other. For me, they’re attracted to me because I model and do sexy things in magazines and in movies, then when they have me—or think they have me—they want me to transform overnight into a mousy little housewife.” “I can see how what you do could intimidate a guy.” “But it doesn’t feel as if you are judging.” “I’m pretty out of judgment for this lifetime.” “What is that you’re smoking?” “I’m not sure. I think it’s low-tar crack for underage robots.” “May I try?” She puffs away and gets a nice red glow going on the LED at what’s supposed to be the lit end of the thing. Opens her mouth in an O and blows a series of perfect smoke rings. She gives the cigarette back to me, smiling. “Is this what you smoke in Los Angeles these days? I’m not sure I approve. Vices shouldn’t be safe. They’re what remind us we’re alive and mortal.” I toss the thing, sending it skipping across the floor into one of the canal tributaries that run along one wall. “There. Thanks for saving me from a too-long life.” “So, you don’t like to be called Sandman Slim. Your Wikipedia page says that sometimes you are called Wild Bill.” “I’m on goddamn Wikipedia?” “It’s a tiny entry full of notes saying that no one knows if any of what’s there is real. It’s very funny. You’d like it.” “Read it to me sometime. I have a feeling it’ll sound better in Czech.” “But none of this answers my question. What should I call you?” Up ahead, Lucifer turns away from his admirers with his phone to his ear. From the look on his face, someone is going to get a Cadillac-size pitchfork up the ass. “Call me James. Not Jimmy or Jim. Just James. What do I call you?” “Brigitte is fine.” “Ah. I thought we were confessing true names.” “No. I just asked what to call you.” Now that he’s not getting the royal treatment for a couple of seconds, Ritchie’s realized that Brigitte isn’t next to him. He looks around like a Titanic survivor hunting for a life vest. “I think you’re about to be called back to the stage.” Brigitte gives a little sigh. “You’re lucky. Your patron doesn’t spend all his waking hours worrying that you might fuck someone else.” “Not that he’s mentioned.” She smiles and waves to get Ritchie’s attention. “I have to go. It’s been lovely talking with you, Sandman. Pardon. James.” “You too, Ms. Bardo.” As she goes, she runs a finger lightly over the back of my hand.
Вы читаете Kill the Dead
