"James Patrick Kelly - Chemistry" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

hate being sold things I don't need." She sensed that he
wanted to say something else -- but he didn't.
"I'll swallow my cash card, okay?" Lily said. He reached
out for her and she came to him. "I'll be good.
Promise."
Where the third floor had been a hot, dark blur, the
fourth was a place to lounge and consume conspicuously.
With its open sight lines, it flaunted the true size of
the Hothouse. The shops and restaurants ringed an
enormous irregularly-shaped pool. Its bays and
pennisulas were landscaped with bougainvillea. There
were sandy beaches and ten foot bluffs. They saw couples
sprawled on checked tableclothes beside wicker picnic
baskets: the picnickers drank wine from bottles with
broad shoulders and broke long sticks of french bread.
"We can swim," said Lily. "That's free."
"Sure." When he gave her a forlorn smile, she worried
that he was relieved to be getting away from her.
The dressing booths were between the Honey Bun Bakery
and the Intimate Moment, a lingerie store. The bakery
breathed the yeasty aroma of warm bread onto them.
Lily's mouth watered but she said nothing. Instead she
kissed Steve and he brightened. They went through
separate doors.
Her booth was a four foot square; its only furnishing
was a shelf-like seat. The far wall was a screen on
which appeared her image, larger than life. She winked
at herself and then giggled because she was certain that
she had just discovered Steve's secret character flaw:
he was cheap. Somehow that reassured her, perhaps
because it was so curable. It wasn't as if he were a
womanizer or a drunk or a golfer. Lily believed she
understood thrift since she practiced it of necessity
herself. Someday, when she was a rich gynecologist, they
would come here and she would buy him something from
every shop.
Suddenly the little booth seemed very chilly. The
enhancement that had helped her fall for Steve would
wear off in a couple of hours and then what would be
left of her feelings for him? Maybe there wasn't going
to be any someday with Steve.
"Welcome to the Hothouse." When the booth spoke to her,
it was her own image that appeared to be talking. "This
is a dressing booth. Occupancy is strictly limited to
one. For those couples requiring privacy, may we suggest
our encounter rooms on the six floor?"
"Oh?" She leered at herself. "And how much would they
cost?"
Eight windows opened down the left hand side of the
screen. "Encounter rooms range from $20 to $110." Each