I Will Fear No Evil (41 page)

Packages, three men, and one woman almost filled the front lift. Joan waited until Finchley had punched for her floor and the lift had started, then she quickly punched the “Stop” touchplate, held them between floors. “Put those packages down.”

She went first to Shorty, took his face between her hands. “Thank you, Hugo. Thank you most of all, as your gentle wisdom got us all straightened out.” She pulled his face down, kissed him softly and unhurriedly, lips closed. “Good night.”

She turned to Fred. “Thank you, Fred. I thank you—and Eunice thanks you.” As his arms closed she let her lips come open. (See what, I mean, twin? That’s a sample.) (I see—I shall be very careful not to get him alone unless I expect more than a sample.) “Good night, Fred.”

“Tom, it’s been the best day of my life. I hope you enjoyed it half as much as I did. Thank you.” Joan went straight into the kiss without waiting for Finchley to answer, her face up, eyes closed—and with her back to Shorty in case her driver decided to take advantage of it.

—which he did. (Goodness! Eunice, are you
sure
you never laid him?) (Quite sure, darn it! Are
you
going to?) (I don’t know, I don’t know!)

Breathless she broke from him, turning her back to all of them to punch again for her floor and trying to regain her composure.

The car stopped and she said, “Put everything in my bedroom, boys. Winnie! Wait till you see!”

The little redhead had been waiting at the lift. “Miss Joan! You’ve been gone all day!”

“And why not? Put them anywhere, on the floor, on the bed. Winnie, have you had dinner? That’s all, thanks. Good night and thank you all.”

“Good night, Miss Smith.”

As soon as the door sealed, Joan hugged her maid, lifting her off her feet. “You didn’t answer. Did you eat with the staff? Or did you wait?”

“Couldn’t eat. Oh, Joan, I’ve been
so
worried. You ran away and didn’t tell anybody where you were going. Bad girl—to worry me so.”

“Pooh. I had guards with me; you knew I was safe.”

“But guards aren’t nurses. I’m supposed to watch you, for Dr. Garcia.”

“And pooh all over dear Doctor, too. Winsome, I’m no longer a patient, I’m no longer a ward; I’m a free woman and healthy as a horse and you can’t mother me every minute like a broody hen. All right, we’ve got supper coming up and they’ll leave it in the lounge and we’ll eat when we feel like it.”

“I know, I was backstairs when the order came in—so I hurried up the service lift and thought I had missed you as the indicator was stopped. Then it started again.”

“Something wrong with that lift, it stalled. But we kept punching buttons until the Yehudi woke up. Too many gadgets in this house.” (Eunice, I thought a stalled elevator was a safe as a grave. Is there no privacy
anywhere?
) (‘Fraid not, Boss honey. But I never worried much about such things; I just worried about hurting people.) (I stand corrected. Ever been caught with your legs up, hussy?) (Only once when it was embarrassing—and that’s all it was. It’s nothing to worry about.)

“Shall I tell maintenance about the lift?”

“No, Finchley will report it. Winsome, maintenance is no part of your duties; you’re here to giggle with me and to give me a shoulder to cry on and to cry on mine—and to keep dear Doctor from fussing.” Joan started undressing. “Get your clothes off; we’re going to model clothes, I’ve been shopping. Boy oh boy, did I shop! Gave the economy a shot in the arm, I did. Get those duds off—have you had your bath, you dirty girl? Or are you going to bathe with me? Come here and let me smell you.”

“Had a bath when I got up.”

“You smell all right, I fear me I’m well marinated; it’s been a busy day. Okay, we’ll dunk together and get stinking good later. Before giving dear Jake another lesson in how to relax. But now we model. Give us a kiss first.” (Eunice, will that rubber dingus stay in place in the tub?) (It’ll stay seated anywhere—or I would have left a dozen orphans behind me. You can even use the fountain—and you had better.)

“Joan, since you were going shopping, why didn’t you take me along? Meanie.”

“Complaints, complaints, complaints. I thought you needed sleep, dear. Or didn’t Bob show up?”

Winifred blushed clear down her breasts but she answered happily, “Oh, yes, he did! But I would have been up at once if you had called me—love to shop,”

“What time did you wake up?”

The blush renewed. “Not till almost thirteen. Long past noon.”

“The defense rests. Winsome baby, I didn’t take you along because I bought things for
you
, too . . . and if I had had you along, you would have fussed every time I spent a dollar on you. And to set a precedent, too. I’m not a prisoner any longer. I’m free to come and go just as you are. If I don’t take you along, you mustn’t ask why and I may not tell you where or what.”

