Happy Marriage - Stephen King. Stephen King: Happy Marriage Happy Marriage read online

24.03.2022

Happy marriage

Stephen King

“A few days after the discovery in the garage, Darcy suddenly realized with surprise that no one ever asks questions about marriage. When meeting people, they are interested in anything - the past weekend, a trip to Florida, health, children, and even whether the interlocutor is satisfied with life in general, but no one ever asks about marriage ... "

Stephen King

Happy marriage

A few days after finding it in the garage, Darcy was suddenly surprised to think that no one ever asks questions about marriage. When meeting, people are interested in anything - the past weekend, a trip to Florida, health, children, and even whether the interlocutor is satisfied with life in general, but no one ever asks about marriage.

But if someone had asked her a question about her family life before that evening, she would surely have answered that she was happily married and everything was fine with that.

Darcellen Madsen, a name that only parents overprotective of a specially-purchased baby name book could have chosen, was born the year John F. Kennedy became president. She grew up in Freeport, Maine, which was then still a city, not an annex to America's first hypermarket, L. L. Bean, and half a dozen other shopping monsters called stock centers, as if they weren't stores but sewers. In the same place, Darcy graduated first from school, and then from Addison Business College. After becoming a certified secretary, she went to work for Joe Ransom and quit in 1984, when his company became the largest Chevrolet dealer in Portland. Darcy was the most ordinary girl, but with the help of a few slightly more sophisticated friends, she mastered the tricks of makeup, which allowed her to become attractive at work and spectacular when they went to places with live music on the weekends, such as the Lighthouse or Mexican Mike, to drink cocktails and have fun.

In 1982, Joe Ransom, in a rather sticky tax situation, hired a Portland accounting firm to, as he put it in a conversation with a senior manager Darcy overheard, “solve a problem everyone only dreams of.” Two came to the rescue with diplomats: one older and the other younger. Both wear glasses and conservative suits, and both have neatly cropped hair slicked to one side, reminiscent of Darcy's snapshots from the 1954 senior year mother album, where the faux-leather cover shows a cheerleader holding a bullhorn.

The young accountant's name was Bob Anderson. They started talking on the second day and she asked him if he had a hobby. Bob replied that yes, and this is a hobby - numismatics.

He began to explain to her what it was, but she did not let him finish.

- I know. My father collects Liberty bust dimes and Indian nickels. He says he has a special weakness for them. Do you have such a weakness, Mr. Anderson?

He really had one: "wheat cents", those with two ears of wheat on the reverse. He dreamed that someday he would come across a copy of the coinage of 1955, which ...

But Darcy knew this too: the batch was minted with a defect - it turned out to be a “double die”, which made the date look double, but the numismatic value of such coins was obvious.

Young Mr. Anderson admired her knowledge with a delighted shake of his head with thick, carefully combed brown hair. They clearly hit it off and had a lunch break together on a sun-drenched bench behind the dealership. Bob ate a tuna sandwich and Darcy ate Greek salad in a plastic container. He asked her to go with him to the Castle Rock Weekend Fair on Saturday, explaining that he had rented a new apartment and was now looking for a suitable chair. And he would buy a TV if he could find a decent and inexpensive one. “Decent and inexpensive” became a phrase that for many years determined their quite comfortable strategy for joint acquisitions.

Bob was just as ordinary and unremarkable in appearance as Darcy - you just don’t notice such people on the street - but he never resorted to any means to look better. However, on that memorable day on the bench, he, inviting her, suddenly blushed, which made his face liven up and even become attractive.

“And no searching for coins?” she said jokingly.

He smiled, showing straight, white, well-groomed teeth. It had never occurred to her that the thought of his teeth might someday make her shudder, but was that surprising?

“If I come across a good set of coins, I certainly won’t pass by,” he replied.

– Especially with “wheat cents”? she said in the same tone.

“Especially with them,” he confirmed. “So will you keep me company, Darcy?”

She agreed.

On their wedding night, she experienced an orgasm. And then I experienced it from time to time. Not every time, but often enough to feel satisfied and think that everything is fine.

In 1986, Bob received a promotion. In addition, on the advice and not without the help of Darcy, he opened a small company that delivered by mail collectible coins found in catalogs. The business proved lucrative, and in 1990 he expanded the range to include baseball player cards and old movie posters. He did not have his own stocks of posters and posters, but, having received an order, he was almost always able to fulfill it. This was usually done by Darcy, using a swollen rotating catalog with contact cards to contact collectors across the country, which seemed very convenient before the advent of computers. This business has not grown to a size that would allow you to completely switch only to it. But this state of affairs suited the spouses quite well. However, they showed similar unanimity in buying a house in Paunal, and in the issue of having children, when it came time to have them. They usually agreed with each other, but if opinions differed, they always came to a compromise. Their value system was the same.

How is your marriage?

Darcy's marriage was successful. You can say happy. Donnie was born in 1986. Before giving birth, she left her job and never worked again, except for helping her husband with the affairs of their company. Petra was born in 1988. By that time, Bob Anderson's thick brown hair was thinning at the crown, and in 2002, when Darcy finally abandoned the rotating catalog with cards and switched to the Macintosh, her husband had a large shiny bald head. He tried his best to hide her, experimenting with styling the remaining hair, but, in her opinion, he only made things worse for himself. Twice he'd tried to get his hair back with some magic potions advertised by rogue late-night cable hosts—Bob Anderson was a real night owl when he came of age—which couldn't help but irritate Darcy. Bob didn't let her in on his secret, but they shared a bedroom with a closet that kept their stuff. Darcy did not reach the top shelf, but sometimes she got up on a stool and

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put away the “Saturday shirts,” as they called the T-shirts that Bob liked to walk around the garden on weekends. There, in the fall of 2004, she discovered a bottle with some kind of liquid, and a year later, small green capsules. She found them on the Internet and found out that these funds cost very well. Then she still thought that miracles are never cheap.

In any case, Darcy did not show any displeasure about miracle drugs, as well as buying a Chevrolet Suburban SUV, which Bob for some reason decided to buy in the same year when gas prices began to bite for real. . She had no doubt that her husband appreciated this and made a reciprocal move: he did not object to sending the children to an expensive summer camp, buying an electric guitar for Donnie, who learned to play very decently in two years, however, then suddenly quit, and against Petra's horseback riding .

It's no secret that a happy marriage is based on a balance of interests and high stress tolerance. Darcy knew it too. As the Steve Winwood song says, "go with the flow and don't flounder."

She didn't flinch. And he too.

In 2004, Donnie went to college in Pennsylvania. In 2006, Petra went to study at Colby College in Waterville. Darcy Madsen Anderson is forty-six years old. Forty-nine-year-old Bob, along with building contractor Stan Morey who lived half a mile away, was still leading the Young Scouts on camping trips. Darcy thought her balding husband looked rather ridiculous in the khaki shorts and long brown socks he wore on his monthly outings, but she never talked about it. It was no longer possible to hide the bald spot on the crown of the head, the glasses had become bifocals, he no longer weighed one hundred and eighty pounds, but all two hundred and twenty. Bob became a full partner in an accounting firm that was no longer called Benson & Bacon but Benson, Bacon & Anderson.

