Коллекционер
Chapter 2
Iknowitseemsvividbecausemyimaginationfillsinallthebitsanotherpersonwouldn’tunderstand.Imean,it’svanity.Butitseemsasortofmagic,tobeabletocallmypastback.AndIjustcan’tliveinthispresent.IwouldgomadifIdid.
I’vebeenthinkingtodayofthetimeItookPiersandiAntoinettetomeethim.Theblacksideofhim.No,Iwasstupid.They’dcomeuptoHampsteadtohavecoffeeandweweretogototheEveryman,butthequeuewastoolong.SoIletthembullymeintotakingthemround.
Itwasvanityonmypart.I’dtalkedtoomuchabouthim.SothattheybegantohintthatIcouldn’tbesoveryfriendlyifIwasafraidtotakethemroundtomeethim.AndIfellforit.
Icouldseehewasn’tpleasedatthedoor,butheaskedusup.Andoh,itwasterrible.Terrible.PierswasathisslickestandcheapestandAntoinettewasalmostparodyingherself,shewassosex-kittenish.Itriedtoexcuseeveryonetoeveryoneelse.G.P.wasinsuchaweirdmood.Iknewhecouldwithdraw,buthewentoutofhiswaytoberude.HecouldhaveseenPierswasonlytryingtocoveruphisfeelingofinsecurity.
Theytriedtogethimtodiscusshisownwork,buthewouldn’t.Hestartedtobeoutrageous.Four-letterwords.AllsortsofbittercynicalthingsabouttheSladeandvariousartists—thingsIknowhedoesn’tbelieve.HecertainlymanagedtoshockmeandPiers,butofcourseAntoinettejustwentonebetter.Simperedandtrembledhereyelashes,andsaidsomethingfoulerstill.