The younger girl looked crushed. “Yes, Miss Joan. I’ll remember.” So Joan Eunice again took her in her arms. “There, there, pet; don’t quiver your lip. I’ll take you with me, mostly. And if I don’t, I’ll tell you about it, mostly. But I might tell you a fib instead. I might have a date with some horny interns and would not want to shock my Winsome.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Not mean teasing. I’m at least half serious. Winnie, if you want to see your Bob, no one in this house cares but me and my interest is friendly. But
me?
There are fortyodd people staring down my neck. If I ever have a man in my bed, the whole household will know it, and it’s at least fifty-fifty that some member of my ever-loyal staff would sell the fact to a news snoop and it would be on the morning gossip program—phrased so that I can’t sue without making it worse. Not?”

“Uh . . . sounds horrible. But I guess it could happen.”

“You know it could. Every gossip column, every gossip program, proves it. Hon, if a person is too rich, or too prominent, all the public lets him wear is the Emperor’s New Clothes—and what they like best is bad news, good news is too bland. Back when I was running it, Smith Enterprises spend many thousands of dollars every quarter to give me a totally false ‘public image’—poisonous phrase!—for business reasons. But that’s done with and now I’m fair game. Still more interesting fair game now that I’m miraculously young and female and pretty. No, ‘beautiful’—let’s be fair to Eunice Branca. You saw what they did yesterday; you watched the babble box. What would they do if they could prove something on me?”

“Uh, something nasty, I guess.”

“I
know
they would, I’m not guessing; I’ve had too many years of trying to avoid the spotlight. The old Romans knew what they were doing when they tossed living victims to the lions; most people are fairly decent—but collectively they love blood. I’m going to do something about getting out of the spotlight but in the meantime, I’m vulnerable. Winnie, what would you do if I woke you some night and asked you to let me slide a man into your bed—so that you could be caught, not me. Be certain to be caught, I mean, public as a show window. So caught that Bob would know, too.”

The little girl took a deep breath. “I’d do it! Bob would understand.”

“Ah, but if I begged you
not
to explain it to Bob? Just take the rap for me?”

“I’d still do it.”

Joan kissed her. “I know you would. But you won’t have to, sweet Winsome. If—no,
when
—I slip, I won’t load it onto my chum. But I may ask you to tell lies for me someday—jigger for me—help me cover up. Would you?”

“Of course I would.”

“And I knew it and didn’t need to ask. It might be soon, I’m feeling more female every day. Now let’s play Christmas—I think that round, flubsy box is for Winnie.”

Shortly Winifred was parading in front of mirrors with an awed look on her face. “Oh, Joan, you shouldn’t have!”

“That’s why I made you stay home. It’s a maid’s uniform, dear—an allowable deduction for me by terms of the Cooks, Domestics, and Hotel Workers approved contract.”

“ ‘Maid’s uniform’ indeed! It’s a Stagnaro Original straight from Rome; I read the label.”

“As may be, I’ll tell my accountant to list it as a deduction just to annoy the I.R.S. Take it off, dear, and let’s see what else we find. Hey, here’s one for
me
.” Joan quickly got dressed. “What do you think? Of course with this I ought to have my body painted.”

“I wouldn’t use paint, if I were you. You look yummy and that off-white sets off your skin. It’s a delicious design even though kind o’ wicked. Joan, how do you know so much about buying women’s clothes? I mean, uh—”

“You mean, ‘How does an old man who hasn’t picked out a dress for a woman in at least half a century manage it?’ Genius, dear, sheer genius. You ought to hear my bird imitations.” (Hey! Don’t
I
get any credit?) (Not unless you want to break your cover, Mata Hari. The men in the white coats are just outside that door.) (Pee on you, twin. Maybe someday we can tell Winnie.) (I hope so, darling—I not only love you, I’m proud of you.) (
Kiss!
)

They worked down to two boxes which Joan had held back. When Winifred saw the synthetic emerald set—gee patch and two half-moon cups shaped for bare nipples—she gasped. “Oh, goodness! Put it on, Joan, and let me find your highest heels!”

“
You
find
your
highest heels, darling—those green rhinestone stilts you were wearing earlier. They didn’t have stilts to match this outfit in your size. I’ve ordered them.”

“This is for
me
? Oh, no!”