They sold their old house in Paunal and bought a more prestigious one in Yarmouth. Darcy's breasts, so small, elastic and tall in her youth - she generally considered them to be her main asset and never wanted to look like the buxom waitresses of the Hooters restaurant chain - now they have become larger, have lost their elasticity and, of course, sagged a little, which immediately it was noticeable when she took off her bra. But still, Bob occasionally sneaked up behind them and put his hands on them. After a pleasant foreplay in the upstairs bedroom overlooking the peaceful strip of their small lot, they still made love from time to time. He often, but not always, reached orgasm too quickly, and if she remained unsatisfied, then still "often" did not mean "always". In addition, the peace that she felt after sex, when her husband, warm and relaxed after the discharge received, fell into a dream in her arms, she always experienced. This peace, in her opinion, was largely due to the fact that after so many years they were still living together, approaching a silver wedding and everything was fine with them.

In 2009, twenty-five years after their wedding ceremony in a small Baptist church that had by then been demolished to be replaced by a car park, Donnie and Petra threw a real feast for them at the Bircheese restaurant in Castle View. More than fifty guests, expensive champagne, tenderloin steak, a huge cake. Anniversaries danced to the sounds of "Free" - the same song by Kenny Loggins, as at their wedding. The guests applauded in unison when Bob made a deft step - Darcy had already forgotten that he could do this, but now she involuntarily envied. Although he had a belly, and a bald head sparkled on the top of his head, which he could not help but be embarrassed of, he managed to maintain the lightness and plasticity of movements so rare for accountants.

But all the brightest things in their lives were left in the past and were suitable for farewell speeches at the funeral, and they were still too young to think about death. In addition, the memories did not take into account the little things that made up married life, the manifestations of care and participation, which, in her deep conviction, was precisely what makes a marriage strong. When Darcy was once poisoned by shrimp and, bursting into tears, trembled all night with bouts of vomiting, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hair wet with sweat and stuck to the back of her head, Bob did not leave her a single step. He patiently dragged a bowl of vomit into the bathroom and rinsed it out so that "the smell of vomit would not provoke new attacks," as he explained. At six in the morning, he had already started the car to take Darcy to the hospital, but, fortunately, she felt better - the terrible nausea was gone. Claiming to be ill, he didn't go to work and canceled the White River Scouting trip to stay at home in case Darcy got sick again.

Such a manifestation of attention and participation was mutual in their family, according to the principle “Good is paid for with good”. In 1994 or 1995, she sat up all night in the emergency room of St. Stephen's Hospital, waiting for the results of a biopsy of a suspicious lump that had formed in his left armpit. As it turned out, it was just a protracted inflammation of the lymph node, which safely passed by itself.

Through the loosely closed door to the bathroom, you can see a crossword puzzle book sitting on the lap of a husband sitting on a toilet seat. The smell of cologne means there won't be an SUV in front of the house for a couple of days, and Darcy will have to sleep alone, because her husband will have to deal with client accounts in New Hampshire or Vermont: now Benson, Bacon and Anderson had a clientele all over New England. Sometimes the smell of cologne meant a trip to see the collection of coins at a property sale: they both knew that not all coins for their side business could be obtained by relying on the Internet. A shabby black suitcase in the hallway, which Bob did not want to part with, despite all her persuasion. His slippers by the bed, always nestled one inside the other. A glass of water and an orange vitamin tablet are on the latest issue of Coins and Numismatics, which is on the nightstand next to him. It is as invariable as when he burps he says, “There is more air outside than inside,” or “Watch out! Gas attack!" when spoiling the air. His coat always hangs on the first hook of the hanger. The reflection in the mirror of his toothbrush - Darcy had no doubt that if she had not changed them regularly, her husband would have continued to use the one he had on his wedding day. His habit is to wipe his lips with a napkin after every second or third piece of food is put into his mouth. Methodically packing up, with the obligatory spare compass, before she and Stan lead a group of nine-year-olds on a hike down Dead Man's Trail, a perilous journey through the woods that began behind Golden Grove Mall and ended at Used Car World » Weinberg. Bob's nails are always short and clean. The smell of chewing gum is always clearly felt when kissing. All this, along with a thousand other little things, made up the secret history of their family life.

Darcy had no doubt that her husband had formed a similar image of herself. For example, the cinnamon smell of protective

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lipstick, which she used in the winter. Or the scent of the shampoo he caught when he rubbed his nose against the back of her neck—rare now, but it did happen. Or the clicking of the keyboard on her computer at two in the morning, when she suddenly had insomnia for a couple of days a month.

Their marriage had lasted twenty-seven years, or—as she jokingly calculated with a computer calculator—nine thousand, eight hundred and fifty-five days. Nearly a quarter of a million hours or more than fourteen million minutes. Of course, his business trips and her own rare trips can be deducted from this - the saddest was with her parents in Minneapolis when her younger sister Brandolyn, who died in an accident, was buried. But the rest of the time they were not separated.

Did she know everything about him? Of course not. As well as he about her. For example, Bob had no idea that sometimes, especially on rainy days or sleepless nights, she greedily devoured chocolate bars in incredible quantities, unable to stop, although nausea would set in. Or that the new postman seemed attractive to her. It was impossible to know everything, but Darcy believed that after twenty-seven years of marriage, they knew the main thing about each other. Their marriage was successful and included in those fifty percent that do not break up and last a very long time. She believed in this as absolutely as in the force of gravity that keeps her on the ground and does not allow her to soar upward when walking.

That was until that night in the garage.

The TV remote control stopped working, and the drawer to the left of the sink didn't have the right AA batteries. There were medium and large "kegs", and even small round batteries, but there were no needed ones! Darcy went to the garage because she knew that Bob had definitely kept the package there, and as a result, her whole life changed. This is what happens to a tightrope walker whose single wrong step results in a fall from a great height.

The kitchen was connected to the garage by a covered walkway, and Darcy quickly crossed it, wrapping herself in her dressing gown. Just two days ago, an unusually warm October Indian summer suddenly gave way to cold weather, more like November. The icy air pinched her ankles. She probably wouldn't have been too lazy to put on socks and trousers, but the next episode of Two and a Half Men started in less than five minutes, and the damn box was tuned to CNN. If Bob were at home, she would have asked him to switch to the correct channel manually - there were buttons for this somewhere, most likely in the back, where only a man could find them - and then she would send him to the garage for batteries. After all, the garage was his domain. Darcy only came in here to get the car out, and then only on rainy days, usually preferring to leave it in the front yard. But Bob had gone to Montpellier to appraise a collection of World War II steel one-cents, and she was left alone at home, at least temporarily.

Finding the triple switch near the door, Darcy lightly turned on all the lights at once, and the room was filled with the hum of fluorescent lamps suspended from above. Perfect order reigned in the spacious garage: the tools were neatly hung on special panels, and the workbench was wiped down. The concrete floor is painted gray like ship hulls. No oil stains - Bob said that the stains on the garage floor indicated either the presence of junk in it, or the sloppiness of the owner. Now there was a one-year-old Toyota Prius that Bob used to drive to work in Portland, and he went to Vermont in an old SUV with God knows what mileage. Darcy's Volvo was parked in front of the house.

– Opening a garage is so easy! He told her more than once. When you've been married for twenty-seven years, advice is given less and less. “Just press the button on the sun visor in the car.

“I like to see her through the window,” Darcy invariably answered, although the real reason was something else. She was very afraid of touching the lifting gate when she was backing up. She was terrified of driving like this. And she suspected that Bob knew about this ... Just like she did - about his fad to carefully arrange banknotes in his wallet with images of presidents in one direction. Or never leave an open book turned upside down. In his opinion, this spoiled the spine.

