"Steven Gould - Wildside" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gould Stephen Jay)

Joey made a big show of tipping me with a twenty, but I'd promised ahead of time to give it
back later. Marie squeezed my hand as I helped her out. Nobody seemed to recognize me, which
was good, I guess.

This time I parked the car and waited in the lobby. The tuxedos and gowns drifted by, like some
musical. There was a chair in the corner, screened by a potted palm. I settled there, my FAA regs for
company, but I didn't read. Instead I watched them flow by, like I watched them in the hallways at
school. In-groups and out-groups, nervous singles, girls in stag groups, and popular jocks with
beautiful girls. Most of them tried to act older, to fit the clothes. Some of them tried being pompous.
A few of them were even natural, acting no differently than they did in jeans.

But, as usual, I watched from outside.

The music drifted from the ballroom, a slow number. I thought of Joey's arms around Marie and
I got up, went into the hotel restaurant, and had a second supper.

Someone shared their flask of whiskey with Joey during the prom and he was a little loud, a little
clumsy. He wasn't obnoxious, though—he just smiled a lot. Marie, Rick, and I consulted and decided
coffee was in order. Besides, none of them wanted to go home yet. What was the point in being home
before midnight? I had my own agenda.

"Come on," I said. "We'll get coffee from Jack-In-the-Box and go out to my place."

"Your place?" said Clara. "What about your mom?" I shook my head. "Not my parents'. My
place." Only Marie knew what I was talking about. We'd done touch-and-go practice landings on the
grass strip there, but we'd never stopped. "He means the ranch—the ranch his uncle left him."

"Where is it?" asked Rick.

"West," I said. "Over by the Brazos. Twenty minutes."

Joey spoke. "We could go dancing instead. Over to Parrot's."

All four of them were in the back. Clara, plastered to Rick's side, said, "My feet hurt enough.
I'm not used to heels. What's out there?"

I tried to control my breathing, to keep my voice calm, to make it seem as if I didn't care. "A
house. A barn. A hangar. An airstrip. A lot of trees."
 "Anybody live there?"

"Me," I said. "After graduation."

"Whoa. Really? Your parents are okay about that?"

"Pretty much. My dad would like to hangar his plane there, that's why we put in the hangar.
Better than Easterwood, cause it would save the hangar fees, but he's not willing unless somebody
lives out there. Too much chance of vandalism."

"So, like he'll pay you instead? Since it's your land?"