Женщины

Chapter 87

           "Whowasyourfavoriteauthor?"

           "Fante."

           "Who?"

           "JohnF-a-n-t-e.AsktheDust.WaitUntilSpring,Bandini."

           "Wherecanwefindhisbooks?"

           "Ifoundtheminthemainlibrary,downtown.FifthandOlive,isn’tit?"

           "Whydidyoulikehim?"

           "Totalemotion.Averybraveman."

           "Whoelse?"

           "Celine."

           "Why?"

           "Theyrippedouthisgutsandhelaughed,andhemadethemlaughtoo.Averybraveman."

           "Doyoubelieveinbravery?"

           "Iliketoseeitanywhere,inanimals,birds,reptiles,humans."

           "Why?"

           "Why?Itmakesmefeelgood.It’samatterofstyleinthefaceofnochanceatall."

           "Hemingway?"

           "No."

           "Why?"

           "Toogrim,tooserious.Agoodwriter,finesentences.Butforhim,lifewasalwaystotalwar.Heneverletgo,heneverdanced."

           Theyfoldeduptheirnotebooksandvanished.Toobad.IhadmeanttotellthemthatmyrealinfluenceswereGable,Cagney,BogartandErrolFlynn.

           NextthingIknewIwassittingwiththreehandsomewomen,Sara,Cassie,andDebra.Sarawas32,3classywench,goodstyleandaheart.Shehadred-blondhairthatfellstraightdown,andshehadwildeyes,slightlyinsane.Shealsocarriedanoverloadofcompassionthatwasrealenoughandwhichobviouslycosthersomething.DebrawasJewishwithlargebrowneyesandagenerousmouth,heavilysmearedwithblood-redlipstick.Hermouthglistenedandbeckonedtome.Iguessedshewassomewherebetween30and35,andsheremindedmeofhowmymotherlookedin1935(althoughmymotherhadbeenmuchmorebeautiful).

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