Tomas Read Online Free Page B

yes, that movie’s in the bag,’ says one.
    â€˜There’s no question, I’ve got that script,’ says the other.
    As the producers are on the verge of deciding which of the producees to produce the scarecrow interjects, ‘I don’t like the food here.’
    A cold drizzle descends on the table. How could this be of any interest to his fellow artists? Silly old scarecrow. Go off and scare some crows.
    â€˜No, I don’t like it at all,’ he continues, unaffected by the indifference of his professional colleagues. ‘It’s much better on my boat. My cook’s excellent.’
    In unison, the three producees turn to face him like soldiers on parade. They stand to attention.
    â€˜If one of you girls would be interested in joining me? Or perhaps all of you?’
    There’s a bang, a puff of smoke, and the two epic-romance producers cease to exist. In a heartbeat, to feature in a scarecrow movie becomes a grail of indescribable holiness to the three producees. Before, they were blind. Hallelujah! Now they can see.
    Tomas raises a cynical eyebrow. He suspects it may be time for a further morality lesson. But perhaps his recent annihilation sprees were a little pre-emptory. Besides, he’s enjoying watching the ebb and flow of the dance floor. He decides to ask the invisible voice for a translation of the scarecrow’s conversation before taking a decision. Thus:
    SCARECROW:
    I don’t like the food here.
    TRANSLATION:
    I’m making an anodyne warm-up comment before getting on to what I really want to say.
    SCARECROW:
    No, I don’t like it all.
    TRANSLATION:
    I’m creating further anodyne tension to lend greater weight to what’s about to come.
    SCARECROW:
    It’s much better on my boat.
    TRANSLATION:
    I’m rich.
    SCARECROW:
    My cook’s excellent.
    TRANSLATION:
    I’m very rich.
    SCARECROW:
    If one of you girls would be interested in joining me?
    TRANSLATION:
    I want to fuck you.
    SCARECROW:
    Or perhaps all of you?
    TRANSLATION:
    I want to fuck you all.
    Tomas suspected as much. His biceps bulge as he reaches for his heavy weapons. Just as he loads, he catches a glimpse of something golden across the dance floor. He pockets his guns. As the dance floor pulses to and fro, he catches another glimpse and, a few seconds later, another. Something draws him towards this ethereal glow and he stands up to investigate.
    Everything is again in slow motion. The dancers perform their tribal moves at quarter speed; the disco lights are feeble, the music a muddy drone. As Tomas advances, a magic corridor opens up between the dancers and he catches frequent glimpses of the shining thing. Now he has an almost clear view. At last he reaches the end of the corridor. And there she is.
    Tomas can’t breathe. When his breath returns it’s painful. His body is infused with an electric shock that sends tingles to his extremities. His heart literally aches.
    She is beautiful beyond words; brown-blonde hair falling unstyled over a wide face, oval brown eyes and a full mouth. She wears a cropped vest over a short tightskirt. She has no bra and he can see the outline of perfect pert breasts.
    The glow he noticed across the room is a Mediterranean tan. Although light, it has a magical effect and she radiates like gold. Her legs are smooth and oiled, and she stands with her feet apart, pointing outwards. Her arms hang loose with fingers interlocked before her like a schoolgirl waiting. Her head is lowered but her eyes fix on Tomas.
    The slow-motion button is turned off and the club resumes its normal tempo. But in their soporific state, the partygoers have sensed the drama: all eyes are now on Tomas. The music stops and the disco lights swivel to illuminate him standing before his golden angel.
    He’s in love and everyone knows it.
    A microphone appears inches from Tomas’s gaping mouth. The first words of his love are to be witnessed by the club, in fact, the