It was warm in the garage. There were large silver pipes running along the ceiling—perhaps it would have been more accurate to call the structure a conduit, but Darcy wasn't sure. She walked over to a workbench, on which stood an even row of square metal containers, neatly labeled BOLTS, NUTS, HINGES, HOOKS AND CLAMPS, SANITARY EQUIPMENT, and—she especially liked that label—OTHER ITEMS. On the wall was a Sports Illustrated calendar with an offensively young and sexy girl in a bathing suit, and to the left were two photographs. One was an old picture of Donnie and Petra in Boston Red Sox baseball uniforms at the Yarmouth Children's Stadium. At the bottom, Bob drew "Local Team 1999" with a felt-tip pen. In another, more recent, taken in front of a seafood diner on Old Orchard Beach, Petra and her fiancé Michael stood embracing, already grown and much prettier. The inscription in felt-tip pen read: "Happy couple!"

The batteries were in a cabinet to the left of the photographs, and on the self-adhesive tape was printed: "Electrical equipment." Darcy, accustomed to Bob's maniacal neatness, took a step towards the locker, not looking at her feet, and suddenly stumbled over a large cardboard box that was not completely pushed under the workbench. She lost her balance and almost fell, grabbing onto the edge of the workbench at the very last moment. Her nail broke, causing pain, but she still managed to avoid an unpleasant and dangerous fall, which was good. It’s even very good, because she was left alone in the house and dial 911, if she hit her head on a clean, but very hard floor, there would be no one.

She could have just kicked the box farther under the workbench and she wouldn't have known anything then. Later, when it came to her mind, she thought about it a lot, just like a mathematician who is haunted by a complex equation. Especially since she was in a hurry. But at that moment, she caught sight of the knitting catalog lying on top of the box in the box, and she leaned over to take it with her along with the batteries. Beneath it was a Brookstone gift catalogue. And underneath that, Paula Young's Wigs catalogs... Talbots clothes and accessories, Forzieri... Bloomingdales...

- Bo-oh! she exclaimed, splitting his short name into two indignant syllables. In the same way, she spoke when her husband left dirty footprints or threw wet towels on the bathroom floor, as if they lived in a luxury hotel where a maid kept order. Not "Bob", but "Bo-ob!". Because Darcy really got to know him like the back of her hand. He believed that she was fond of ordering catalogs, and once even stated that she had developed a real addiction. That's really stupid - she really had an addiction, but only from chocolate bars! After that little skirmish, she sulked at him for two whole days. But he knew how her head was arranged, and in relation to everything that was not an object of vital necessity, she was a typical representative

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people about whom they say: "Out of sight, out of mind." So he just quietly collected the catalogs and quietly dragged them here. Probably later he was going to send them to the trash can.

Dunskin… Express… Computers… Mackintosh World… Montgomery Ward catalog, better known as Monkey Ward… Layla Grace…

The deeper she got into the box, the more angry she became. You would think that her irrepressible extravagance led them to bankruptcy! Darcy had already completely forgotten about the series and thought only about what she would say to her husband when he called from Montpellier - he always called after finishing dinner and returning to the motel. But first, she would drag all those catalogs back into the house, even if she had to make a few walks. Folded in a box, they were at least two feet high, and because of the coated paper, they were terribly heavy. No wonder she stumbled and almost fell again.

Death by catalogue, she thought. “An original way to say goodbye to w…”

The thought abruptly ended, and remained unfinished. Lifting about a quarter of the stack with her thumb, Darcy saw something that didn't look like a catalog under the Gooseberry Patch Home Furnishings catalogue. Not even a catalog! It was Bound Bitch magazine. At first, she didn't even want to look at him, and she certainly wouldn't if she stumbled upon him in Bob's drawer or on the shelf where he hid his miracle cures for restoring hair. But to hide such a magazine among a couple of hundred catalogs ... her catalogs! .. it was already beyond all limits!

On the cover was a photograph of a completely naked woman tied to a chair. A black hood covered the upper half of his face, and his mouth was open in a silent scream. She was tied with coarse ropes that dug into her chest and stomach. There were clearly painted traces of blood on the chin, neck and arms. At the bottom of the page, in large yellow letters, was a shouting announcement:

ON PAGE 49: THE BITCH OF THE BRAND GETS WHAT IT IS ASKING FOR!

Darcy had no desire to turn to page 49 or anything else. She had even come up with an excuse for her husband that it was “male inquisitiveness,” something she learned from an article in Cosmopolitan magazine while sitting in the dentist’s waiting room. One reader, who found a couple of gay magazines in her husband's briefcase, sought the advice of an expert who specialized in the sexual characteristics of men. A reader wrote that the magazines were very explicit, and she was worried that her husband was actually gay. Although, according to her, in the matrimonial bedroom, he was very good at hiding it.

The expert reassured her. Men are very inquisitive and adventurous by nature, and many like to expand their horizons in matters of sex. And they do this either through alternative options - here in the first place there was a homosexual experience, followed by group sex - or through fetishistic options: water sports, wearing women's clothing, sex in a public place. And of course, a special place is occupied by the binding of a partner. The expert even added that some women really liked it, which puzzled Darcy greatly, although she admitted that she did not know much.

"Male curiosity", nothing more. Bob must have seen the magazine in a window somewhere—though Darcy couldn't imagine what the window might be—and his curiosity aroused. Or maybe he pulled a magazine out of a convenience store trash can. Then he brought it home, leafed through it in the garage, was indignant no less than she - the blood on the girl was exactly drawn, although she seemed to be screaming for real - and stuffed it into a pile of catalogs that he had prepared for disposal so that Darcy would not accidentally stumble upon "compromising evidence ” and did not throw a scandal. That's all, and nothing more. Surely among the catalogs nothing like this will be found again. Maybe a couple of Penthouses, or the ones with the girls in lingerie—she knew most men liked silk and lace, and Bob was no exception—but nothing like Bitch Bound.

She glanced at the cover of the magazine again and was surprised that there was no price anywhere. And the barcode too! Realizing that the price might be listed on the back, Darcy flipped the magazine over and winced involuntarily when she saw a large photograph of a naked girl tied to a metal operating table. The expression of horror on her face was as fake as a three dollar bill, which was somewhat reassuring, and the plump man standing next to him in ridiculous leather shorts and bracelets looked more like an accountant than a sadist about to stab the duty star of "The Connected bitch."

And Bob is an accountant!

Darcy promptly dismissed this stupid thought from the massive part of her brain responsible for stupid thoughts, and after making sure that the price and barcode were not on the back cover either, she stuffed the magazine back into the box. After changing her mind about bringing the catalogs into the house, she slid the box under the workbench and suddenly found a solution to the mysterious lack of price and barcode. Such magazines were sold in plastic packaging that covered shamelessness, and it was likely that the price and barcode were indicated on it. There was no other explanation, which meant that Bob bought the damn magazine himself, unless, of course, he pulled it out of the trash can.

Maybe he bought it online. Surely there are sites that specialize in similar topics. Not to mention pictures of young women dressed as twelve-year-old girls.

- It doesn't matter! she said to herself, shaking her head decisively. The issue was closed and was not subject to further discussion. If she talks about this with her husband when he calls or returns home, he will certainly be embarrassed and go into a dead defense. He would call her sexually infantile, which was not far from the truth, and accuse her of inflating a scandal out of nothing, which she definitely did not want. Darcy was determined to "go with the flow and not flounder." Marriage is like building a house forever, with new rooms added every year. A small cottage of the first year of family life is constantly being completed and in twenty-seven years it turns into a huge mansion with intricate passages. Cracks are likely to appear in it, and most of the pantries are covered with cobwebs and abandoned. It stores, among other things, unpleasant memories from the past, which is better not to stir up. But all this is nonsense! Such memories should simply be thrown out of the head or shown generosity.

