"John Kessel - The Pure Product" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kessel John)

stared calmly back at him. And I knew that, looking into my honest blue
eyes, he could not think of a thing.

“I’ll just start the checking account now with this money order,” I said,
reaching into my pocket. “That will be acceptable, won’t it?”

“It will be fine,” he said. He took the completed form and the order
over to one of the secretaries while I sat at the desk. I lit a cigar and blew
some smoke rings. The money order had been purchased the day before
in a post office in Denver. It was for thirty dollars. I didn’t intend to use the
account very long. Graves returned with my sample checks, shook hands
earnestly, and wished me a good day. Have a good day, he said. I will, I
said.

Outside, the heat was still stifling. I took off my sportcoat. I was
sweating so much I had to check my hair in the sideview mirror of my car. I
walked down the street to a liquor store and bought a bottle of chardonnay
and a bottle of Chivas Regal. I got some paper cups from a nearby
grocery. One final errand, then I could relax for a few hours.

In the shopping center I had told Graves would be the location for my
non-existent insurance office, there was a sporting goods store. It was
about three o’clock when I parked in the lot and ambled into the shop. I
looked at various golf clubs: irons, woods, even one set with fiberglass
shafts. Finally I selected a set of eight Spaulding irons with matching
woods, a large bag, and several boxes of Topflites. The salesman, who
had been occupied with another customer at the rear of the store, hustled
up his eyes full of commission money. I gave him little time to think. The
total cost was six hundred and twelve dollars and thirty-two cents. I paid with
a check drawn on my new account, cordially thanked the man, and had him
carry all the equipment out to the trunk of the car.

I drove to a park near the bank; Loose Park, they called it. I felt loose.
Cut loose, drifting free, like one of the kites people were flying in the park
that had broken its string and was ascending into the sun. Beneath the trees
it was still hot, though the sunlight was reduced to a shuffling of light and
shadow on the brown grass. Kids ran, jumped, swung on playground
equipment. I uncorked my bottle of wine, filled one of the paper cups, and
lay down beneath a tree, enjoying the children, watching young men and
women walking along the paths of the park.

A girl approached along the path. She did not look any older than
seventeen. She was short and slender, with clean blonde hair cut to her
shoulders. Her shorts were very tight. I watched her unabashedly; she saw
me watching her and left the path to come over to me. She stopped a few
feet away, her hands on her hips. “What are you looking at?” she asked.

“Your legs,” I said. “Would you like some wine?”

“No thanks. My mother told me never to accept wine from strangers.”