"George R. R. Martin - Remembering Melody" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

Remembering Melody
George R. R. Martin
Ted was shaving when the doorbell sounded. It startled him so badly that he cut himself. His
condominium was on the thirty-second floor, and Jack the doorman generally gave him advance warning
of any prospective visitors. This had to be someone from the building, then. Except that Ted didn't know
anyone in the building, at least not beyond the trade-smiles-in-the-elevator level.
"Coming," he shouted. Scowling, he snatched up a towel and wiped the lather from his face, then
dabbed at his cut with a tissue. "Shit," he said loudly to his face in the mirror. He had to be in court this
afternoon. If this was another Jehovah's Witness like the one who'd gotten past Jack last month, they
were going to be in for a very rough time indeed.
The buzzer sounded again. "Coming, dammit," Ted yelled. He made a final dab at the blood on his
neck, then threw the tissue into the wastebasket and strode across the sunken living room to the door.
He peered through the eyehole carefully before he opened. "Oh, hell," he muttered. Before she could
buzz again, Ted slid off the chain and threw open the door.
"Hello, Melody," he said.
She smiled wanly. "Hi, Ted," she replied. She had an old suitcase in her hand, a battered cloth bag
with a hideous red-and-black plaid pattern, its broken handle replaced by a length of rope. The last time
Ted had seen her, three years before, she'd looked terrible. Now she looked worse. Her clothes—shorts
and a tie-dyed T-shirt—were wrinkled and dirty, and emphasized how gaunt she'd become. Her ribs
showed through plainly; her legs were pipestems. Her long stringy blond hair hadn't been washed
recently, and her face was red and puffy, as if she'd been crying. That was no surprise. Melody was
always crying about one thing or another.
"Aren't you going to ask me in, Ted?"
Ted grimaced. He certainly didn't want to ask her in. He knew from past experience how difficult it
was to get her out again. But he couldn't just leave her standing in the hall with her suitcase in hand. After
all, he thought sourly, she was an old and dear friend. "Oh, sure," he said. He gestured. "Come on in."
He took her bag from her and set it by the door, then led her into the kitchen and put on some
water to boil. "You look as though you could use a cup of coffee," he said, trying to keep his voice
friendly.
Melody smiled again. "Don't you remember, Ted? I don't drink coffee. It's no good for you, Ted. I
used to tell you that. Don't you remember?" She got up from the kitchen table and began rummaging
through his cupboards. "Do you have any hot chocolate?" she asked. "I like hot chocolate."
"I don't drink hot chocolate," he said. "Just a lot of coffee."
"You shouldn't," she said. "It's no good for you."
"Yeah," he said. "Do you want juice? I've got juice."
Melody nodded. "Fine."
He poured her a glass of orange juice and led her back to the table, then spooned some Maxim into
a mug while he waited for his kettle to whistle. "So," he asked, "what brings you to Chicago?"
Melody began to cry. Ted leaned back against the stove and watched her. She was a very noisy
crier, and she produced an amazing amount of tears for someone who cried so often. She didn't look up
until the water began to boil. Ted poured some into his cup and stirred in a teaspoon of sugar. Her face
was redder and puffier than ever. Her eyes fixed on him accusingly. "Things have been real bad," she
said. "I need help, Ted. I don't have anyplace to live. I thought maybe I could stay with you awhile.
Things have been real bad."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Melody," Ted replied, sipping at his coffee thoughtfully. "You can stay here
for a few days, if you want. But no longer. I'm not in the market for a roommate." She always made him
feel like such a bastard, but it was better to be firm with her right from the start.
Melody began to cry again when he mentioned roommates. "You used to say I was a good
roommate," she whined. "We used to have fun, don't you remember? You were my friend."
Ted set down his coffee mug and looked at the kitchen clock. "I don't have time to talk about old