This idea, which drew a positive line under all doubts, pleased Darcy so much that she even said aloud:

- It's all nonsense!

And as a proof of her resolve, she braced herself against the box with both hands and forcefully pushed it all the way.

Something thudded. What?

I don't want to know! she said to herself, realizing that this time her brain had come up with a clever idea. It was dark under the workbench, and there might well have been mice in it. They may keep the garage in perfect order, but the weather is cold now. A frightened mouse can bite.

Darcy got up, dusted off the hem of her dressing gown, and walked down the passage into the house. Halfway through, she heard the phone ring.

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I made it to the kitchen before the answering machine went off, but I didn't pick up the phone. If it's Bob, better leave a message. She wasn't ready to talk to him right now, fearing that her voice might make him suspicious. Bob will assume that she has gone to the store or rented a movie and will be back in an hour. In an hour, she will be able to move away after an unpleasant discovery and calm down, and they will talk normally.

But it wasn't Bob who called, it was Donnie:

"Damn it, I'm sorry I didn't catch it!" Wanted to chat with both of you.

Darcy picked up the phone and, leaning on the table, said:

- Then let. I was in the garage and just got back.

Donnie was literally bursting with news. He lived in Cleveland, Ohio, and after two years of thankless and hard work in the lowest position in the largest advertising firm in the city, he decided to start his own business with a friend. Bob tried to dissuade him in every possible way, explaining that no one would give them a loan for the start-up capital that would be required to hold out for the first year.

“Rethink! he said to Donny as Darcy handed him the phone. It was early spring, when the snow still lay under the trees and bushes in the back yard. “You're twenty-four now, Donny, and your partner is the same age. Insurance companies, and those now refuse to enter into contracts to insure you in the event of a collision, and you must cover all the costs of car repairs yourself. No bank will lend you $70,000 for start-up capital, especially when the economy isn't doing so well."

However, they were given a loan, and now they have two large orders, both on the same day. The first came from a car dealership that wanted to focus on clientele in their early thirties. And the second is from the same bank that provided the seed money for Anderson & Hayward. Both Darcy and Donny cheered loudly and talked for twenty minutes. During the conversation, an incoming call signal was heard.

- Will you answer? Donny asked.

Not now, it's my father calling. He's in Montpellier now, looking at a collection of steel cents. He will still call back.

- How is he?

Great, she thought. Broadens the mind. But she said aloud:

- Like a gopher: chest forward and nose downwind.

Hearing one of Bob's favorite phrases, Donny laughed. Darcy really liked the way he laughed.

What about Pets?

“Call and find out, Donald.

“I’m going all the time, but I’m never going to. I will definitely call! In the meantime, tell me in a nutshell.

- She's doing great. All in wedding chores.

- You might think the wedding is in a week, and not in June.

Donnie, if you don't try to understand women, you'll never get married yourself.

- And I'm not in a hurry. I'm still pretty good even now.

“Don’t forget to be careful with that “not bad.”

“I am extremely careful and very polite. Okay, Mom, I've got to run. In half an hour, we meet with Ken and start to come up with a strategy for the car dealership.

She was about to tell him not to drink too much, but she restrained herself in time. Although her son looked like a high school student, and she remembered very well how at the age of five he, dressed in a red velvet jacket, tirelessly rode a scooter along the concrete paths of Joshua Chamberlain Park in Paunal, Donny was no longer one or the other. He became not just an independent young man, but an aspiring entrepreneur, and she still could not believe in this.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “Well done for calling, Donny. I was happy to talk.

- Me too. Say hello to your father when he calls and tell him that I love him.

- I'll pass it on.

"Chest forward and nose downwind," Donny repeated with a chuckle. “I wonder how many scouts he taught that expression?”

- All without exception. Darcy opened the refrigerator and checked to see if there was, by any chance, a chilled candy bar that would be so welcome right now. But he wasn't there. It's scary to even think.

- I love you, Mom.

- I love you too.

She hung up, regaining her peace of mind, and continued to stand leaning on the table for a while. However, the smile soon faded from her face.

As she pushed the box of catalogs under the workbench, there was a thud. Not a grinding sound, as if it had touched a fallen instrument, but a knock! And deaf.

I don't want to know!

Unfortunately, this was not the case. This knock is like unfinished business. Yes, the box too. Were there any other magazines like Bound Bitch in it?

I don't want to know!

So it is, but it's still better to find out. If there are no other magazines, then the explanation about male sexual curiosity is correct. And it took Bob one look at this nauseating - and full of mentally unhealthy people, she added mentally - the world to satisfy curiosity. If there were other magazines, that didn't change anything either, because Bob was going to throw them away anyway. However, it would not be superfluous to clarify.

And that knock... It worried her far more than the magazines.

Darcy got a flashlight out of the closet and went back to the garage. Once outside the door, she shrugged her shoulders shiveringly and pulled her dressing gown tighter around her, wishing she had put on a jacket. It got really cold in there.

Kneeling down, Darcy pushed the box aside and shone her lantern on. At first she did not understand what she saw: two dark stripes ran across the smooth board of the plinth, one slightly thicker than the other. Then Darcy felt a uneasiness that gradually increased and finally turned into a turmoil that gripped her entire being. Yes, there is a secret!

Stay out of here, Darcy. It's his business - and for your own peace of mind, leave everything as it is.

Good idea, but it's already gone too far to stop. She crawled under the workbench, ready for the web, but she wasn't there. If she was one of those women who followed the principle of “out of sight, out of mind,” then her balding, coin-collecting, scouting husband was the epitome of neatness and tidiness.

He himself often climbs here, so there can be no cobweb here.

Is it so? Darcy didn't know what to think.

The dark stripes on the plinth were eight inches apart, and there was a pin in the middle of the plank between them that allowed it to pivot. Pushing the box, Darcy hit the bar, and she turned a little, but the thud did not come from the bar. Darcy turned it up—behind it was a niche about eight inches long, a foot high, and about sixteen inches deep. She thought that there might be other magazines rolled up in a tube, but there were no magazines there. In the hiding place was a small wooden box that looked familiar to her. The casket, apparently, was left to stand on its side, and the plinth strip shifted by the box knocked it over, and a dull thud sounded.

With a foreboding feeling so strong that it seemed as if she could touch it with her hand, Darcy reached out and pulled out the box. It was a small oak box that she had given her husband for Christmas five years ago, maybe a little earlier. She couldn't say for sure, except that she'd bought it well at a gift shop in Castle Rock.

Page 6 of 6

A chain encircling the chain was carved on top, and below - also in woodcarving - there was an inscription indicating the purpose of the box: "Cufflinks". Although Bob preferred to go to work in shirts with buttoned cuffs, he had several very nice pairs of cufflinks, although they were stored interspersed. Darcy bought a box so he could fold them neatly. She remembered how Bob opened the gift and, with a noisy expression of admiration, kept the box on his nightstand for a while, but then it disappeared somewhere. Now I understand why Darcy had not seen this little thing for a long time - it was hidden in a secret place under the workbench, and Darcy was ready to "bet on the house and the land" - another expression of Bob - that it was not cufflinks that were kept there at all.

Then don't look.

Great idea, but now there really was no turning back. Feeling like a person who accidentally wandered into a casino and suddenly decided to stake all her possessions on a single card, she opened the box.

