate hired us to take care of the
shrine there, that's all. You know how many people come visit that?" Millions, and there was a damned good reason
too.
"Even my ma has been," he said.
"What's your name?"
"Elroy. Elroy Juster. I live over in Sudden. That's a little town not too far away." He rose up out of the booth a little
and reached over and lit her second cigarette.
His face was close to hers for a moment. She liked the way he smelled. His eyes were blue.
Intensely blue.
As she looked into them, she saw that he was very kind, with a degree of kindness she'd rarely sensed before. She
never had spent much time with humans. She'd better get used to them now.
"What do you do for a living, Mr. Juster?"
"Call me Roy," he said, and frowned a little, and she liked the fleeting crease between his eyes. Some of these
humans could be mighty attractive, and he was one of them for sure. Too bad, she thought, she'd left her purse
behind. She wondered how he looked naked, how that long, lean body would feel next to hers, what those nice, big
hands would do -- oh hell, Darlene. You know that's dumb. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Get some nose plugs
or something. You don't want to tie yourself down with mutants.
"Just any little thing I can. My daddy raised tobacco, but it killed him. I mean, he smoked too damn much. Ma's
mighty sick now from something or other. Pulmonary something or other, the doctor said. She'd like you, I know; she
likes a girl that knows how to eat. She could cook up a meal in her day, and that's for sure." Well, that sounded
attractive to Darlene. She was getting hungry again already.
But she felt sad, for a minute, listening to all that. There just wasn't any rest anywhere in the universe, that was all
there was to it. You would think that these simple creatures would be able to have a nice life, but no, sireebob, they
had their troubles too, just as bad troubles as if you had to keep the King ready for the Redemption. Thinking of the
King reminded her that they'd have to go clear to another galaxy to get another King, and really, it was too late for
that... she rested her forehead in her hands. They were shaking.
Roy reached over, pried one of her hands loose, squeezed it, held it until it stopped shaking, then let go. "I hope
you don't mind, I mean it won't affect my driving none or anything," he said, "but I have this horrible headache and it
might help if I had a beer..."
"No, that's OK. I'll have one too."
"Can't serve it before noon on Sunday," said the waitress.
Roy got out two dollars. "Only twenty minutes. This change the little hand on the clock any?" he asked.
"You're gonna make us lose our license," she said, but brought them both draft Buds.
The beer tasted good and tingly to Darlene. She didn't drink much but sometimes she really tied one on. It was
starting to rain outside and everything was dark and cozy inside. It wouldn't be a bad day for that sort of thing, she
thought. Sometimes it was all you could do, to keep from thinking about things.
"You know, I always wondered what this Elvis attraction was," he said. "Now don't get all huffy, I don't mean to
hurt your feelings or nothing, but really, what do all these people see in Elvis?"
"Well, he's the King," she said, well into her third beer, which had just about completely obliterated her concern
about what the other Brides might do to her. She felt kind of whoozy.
"So what?" he said. "He sang a few songs, he got fat, he died."
"Those weren't just any old songs," she flared. "Those were--" then she stopped. She'd said too much already, way
too much.
"You know, you sure are a funny lady," he said. "They must pay you pretty good to be one of those Brides. I never