April 28th, 2003

Woody Allen, "The Whore of Mensa"

One thing about being a private investigator, you've got to learn to go with your hunches. That's why when a quivering pat of butter named Word Babcock walked into my office and laid his cards on the table, I should have trusted the cold chill that shot up my spine.
"Kaiser?" he said, "Kaiser Lupowitz?"
"That's what it says on my license," I owned up.
"You've got to help me. I'm being blackmailed. Please!"
He was shaking like a lead singer in a rumba band. I pushed the glass across the desk top and a bottle of rye I keep for nonmedicinal purposes. "Suppose you relax and tell me all about it."
"You... you won't tell my wife?"
"Level with me, Word. I can't make any promises."
He tired pouring a drink, but you could hear the clicking sound across the street, and most of the stuff wound up on his shoes.
"I'm a working guy," he said. "Mechanical maintenance. I build and service joy buzzers. You know -- those little fun gimmicks that give people a shock when they shake hands?"
"So?"
"A lot of your executives like 'em. Particularly down on Wall Street."
"Get to the point."
"I'm on the road a lot. You know how it is -- lonely. On, not what you're thinking. See, Kaiser, I'm basically an aintellectual. Sure, a guy can meet all the bimbos he wants. But the really brainy women -- they're not so easy to find on short notice."
"Keep talking."
"Well, I heard of this young girl. Eighteen years old. A Yassar student. For a price, she'll come over and discuss any subject - Proust, Yeats, anthropology. Excnahge of ideas. You see what I'm driving at?"
"Not exactly."
"I mean, my wife is great, don't get me wrong. But she won't discuss Pound with me. Or Eliot. I didn' know that when I married her. See, I need a woman who's mentally stimulating, Kaiser. And I'm willing to pay for it. I don't want an involvement -- I want a quick intellectual experience, then I want the girl to leave. Christ, Kaiser, I'm a happily married man."
"How long has this been going on?"
"Six months. Whenever I have that craving, I call Flossie. She's a madam, with a master's in comparative lit. She sends me over an intellectual, see?"Collapse )
Later that night, I looked up an old account of mine named Gloria. She was blond. She had graduated cum laude. The difference was she majored in physical education. It felt good.

Стих для Беседера

Одному бармену

Ты мой Southern Comfort,
Ты мой Johnny Walker,
Бесконечный штопор
И бездонный боттл.

Если станет худо,
Я у стойки сяду
В ожиданьи чуда:
Яду мне, мол, яду!

И тебе отдам я
Всё рукой дрожащей:
Гонорар недавний,
Гонорар ближайший...

Оттого, что вежлив,
Разливая пиво,
Парень с побережья
Финского Залива.

В случае отстоя
Требуйте долива.

(no subject)

Если журналы бывают Monthly и Quarterly, то непременно должны быть Atlantic Utterly и Pacific Totally...

Дайте жалобную книгу

Весной в Иерусалиме все работает через пень-колоду. Мало того, что большая часть всего вымирает на сутки в пятницу вечером, еще и праздники: в начале и в конце Песаха все не работало, а теперь пошли Дни Памяти. Назовите меня циником, но я сегодня собиралась на The Hours, а некуда. И даже любимый бар закрыт. Прошу прощения за вербализацию низменных соображений (как сказал один герой Довлатова, "Поцелуйтесь с Рибентроппом!") вместо того, чтобы зажечь тут свечку.gif. Впрочем, все еще впереди.
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