Lord, I pray You, make it so that it was empty!

But the Lord did not heed her prayers. In the box were three plastic cards tied with a rubber band. She pulled them out with her fingertips, the way women pick up rags, afraid they are not only dirty, but contagious. Darcy removed the rubber band.

The cards weren't credit cards, as she had first thought. One was a Red Cross donor card owned by one Marjorie Duval from the New England region. The blood of the first group, Rh positive. Darcy turned over the card and saw that Marjorie - or whatever her name was - last donated blood on August 16, 2010. Three months ago.

Who the hell is this Marjorie Duvall? How did Bob know her? And why does this name sound familiar to Darcy?

The second card was a pass to the North Conway Library and had the address 17 Honey Lane, South Gansett, New Hampshire.

The last card turned out to be a driver's license issued in the name of Marjorie Duvall in the state of New Hampshire. Looking from the photograph was a typical American woman in her early thirties with the most ordinary face. Is it true that photos on a driver's license are successful for someone? The blond hair was pulled back - either in a ponytail or in a bun - it was difficult to judge from the picture. Date of birth - January 6, 1974. The address is the same as on the pass to the library.

Darcy suddenly realized that she was emitting some indistinct squeaking. That sound coming from her own lips horrified her, but she couldn't stop herself. And in her stomach a lump filled with lead formed, he began to fetter all the insides and sink lower and lower. Darcy saw a photograph of Marjorie Duvall in the papers. And on the six o'clock news on TV.

With unruly fingers, she fastened the cards together with a rubber band, put them in the box, and slipped it into the hiding place. She was about to close the bar when she suddenly heard an inner voice:

No no and one more time no! This simply cannot be!

Where did this idea come from? What part of the brain refused to put up with it? The one that was responsible for smart thoughts or stupid ones? Darcy was sure of one thing - it was stupidity that made her open the box. And now her whole world has collapsed!

She took out the box again.

This is definitely some kind of mistake. We spent half our lives together, I would have known, I could not have known!

She opened the box again.

Is it possible to fully know another person?

Until tonight, she had no doubts about it.

Marjorie Duvall's driver's license lay on top. And at first it was downstairs. She flipped the card down. But which of the other two was at the top? Donor or library? It would seem that what is easier if you need to choose from only two, but Darcy could not collect herself and remember. She put the pass upstairs in the library and instantly realized that she had made a mistake. When she opened the box, something red and like blood immediately caught her eye. Well, of course, what other color can a donor card be? So she was in first place.

She put it on top and began to put on the elastic when the phone rang. It's him! It's Bob calling from Vermont, and if she picks up the phone, she's sure to hear a familiar cheerful voice: "Hi, honey, how are you?"

Darcy's hand trembled, and the elastic, torn, slipped off her finger and flew off to the side. Darcy screamed involuntarily, not knowing why: from horror or from shock. But why should she be afraid? In twenty-seven years of marriage, he had only touched her to caress her. And over the years, he only raised his voice a few times.

The phone rang and rang, but suddenly fell silent, interrupted in the middle of the call. Now he will leave a message: “I can’t catch you! Call me back when you get back so I don't have to worry, okay? My number…"

Bob will make sure to leave the hotel's phone number where he can be contacted. He never relied on chance and always prudently hedged.

Her fears were unfounded. They are certainly akin to those that can suddenly emerge from the darkest depths of consciousness, frightening with terrible guesses. For example, that ordinary heartburn is the beginning of a heart attack, and a headache is a symptom of a brain tumor, that Petra did not call back from the party because she had an accident and is now in a coma in some hospital. Darcy usually had such anxieties in the morning of a sleepless night, when she could not close her eyes. But at eight in the evening? .. And where did this damned gum fly off?

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Stephen King

Happy marriage

Happy marriage
Stephen King

Stephen King

Happy marriage

But if someone had asked her a question about her family life before that evening, she would surely have answered that she was happily married and everything was fine with that.

The young accountant's name was Bob Anderson. They started talking on the second day and she asked him if he had a hobby. Bob replied that yes, and this is a hobby - numismatics.

He began to explain to her what it was, but she did not let him finish.

- I know. My father collects Liberty bust dimes and Indian nickels. He says he has a special weakness for them. Do you have such a weakness, Mr. Anderson?

He really had one: "wheat cents", those with two ears of wheat on the reverse. He dreamed that someday he would come across a copy of the coinage of 1955, which ...

But Darcy knew this too: the batch was minted with a defect - it turned out to be a “double die”, which made the date look double, but the numismatic value of such coins was obvious.

“And no searching for coins?” she said jokingly.

He smiled, showing straight, white, well-groomed teeth. It had never occurred to her that the thought of his teeth might someday make her shudder, but was that surprising?

“If I come across a good set of coins, I certainly won’t pass by,” he replied.

– Especially with “wheat cents”? she said in the same tone.

“Especially with them,” he confirmed. “So will you keep me company, Darcy?”

She agreed.

On their wedding night, she experienced an orgasm. And then I experienced it from time to time. Not every time, but often enough to feel satisfied and think that everything is fine.

How is your marriage?

It's no secret that a happy marriage is based on a balance of interests and high stress tolerance. Darcy knew it too. As the Steve Winwood song says, "go with the flow and don't flounder."

She didn't flinch. And he too.

Darcy had no doubt that her husband had formed a similar image of herself. For example, the cinnamon-tinged scent of the protective lipstick she wore during the winter. Or the scent of the shampoo he caught when he rubbed his nose against the back of her neck—rare now, but it did happen. Or the clicking of the keyboard on her computer at two in the morning, when she suddenly had insomnia for a couple of days a month.

That was until that night in the garage.

– Opening a garage is so easy! He told her more than once. When you've been married for twenty-seven years, advice is given less and less. “Just press the button on the sun visor in the car.

But if someone had asked her a question about her family life before that evening, she would surely have answered that she was happily married and everything was fine with that.

In 1982, Joe Ransome, in a rather sticky tax situation, hired a Portland accounting firm to, as he put it in a conversation with a senior manager that Darcy overheard, "solve a problem everyone only dreams of." Two came to the rescue with diplomats: one older and the other younger. Both wear glasses and conservative suits, and both have neatly cropped hair slicked to one side, reminiscent of Darcy's snapshots from the 1954 senior year mother album, where the faux-leather cover shows a cheerleader holding a bullhorn.

The young accountant's name was Bob Anderson. They started talking on the second day and she asked him if he had a hobby. Bob replied that yes, and this hobby is numismatics.

He began to explain to her what it was, but she did not let him finish.

I know. My father collects Liberty bust dimes and Indian nickels. He says he has a special weakness for them. Do you have such a weakness, Mr. Anderson?

He really had one: "wheat cents", those with two ears of wheat on the reverse. He dreamed that someday he would come across a copy of the coinage of 1955, which ...

But Darcy knew this too: the party was minted with a defect - it turned out to be a “double die”, which made the date look double, but the numismatic value of such coins was obvious.

And no searching for coins? she said jokingly.

He smiled, showing straight, white, well-groomed teeth. It had never occurred to her that the thought of his teeth might someday make her shudder, but was that surprising?

If a good set of coins comes across, I will certainly not pass by, ”he replied.

Especially with "wheat cents"? she said in the same tone.

Especially with them,” he confirmed. “So will you keep me company, Darcy?”

She agreed.

On their wedding night, she experienced an orgasm. And then I experienced it from time to time. Not every time, but often enough to feel satisfied and think that everything is fine.

