"John Norman - Gor 07 - Captive of Gor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norman John)

then living, was giving a dinner for certain of her friends. She did send a card
and an expensive watch, which I gave to another girl.

That summer my father, though only in his forties, died of a heart attack. As
far as I know my mother still lives in New York City, in a suite on Park Avenue.
In the settlement of the estate my mother received most everything, but I did
receive some three quarters of a million dollars, primarily in stocks and bonds,
a fortune which fluctuated, and sometimes considerably, with the market, but one
which was substantially sound. Whether my fortune on a given day was something
over half a million dollars or was something over three quarters of a million
dollars did not much interest me.

Following my graduation I took up my own residence, in a penthouse on Park
Avenue. My mother and I never saw one another. I had no particular interest in
anything following school. I smoked too much, though I hated it. I drank quite a
bit. I never bothered with drugs, which seemed to me stupid.

My father had had numerous business contacts in New York, and my mother had made
influential friends. I made a rare phone call to my mother a few weeks after my
graduation, thinking it might be interesting to take up modeling. I had thought
there might be a certain glamour to that, and that I might meet some interesting
and amusing people. A few days later I was invited to two agencies for
interviews, which, as I expected, were mere formalities. There are doubtless,
many girls beautiful enough to model. Beauty, in itself, in a population
numbering in the tens of millions, is not difficult to find. Accordingly,
particularly with unexperienced girls, one supposed that criteria other than
beauty and charm, and poise, often determines one's initial chances in such a
competitive field. It was so in my case. I believe, of course, that I could have
been successful on my own as well. But I did not need to be.

I rather enjoyed my career as a model, though it did not last more than a few
weeks. I enjoy clothes, and wear them beautifully. I enjoy posing, though
sometimes it is painful and wearying. The photographers and artists seemed
intelligent, witty men, though sometimes abrupt. They were very professional.
One of them once called me a bitch. I laughed. My assignments were frequent.

My most lucrative assignment was to be to model several pieces in a new line of
swimwear being brought out by a rather well-known company, the name of which is,
however, unimportant for purposes of this narrative.

I did not do so.

It was on a Monday afternoon that I received the assignment, and I was to report
to the designated studio on Wednesday morning. I had no assignment for Tuesday.
The evening before I had dismissed my colored maid and cook until Wednesday. I
wanted the house to myself, to be alone, to read and play records.

I slept late Tuesday morning.

I was awakened by the sun streaming through the curtains. I stretched. It was a