“Then put it down the trash chute; gee-strings can’t be exchanged. Winsome, that dress was designed for a redhead—and the cups are too small for me. Put it on. That envelope contains a floorlength transparent skirt, silk with a hint of matching green. With the skirt it’s just right for formal dinner parties. You could wear one emerald on your forehead. Not any other jewelry. Nor paint.”

“But, Joan, I never go to that sort of party—I’ve never ever been invited to one.”

“Perhaps it’s time I gave one; the banquet hall hasn’t been used in ten years. You would look beautiful—junior hostess at the other end of the long table. But, dear, besides an ultra-formal party, it’s intended—without the skirt—for most informal occasions. Would you enjoy wearing it for Bob—and would he enjoy taking it off?”

Winifred caught her breath. “I can’t wait.”

“Got a date tonight, hon?”

“No, that’s why I said ‘I can’t wait.’ Because I can’t resist it—want Bob to see me in it . . . want him to take it off me. Joan, I shouldn’t accept it, it’s much too expensive. But I will, I do. Goodness, you make me feel like a kept woman.”

“You are one, dear; I’m keeping you. And enjoying it very much.”

The little nurse stopped smiling. Then she faced her mistress, looked up directly into her eyes. “Joan, maybe I shouldn’t say this, maybe it’ll spoil everything. But I think I must. Uh—” She stopped and took a deep breath. “Two or three times it’s seemed to me you almost made a pass at me.”

(There’s the pitch, twin! Too late for me to help.) “It’s been more than three times, Winifred.”

“Well . . . yes. But why did you stop?”

Joan sighed. “Because I was scared.”

“Of
me
?”

“Of-me. Winsome darling—I’ve done many hard things in my life. Such as waiting in a landing boat, bobbing around and seasick and stinking with fear . . . then dropping off into four feet of water with machine guns raking us and killing my buddies on both sides. But this is the hardest thing I’ve ever tried. Being a woman. I have to think about it every instant—do consciously the things you do automatically. Goodness, today I came within a split second of walking into a men’s toilet instead of the ladies’ powder room. And now you. Darling, can you guess what a temptation you are to me? Can you realize that old Johann is looking at your winsome loveliness out of Joan’s eyes? Winnie, there hasn’t been a moment but what I’ve wanted to touch you. Hold you in my lap. Kiss you. Make love to you. If I were a man . . . I’d be trying my damnedest to crowd Bob out. Or at least make room for me.”

“Joan.”

“Yes, dear?”

“There’s room for you.”

Joan found that she was trembling. “Darling!
Please!
Can’t we wait? You have Bob . . . and I have still to learn to be a woman.” She started to cry.

And found Winifred’s arms around her. “Stop it, dear. Please stop. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll help, of course I’ll help. We’ll wait. Years if you need that long. Until you’re calmed down and sure of yourself—and want me. But Winnie isn’t trying to seduce her Joanie. Oh, it can be sweet, truly it can. But you’re right and I do have Bob and my nerves aren’t frayed the way yours must be. Someday you’ll fall in love with a man, and may forget all about me. Wanting to touch me, I mean—and that’s all right, as long as I can love you and be your friend.”

Joan dashed away a tear, and sniffed. “Thank you, Winnie. I’ve made a fool of myself again.”

“No, you haven’t. I just have trouble remembering, sometimes. Do you want a tranquilizer?”

“No. I’m all right now.”

“Would you rather I didn’t touch you?”

“No. I want you to kiss me, Winnie. Hard. Best you ever have. Then put on the green gee-string dress and let us look at it. Then we’ll eat. And then grab some soapsuds and make me smell better for our prayer meeting with Jake—I need those prayers tonight; they’re the right tranquilizer. Put it on, dear. But kiss me first.”

Winnie kissed her—started to hold back, then flared like a prairie fire and did make it “best she ever had.”

(Break, twin, before the house burns down. That’s the fanciest tap dancing since Bojangles died.) (What do you know about Bojongles? You
can’t
know about him.) (Ever hear of classic films, Boss? Now see to it that Bob marries her; you owe her that, for the hurdles you make her jump.) (How can I when I don’t know who he is?) (You can find out. Cheat. O’Neil knows. After you know who he is, find out what he wants; he’ll geek.
Men!
Boss, I love you, but sometimes I’m not sure why.)

After Winnie modeled the emerald dress, she fetched in their trays from Joan’s upstairs lounge while Joan opened the last package. It contained her present for Jake. “Winnie, tell me what you think of this.”