In 1986, Bob received a promotion. In addition, on the advice and not without the help of Darcy, he opened a small company that delivered by mail collectible coins found from catalogs. The business proved lucrative, and in 1990 he expanded the range to include baseball player cards and old movie posters. He did not have his own stocks of posters and posters, but, having received an order, he was almost always able to fulfill it. This was usually done by Darcy, using a swollen rotating catalog with contact cards to contact collectors across the country, which seemed very convenient before the advent of computers. This business has not grown to a size that would allow you to completely switch only to it. But this state of affairs suited the spouses quite well. However, they showed similar unanimity in buying a house in Paunal, and in the issue of having children, when it came time to have them. They usually agreed with each other, but if opinions differed, they always came to a compromise. Their value system was the same.

How is your marriage?

It's no secret that a happy marriage is based on a balance of interests and high stress tolerance. Darcy knew it too. As the Steve Winwood song says, "go with the flow and don't flounder."

She didn't flinch. And he too.

They sold their old house in Paunal and bought a more prestigious one in Yarmouth. Darcy's breasts, so small, elastic and tall in her youth - she generally considered them her main advantage and never wanted to be like the buxom waitresses of the Hooters restaurant chain - now they have become larger, have lost their elasticity and, of course, sagged a little, which immediately it was noticeable when she took off her bra. But still, Bob occasionally sneaked up behind them and put his hands on them. After a pleasant foreplay in the upstairs bedroom overlooking the peaceful strip of their small lot, they still made love from time to time. He often, but not always, reached orgasm too quickly, and if she remained unsatisfied, then still "often" did not mean "always". In addition, the peace that she felt after sex, when her husband, warm and relaxed after the discharge received, fell into a dream in her arms, she always experienced. This peace, in her opinion, was largely due to the fact that after so many years they were still living together, approaching a silver wedding and everything was fine with them.

Through the loosely closed door to the bathroom, you can see a crossword puzzle book sitting on the lap of a husband sitting on a toilet seat. The smell of cologne means there won't be an SUV in front of the house for a couple of days, and Darcy will have to sleep alone, because her husband will have to deal with client accounts in New Hampshire or Vermont: now Benson, Bacon and Anderson had a clientele all over New England. Sometimes the smell of cologne meant a trip to see the collection of coins at a property sale: they both knew that not all coins for their side business could be obtained by relying on the Internet. A shabby black suitcase in the hallway, which Bob did not want to part with, despite all her persuasion. His slippers by the bed, always nestled one inside the other. A glass of water and an orange vitamin tablet are on the latest issue of Coins and Numismatics, which is on the nightstand next to him. It is as invariable as when he burps he says, “There is more air outside than inside,” or “Watch out! Gas attack!" when spoiling the air. His coat always hangs on the first hook of the hanger. The reflection in the mirror of his toothbrush - Darcy had no doubt that if she had not changed them regularly, her husband would have continued to use the one he had on his wedding day. His habit is to wipe his lips with a napkin after every second or third piece of food is put into his mouth. Methodically packing up gear, with the obligatory spare compass, before she and Stan lead a group of nine-year-olds on a hike through Dead Man's Trail, a perilous journey through the woods that began behind Golden Grove Mall and ended at Used Car World » Weinberg. Bob's nails are always short and clean. The smell of chewing gum is always clearly felt when kissing. All this, along with a thousand other little things, made up the secret history of their family life.

Their marriage had lasted twenty-seven years, or - as she joked with a calculator on her computer - nine thousand eight hundred and fifty-five days. Nearly a quarter of a million hours or more than fourteen million minutes. Of course, his business trips and her own rare trips can be deducted from this - the saddest was with her parents in Minneapolis when her younger sister Brandolyn, who died in an accident, was buried. But the rest of the time they were not separated.

That was until that night in the garage.

Andrea York

Happy marriage

The pitch darkness in which the room was plunged was occasionally pierced by the occasional flash of the burglar's small flashlight.

Near the wall, tightly clinging to the arms of an uncomfortable straight chair, sitting with bated breath, Linda Brothers. Eyes wide, she peered intently into the darkness, trying to pick up some movement or sound that could tell exactly where the unwanted visitor was.

Linda knew that complete darkness sometimes plays bad jokes with a person - it envelops the mind in a suffocating fog, gives rise to hallucinations. Now she could have sworn that she saw the flashlight coming towards her, and with difficulty suppressed the urge to jump up and run headlong out of the room. However, the instructions given to her were very clear. At any minute or even a second, everything could end.

The thin red beam of the flashlight flickered again somewhere in the upper corner, and immediately, making Linda shudder, the siren blared. The room was instantly filled with bright light. Linda instinctively put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes, but managed to notice the figure of a robber crouching on the floor in the center of the room. He thumped the floor with his fist in annoyance.

Damn it, turn that thing off! the man yelled. The siren stopped, and the room fell into blessed silence.

Linda lowered her arms and blinked a few times as she slowly adjusted to the light. With the darkness, the feeling of fear also disappeared. The office, which had once seemed tiny, now looked like a huge, warehouse-like space. It was a model of the office that the attacker was trying to break into, and it was one of half a dozen similar rooms in the Safe House test facility. Linda was not alone here - all the chairs in the viewing gallery were occupied.

Gerald Stroitt, who had been sitting next to her, finished making notes in his notebook and, slipping it into his pocket, walked over to the black-clad figure sprawled on the floor.

Well, Tom, he asked politely, what do you think of our new alarm system now?

The robber rolled onto his back.

You said that the dead zone allows the free movement of guard dogs and the siren does not turn on. You lied!

Lied? Not at all. Everything is as I told you. But you, my friend, are slightly larger than an East European Shepherd. Plus, more importantly, you have a different profile.

Thomas sat up, pulling off his gloves.

Are you saying that your new system "saw" in the dark that I didn't have a tail?

Something like that. Gerald held out his hand.

The "robber" grabbed her and easily got to his feet.

Is that all you're going to tell me?

Gerald's dark eyebrows rose in surprise.

Of course, the rest is a trade secret of the company. You only need to know that this device will protect your clients even if they don't know the details of how this thing works.

Thomas took off his black stocking and ran a hand through his tousled hair. When he and the chief of the firm stood side by side, it was hard to imagine two more dissimilar people. Gerald Strong is a little over six feet, in an immaculately tailored silver gray suit, silk shirt and handmade tie, brown hair, hair to hair. And Thomas Bentley - an inch shorter, thinner, in a black turtleneck and jeans, with tousled hair, covered with dust, looking like a real burglar now.

Linda caught herself thinking about what a strange couple these friends are.

Bentley is just getting used to the image, isn't it? - said a young woman standing near Linda - Agnes Crawford, sales agent. - Tom could do these tests in the light, but he always insists on complete darkness, dark clothes and other attributes. It gives me goosebumps right off the bat.

Linda shrugged.

Any good security specialist strives to bring testing as close to the real situation as possible. I wouldn't like to meet Tom in a dark alley looking like this, but in reality he's completely harmless.

Gerald Strong casually placed a hand on Linda's shoulder.

Of course harmless. Tom worries that he has failed with his makings of a spy. He's only here because he wasn't hired by the CIA.

Come on, Jerry, protested Tom. - You're only talking nasty things because your sensors on the windows didn't react this time.

Gerald frowned.

I know. We will have to work on this. Linda, if you're going to the office, would you put this on my desk? He handed her a leather notebook. - I'm taking Tom to lunch now, maybe he'll give me some ideas. And ask Gloria to reserve a table for two at the Surprise for tonight. Ten, to be sure.

