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

times right now," he said. "I was shaving when you rang. I've got to get to the office." He frowned. "Drink
your juice and make yourself at home. I've got to get dressed." He turned abruptly and left her weeping
at the kitchen table.
Back in the bathroom, Ted finished shaving and tended to his cut more properly, his mind full of
Melody. Already he could tell that this was going to be difficult. He felt sorry for her—she was messed
up and miserably unhappy, with no one to turn to—but he wasn't going to let her inflict all her troubles on
him. Not this time. She'd done it too many times before.

In his bedroom, Ted stared pensively into the closet for a long time before selecting the gray suit.
He knotted his tie carefully in the mirror, scowling at his cut. Then he checked his briefcase to make sure
all the papers on the Syndic case were in order, nodded, and walked back into the kitchen.
Melody was at the stove, making pancakes. She turned and smiled at him happily when he entered.
"You remember my pancakes, Ted?" she asked. "You used to love it when I made pancakes, especially
blueberry pancakes, you remember? You didn't have any blueberries, though, so I'm just making plain. Is
that all right?"
"Jesus," Ted muttered. "Dammit, Melody, who said you should make anything? I told you I had to
get to the office. I don't have time to eat with you. I'm late already. Anyway, I don't eat breakfast. I'm
trying to lose weight."
Tears began to trickle from her eyes again. "But—but these are my special pancakes, Ted. What
am I going to do with them? What am I going to do?"
"Eat them," Ted said. "You could use a few extra pounds. Jesus, you look terrible. You look like
you haven't eaten for a month."
Melody's face screwed up and became ugly. "You bastard," she said. "You're supposed to be my
friend."
Ted sighed. "Take it easy," he said. He glanced at his watch. Look, I'm fifteen minutes late already.
I've got to go. You eat your Pancakes and get some sleep. I'll be back around six. We can have dinner
together and talk, all right? Is that what you want?"
"That would be nice," she said, suddenly contrite. "That would be real nice."

"Tell Jill I want to see her in my office, right away," Ted snapped to the secretary when he arrived.
"And get us some coffee, will you? I really need some coffee."
"Sure."
Jill arrived a few minutes after the coffee. She and Ted were associates in the same law firm. He
motioned her to a seat and pushed a cup at her. "Sit down," he said. "Look, the date's off tonight. I've
got problems."
"You look it," she said. "What's wrong?"
"An old friend showed up on my doorstep this morning."
Jill arched one elegant eyebrow. "So?" she said. "Reunions can be fun."
"Not with Melody they can't."
"Melody?" she said. "A pretty name. An old flame, Ted? What is it, unrequited love?"
"No," he said, "no, it wasn't like that."
"Tell me what it was like, then. You know I love the gory details."
"Melody and I were roommates back in college. Not just us— don't get the wrong idea. There
were four of us. Me and a guy named Michael Englehart, Melody and another girl, Anne Kaye. The four
of us shared a big run-down house for two years. We were—friends."
"Friends?" Jill looked skeptical.
Ted scowled at her. "Friends," he repeated. "Oh, hell, I slept with Melody a few times. With Anne,
too. And both of them balled Michael a time or two. But when it happened, it was just kind of— kind of
friendly, you know? Our love lives were mostly with outsiders. We used to tell each other our troubles,
swap advice, cry on one another's shoulders. Hell, I know it sounds weird. It was 1970, though. I had