"Mack Reynolds - Day After Tomorrow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

this minute."

Back in the anteroom, Woolford said to the Boss' receptionist, "I'm on a
local job, LaVerne. How about assigning me a secretary, somebody who
can handle off-beat assignments?"

"Can do," she said.

He thought about it. "And look; tell her to get hold of every available
work on counterfeiting and pile it on my desk."

"Right. Thinking of going into business, Larry?"

He grinned down at her. "That's the idea. Keeping up with the Jones
clan in this man's town costs roughly twice my income. I'm thinking of
augmenting it."

LaVerne said sarcastically, "Then why not give up this battle to equal
the Joneses? With the classification you've got, a single man ought to be
able to save half his pay." She added, more quietly, "Or get married and
support a family."

"Save half my pay?" Larry snorted. "And get a far out reputation, eh?
No thanks. You can't afford to be a weird these days."

She flushed—and damned prettily, Larry Woolford decided. He took her
in, all over again. She wore a minus-skirt, so that her legs could be seen all
the way up to the pinkness of her inner thighs and didn't leave much to
the imagination on what dark, warm wonders lay beyond. She could be an
attractive item if it wasn't for obviously getting her kicks out of being
individualistic. Minus-skirts were out in Paris, Budapest and Copenhagen,
this season. The nipples, cosmetically touched up, were currently the
come-on.

Larry said suddenly, "Look, promise to be a good girl and not to make
us conspicuous and I'll take you to the Swank Room for dinner tonight.
After that, a few drinks in one of the latest spots and then back to my
place for a friendly roll in the hay. For a long time I've wondered what
you've got on the ball."

"The Swank Room," she said sceptically. "Is that where all the bright
young men currently have to be seen once or twice a week? Get lost, Larry.
Being a healthy, normal woman, I'm interested in men, but I don't
necessarily spread my legs for every walking status symbol."
 It was his turn to flush, and, he decided wryly, he probably didn't do it
as prettily as she did. He wondered about her. Did she go all-out in bed?
He'd bet that she'd be a wizard at Roman fashion.

He tried to keep it light, though, and said, "You'll be sorry. I've picked
up some new bed techniques, imported from Sweden. Guaranteed to send