Surely? Linda frowned slightly.

Gerald nodded.

Just in case the play gets long. We're going to watch Heinrich.

This meant that his companion today would probably be the marvelous Margaret Vailly, for it was she, and not Gerald, who was the lover of Shakespeare.

I'll take care of it myself, Linda promised.

Gerald lifted her chin with a finger and looked into her face.

You don't have to do this. You are no longer a secretary. Forgot?

Booking a table at the Surprise on Friday night is no task for the average secretary, she said.

He smiled down at her, his brown eyes twinkling with gold.

What's the matter, Linda? Do you want to achieve a new promotion by taking on additional workload? Do not try. There is nowhere to go further. Except, of course, my position, but I'm not going to retire yet. - And together with Thomas Bentley, they disappeared into the hall, leaving the testing laboratory.

Agnes Crawford shook her head.

Honestly, Linda, I just can't imagine how you manage to work with him.

With Gerald? Linda was surprised. - He's a great boss.

No doubt. But how can you be calm when he looks at you? And his smile...

Linda almost opened her mouth in surprise.

Are you all right, Agnes? Darkness has a very strange effect on people. Of course, Gerald has a very pleasant smile. But…

Agnes stared at her over her glasses.

Okay, she said curtly. - Who is he?

Oh God, what do you mean?

Who is the person that makes you miss Gerald Strong's sexy aura? After all, he literally radiates it.

Linda shrugged.

I have no idea what you're talking about.

She was a little ashamed of her insincerity. No one knew about her and Brian, and he did not want to advertise their relationship. But soon everything should change. If last month's sales figures live up to Brian's expectations and he'll again be number one among sales agents...

Agnes watched her colleague doubtfully.

Listen, Linda said, how can you think about the sex appeal of a man if you work with him all the time? Don't you know one of the laws of service: a boss cannot be a hero to his secretary?

Agnes considered.

But you're no longer a secretary. You are his personal assistant.

Technically, I've never been his secretary. Still the principles are the same. Linda leaned over and took from her chair the documentation she had prepared in advance in case Gerald needed any additional information on the sensors during the tests. Why wasn't Brian here, Agnes? she asked. “I thought he would want to attend the trials.

He has some problems with one of the accounts. It will only be after lunch.

Linda tried not to show her disappointment. In fact, even if he was, they still wouldn't be able to have lunch together. She sighed. All these precautions seemed to her absolutely superfluous. So what if they are seen several times together? But Brian was careful, especially lately.

He is married? asked Agnes.

Linda bit her tongue. She almost answered that Brian, of course, is not married.

Who do you mean?

How whom? The man of your dreams, whose existence you hide so carefully. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone.

Linda placed Gerald's notebook on top of the documentation.

If I decided to have an affair with someone, I would definitely not get involved with a married man. Anyone who starts an affair behind his wife's back will not last long, even if he changes his spouse. I would like something better for myself. She smiled, looking into Agnes' surprised eyes. - No, this does not mean at all that I burned myself on a married woman. So you'd better stop fantasizing about my love affair and get back to worrying about our security systems. It will be better for both of us.

Agnes shook her head in disbelief, but said nothing more and left.

When Linda finally reached the office, her hands literally fell off under the weight of papers. She tried to get the key without letting go of her foot, but her hand could not hold it, and the folders scattered across the carpet.

Cursing softly, Linda bent down to collect the documents. Gerald's notebook lay right at her feet, open to the notes he had just made. No, that's impossible, Linda thought. Even in complete darkness, the boss writes as if there was a table lamp nearby. Not only does he inflame the feelings of the women who work with him, she thought, but he also sees in the dark. We must hasten to Agnes and tell her the news.

She left the papers on Gloria's desk, who was to sort them out and put them in the right files, and went into Gerald's spacious, luxurious office. Here, even the smell was special - a mixed aroma of leather, coffee, aftershave and expensive cigars.

Linda put the notepad right in the middle of the table and went to the window. A recent downpour had cleared the air, and Greenville was revealed to her in all its glory on this July day. Forcing herself to tear herself away from the magnificent view, she sat down by the phone and began calling the Surprise to reserve Gerald's table for the evening. The mere mention of his name evoked a warm response from the maître d', and he immediately assured that a table would be waiting for Mr. Strong at any time. Apparently Gerald didn't skimp on tips. Or perhaps his charm, which Agnes spoke of, extended to the waiters.

Linda smiled. According to Agnes, Gerald possessed a magnetic force that attracted women to the handsome man and gave them unlimited power. Indeed, in his life there was no shortage of admirers. Usually Gloria kept track of his calendar, reminding him of all the appointments, but Linda saw this calendar quite often and had an idea how regularly and with whom her boss met. It was not a small list, although not very diverse. All the women on the list were about the same type - dazzlingly beautiful, cold, elegant, fashionable and (surprisingly!) devoid of any flaws - such as Margaret Weily.

The mere thought that this lady was Gerald's mistress made Linda burst out laughing. It was simply impossible to imagine Margaret's always impeccable hair disheveled after heated love battles. But Gerald seemed to like ice women. And who asked Linda's opinion in this case?

There could be no doubt that Margaret herself was passionate about Gerald Strong. Even if he were only two feet tall and had warts on his nose, he would still be Christopher Strong's son and a hefty shareholder in Safe House. The fact that he had an attractive appearance, was distinguished by generosity and his smile could melt the North Pole, was only an additional incentive for Margaret.

All right, Linda told herself, stop with this topic. She poured a cup of coffee and, wrinkling her nose, looked at the thick dark goo. No, you have to cook fresh.

Linda was not surprised by Agnes' question. If a young unmarried woman, and a pretty one at that, works together with a young attractive unmarried man, few will believe that there is nothing between them but service interests. Why should she go to another job?

She decided this question for herself a year ago, when Christopher Strong announced his resignation and Gerald, who took over his father's presidential chair, offered her the place of his assistant. Of course, it would be ridiculous and even indecent to refuse, citing the fact that they should not work together for obvious reasons. But Linda hoped that these reasons would not arise. And it turned out to be right. She had nothing to worry about - for the whole year that they worked together, their relationship remained strictly business, without the slightest hint of anything else. Both were professionals, and their work was in the first place.

She tried to explain to Brian that the situation was quite normal, but to no avail. He said that most people don't think so. His colleagues, for example, if they learned that a simple employee is fond of the personal assistant to the president of the company, they would decide that he was going to arrange his career in this way. And Linda's career would have been in jeopardy if Gerald didn't like these meetings. Although Linda was adamant that Gerald didn't really care who his assistant was dating, or if she was dating at all. That's why she so reluctantly agreed with Brian to keep their relationship under wraps until he got his long-awaited promotion. The appointment of a new director of marketing was due soon, and Brian was hoping to get the job.

Linda had to admit that sometimes she had a very hard time. Sometimes I so wanted to open the window and shout to the whole world that she was in love with Brian Nixon. Silly, but sometimes it was difficult for her to get rid of the idea that Brian wants to hide their relationship from everyone, because deep down he is a little ashamed of her ...

The office door opened. Linda quickly looked up at the newcomer, awkwardly spilling her coffee on the papers lying on the table. Grabbing a napkin, she tried to quickly blot the coffee blots.

Dreamed? asked Christopher Strong good-naturedly. "I didn't know you could dream."

Linda cast a guilty look at the chairman of the board of directors and the founder of the Safe House Company, and looked down again at the blueprints on the table in front of her.

