Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 1
Astheeditor,Ican’tblowthisoff.Please,”Katebegsmeinherrasping,sorethroatvoice.Howdoesshedoit?Evenillshelooksgamineandgorgeous,strawberryblondhairinplaceandgreeneyesbright,althoughnowredrimmedandrunny.Iignoremypangofunwelcomesympathy.
“OfcourseI’llgo,Kate.Youshouldgetbacktobed.WouldyoulikesomeNyQuilorTylenol?”
“NyQuil,please.Herearethequestionsandmydigitalrecorder.Justpressrecordhere.Makenotes,I’lltranscribeitall.”
“Iknownothingabouthim,”Imurmur,tryingandfailingtosuppressmyrisingpanic.
“Thequestionswillseeyouthrough.Go.It’salongdrive.Idon’twantyoutobelate.”
“Okay,I’mgoing.Getbacktobed.Imadeyousomesouptoheatuplater.”Istareatherfondly.Onlyforyou,Kate,wouldIdothis.
“Iwill.Goodluck.Andthanks,Ana—asusual,you’remylifesaver.”
Gatheringmybackpack,Ismilewrylyather,thenheadoutthedoortothecar.IcannotbelieveIhaveletKatetalkmeintothis.ButthenKatecantalkanyoneintoanything.She’llmakeanexceptionaljournalist.She’sarticulate,strong,persuasive,argumentative,beautiful—andshe’smydearest,dearestfriend.
THEROADSARECLEARasIsetofffromVancouver,Washington,towardInterstate5.It’searly,andIdon’thavetobeinSeattleuntiltwothisafternoon.Fortunately,KatehaslentmehersportyMercedesCLK.I’mnotsureWanda,myoldVWBeetle,wouldmakethejourneyintime.Oh,theMercisafundrive,andthemilesslipawayasIhitthepedaltothemetal.