Christopher Strong, even in his sixty years, looked like a strong, broad-shouldered man. He did not at all resemble the stereotype of the imposing president of a large company. Few people would have thought that this man of few words, straightforward man, who even at work preferred simple clothes, and the new president of the company with impeccable manners, always dressed to the nines, father and son. Many employees of the company were afraid of Christopher Strong, but Linda always believed that behind the harsh facade of his appearance was a kind heart, which, in general, he did not like to advertise.

Well, tell me, Linda, what's going on here, - Christopher said leisurely, taking a cigar out of his mouth and sitting down in his favorite chair.

You missed testing the new alarm this morning.

Christopher shook his head.

Didn't miss it, just didn't come. With Jerry and Tom Bentley, this is not a test, but a performance, you know.

You're right, Linda smiled. - They're like boys. They set up traps for each other, trying to show which of them is more inventive.

That's why I went fishing in the morning. But how did the tests go?

Ah, that's why you're here. Would you like to hear the short version?

Of course. You are my favorite agent 007, Christopher chuckled.

While Linda talked about the trials, he listened intently, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. Linda had long been accustomed not to interfere with him at such moments, so, having finished her brief report, she sat quietly, not interrupting Strong's silence. Finally he got up.

Come on, I'll buy you lunch.

A reward for good espionage? She shook her head reluctantly. - I can't, I have a lot of work to do.

Well, you're probably exaggerating. I stopped by Jerry's, his son was gone, and his desk was empty, like a landing strip ready for a plane.

He went out with Tom for lunch. Besides, his job is to think, and mine is to do all the paperwork when the boss thinks things through.

Then he should give you his big table. In any case, even the president of the company cannot force you not to eat. Or forbid a little fun. He himself, in any case, finds time for this. If Jerry does not play tennis or handball, then he can be found among the skiers on the slopes of the Winter Park. And Della is the same.

Linda smiled. Indeed, gliding down the ski slopes, Gerald gave vent to his indefatigable energy. As for his sister Della, her interests in such ski trips were associated exclusively with men whom she could meet when everyone gathered in the bar in the evenings.

Della is still very young, Linda thought. Over time, she will mature and become more serious.

You know," Christopher continued, "I've always wondered what to do there when there's no snow.

Linda looked at him in surprise and opened her mouth to answer, but immediately changed her mind. It's none of her business to discuss Gerald Strong's personal life. Instead of answering, she reached into the table and pulled out a calendar.

He didn't say anything about going to Winter Park this weekend, she muttered. "Maybe I should call Gerald, or should I wait for him?" He's having dinner with Margaret tonight at the Surprise.

No, not this weekend. Christopher shook his head. - Della has a party at the Big House tomorrow.

And Gerald goes there? It's really weird.

This is not one of those parties that Della usually throws. Are you coming?

I didn't know I was invited, - carefully choosing her words, Linda answered. “Actually, this is the first time I hear about it.

Yes? Christopher frowned. "I'm sure I put you on the guest list myself."

But it's not the company that throws the party?

No. There will be mostly family friends and only a few people from the company.

Christopher smiled.

In fact, he admitted, I organize this party myself. And I have my own interest in inviting you.

Need more spying? Linda asked dryly.

Not really. I was hoping you could help me keep an eye on the waiters. You know, when they think no one is watching them...

Linda chuckled to herself. Although Chris was the owner of the richest company, he was sometimes surprisingly petty.

Okay, she agreed. - I'm free, so I'll come and watch. But you should be ashamed, Chris.

Oh, I'm ashamed, - he admitted honestly. But I won't be in debt. If they don't drink a third of my champagne, I...

Champagne? Linda was surprised. Usually at the meetings that Christopher arranged, it was about fifteen-year-old whiskey.

Yes, and not some cheap fizz. What is left for me? Fortunately, a girl has such parties only once.

Linda raised her eyebrows in surprise.

Okay, I'll tell you. Della would have killed me. She so wants it to be a surprise for everyone. But I know you know how to keep your mouth shut. It's her engagement party.

Linda blinked in surprise, but immediately thought that she was being unfair to the girl. Della is old enough to know what she wants. She graduated from college last spring. It's just that her behavior sometimes made others perceive her as a stupid girl.

Happy Marriage Stephen King

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Title: happy marriage

About The Happy Marriage by Stephen King

We often pay our attention only to a beautiful wrapper, but we are not at all interested in the inner content. Horror master Stephen King invites us to read the book "Happy Marriage", which will reveal to us the terrible secret of one seemingly happy family, but a terrible truth is hidden behind external well-being. The husband turned out to be a serial maniac. Do you think it is possible to recognize your soul mate after 27 years of marriage? Yes, this is an impressive period, but, as it turned out, this is not enough to learn everything about a person.

All of you are familiar with or have probably heard of the legend of horror books Stephen King, who has an incredible talent for bringing mystical stories to life on the pages of his works, filling them with an eerie atmosphere that gives you goosebumps. But that's not all ... The author can tell any everyday story in such a way that it becomes scary at the mere thought that this happened somewhere in real life. At the same time, the main characters are not monsters, ghouls and ghosts, but real people, your close people, from whom you do not expect a blow.

The main characters of the book "A Happy Marriage" - Darcy and Bob Andersen - an ideal married couple who have lived together for a long time. The husband loved Darcy, he was always attentive, kind and sweet. The woman believed that she had a happy and ideal family. But at one fine moment, this beautiful illusion of a happy marriage evaporated, and a cruel reality opened up. Darcy found her husband's hiding place, which led her to incredible horror. Bob was a serial killer who brutally murdered eleven innocent women. How could this happen? Why didn't she notice this before? You can read about this in the book "A Happy Marriage".

Stephen King in his book shows us that even the most ideal family can have their skeletons in the closet. It is impossible to fully know everything about a person, even if you have lived together for twenty-seven years. Reading the work, we delve into the history of this family. The events in the book develop very dynamically. First, we get to know the ideal and loving Andersen family, who live in perfect harmony, do not quarrel and always find a compromise. Further, we see that the family was not so perfect, and their marriage was built on deceit. The woman found herself in a nightmarish reality, but the worst thing was that she did not know him at all. And now she has to make a choice: either leave everything as it is and forget, or stop her husband. What choice will she make?

A Happy Marriage is very easy to read thanks to the simple style and the skill of the author, who, as always, was on top. Stephen King very vividly described the images of his characters, their feelings and secret thoughts, which gives us the opportunity to experience everything that happens for ourselves. This work was based on real events.

On our site about books, you can download the site for free without registration or read online the book "Happy Marriage" by Stephen King in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and a real pleasure to read. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For novice writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you can try your hand at writing.

Quotes from "A Happy Marriage" by Stephen King

It's strange how people seem to see everything, but the reason is interpreted just the opposite. But how could it be otherwise, if we do not forget that usually a marriage on the outside and a marriage on the inside are not very similar.

In most cases, love and marriage are mutually exclusive.

... for a hasty marriage, young people pay slowly.

It's no secret that a happy marriage is based on a balance of interests and high stress tolerance.

Marriage is like building a house forever, with new rooms added every year. A small cottage of the first year of family life is constantly being completed and in twenty-seven years it turns into a huge mansion with intricate passages. Cracks are likely to appear in it, and most of the pantries are covered with cobwebs and abandoned. It stores, among other things, unpleasant memories from the past, which are better not to stir up. Such memories should simply be thrown out of the head or shown generosity.