I Will Fear No Evil Part 24

"Do please sit down-Miss."

"Thank you." Joan waited until he got up and moved a chair to a correct "honored-guest" position near his own. She sat down. "Now answer the rest. Are we truly private? If we are not-and you tell me that we are-I will eventually know it . . . and will take such steps as I deem appropriate."

"Uh, we're private. But just a moment." He got up, went to his secretary's door, bolted it manually. "Now, Miss, please tell me what this is about."

"I shall. First, I've been supplementing my original endowment with quarterly checks. Have you been receiving these during my incapacitation?"

"Eh . . . one check failed to arrive. I waited six weeks, then wrote to Mr. Salomon and explained what your custom had been. It seems he checked the facts, for soon after we received two quarterly payments at once, with a letter saying that he would continue to authorize payments in accordance with your custom. Is there some difficulty?"

"No, Doctor. The Foundation will continue to receive my support. Let me add that the trustees are-on the whole-satisfied with your management."

"That's pleasing to hear. Is that why you came today? To tell me that?"

"No, Doctor. Now we get to the purpose. Are you quite certain quite certain that our privacy cannot be breached? Let me add that the answer is that our privacy cannot be breached? Let me add that the answer is far far more important to more important to you you than it is to me." than it is to me."

"Miss, uh-Miss, I am certain."

"Good. I want you to go into the cold vault, obtain donation 551-20-0052-I will go with you and check the number-and then I want you to impregnate me with it. At once."

The Doctor's face broke in astonishment. Then he regained his professional aplomb and said, "Miss-that is impossible."

"Why? The purpose of our inst.i.tution, as defined in its charter-which I wrote-is, to supply qualified females with donor sperm-on request, without fee, and without publicity. That's exactly what I want. If you wish to give me a physical examination, I'm ready. If you want to know whether or not this body is licensed for child-bearing, I a.s.sure you that it is-although you know that, in this this case, a fine for unlicensed pregnancy means less than nothing. What's the trouble? Docs it take too long to prepare the sperm to do it all in one day?" case, a fine for unlicensed pregnancy means less than nothing. What's the trouble? Docs it take too long to prepare the sperm to do it all in one day?"

"Oh, no, we can have it warmed and viable in thirty minutes."

"Then impregnate me thirty minutes from now."

"But, Miss-do you realize the trouble I could get into?"

"What trouble?"

"Well . . . I do follow the news. Or I would not have recognized you. I understand that there is a question of ident.i.ty-"

"Oh, that." Joan dismissed it. "Doctor, do you bet on the races?"

"Eh? I've been known to. Why?"

"If we are truly private, you can't possibly get into trouble. But there comes a time in every man's life when he must bet. You are at such a crisis. You can bet on a certain horse-on the nose, you can't hedge your bet. And win. Or lose. As you know, the other trustees of this corporation are my dummies; I I am the Foundation. Let me predict what will come to pa.s.s. Presently this ident.i.ty nonsense will be over and the real Johann Sebastian Bach Smith will stand up. At that time the endowment of this inst.i.tution will be doubled. At that same time the salary of the Director will be doubled. If you bet on the right horse, you will be the Director. If not-you'll be out of a job." am the Foundation. Let me predict what will come to pa.s.s. Presently this ident.i.ty nonsense will be over and the real Johann Sebastian Bach Smith will stand up. At that time the endowment of this inst.i.tution will be doubled. At that same time the salary of the Director will be doubled. If you bet on the right horse, you will be the Director. If not-you'll be out of a job."

"You're threatening me!"

"No. Prophesying. Old Johann Sebastian Bach Smith was a seventh son of a seventh son, born under a caul; he had the gift of prophecy. No matter which way you bet, the endowment will be doubled. But only you and I will ever know what is done today."

"Mmmm . . . there are procedures to satisfy. I do have authority to permit any adult female to receive a sperm donation if I am satisfied that she qualifies-and let's say that I am. Nevertheless there are routines to go through, records that must be kept."

(He's ready to geek, Boss. So sing him a Money Hum, with a different tune.) (Eunice, a cash bribe is to push him over if he won't fall. Let's see if he'll sell it to himself.) Joan shook her head. "No records. Just do it to me and I'll hook my veil over my face and leave."

"But, Miss-I don't do these things myself myself. A staff doctor carries out the donation procedure, a.s.sisted by a nurse. They would think it strange if no records were kept. Very."

"No nurses. No a.s.sistants. You alone, Doctor. You are an M.D. and a specialist in genetics and eugenics. Either you can do this . . . or you don't know enough to head this inst.i.tution-which the trustees would regretfully notice. Besides that, I go with you and check the number on that donation . . . and stick at your elbow until you place it inside me. Do we understand each other?"

The Doctor sighed. "I once thought a general practice was hard work! We can't be sure that a placed donation will result in impregnation."

"If not, I'll be back in twenty-eight and a half days. Doctor, quit stalling. Or bet on the other horse and I'll leave. No harsh words, now or later. Just that prophecy." She stood up. (Well, Eunice? Will the frog hop?) (Can't guess, dear. He's seen so many female tails he's bored with them. I can't figure him.) Olsen suddenly stood up. "You'll need a cold suit."

"All right."

"Plus the advantage that a cold suit covers so thoroughly that a man would not recognize his own wife in one. I have a spare here, for V.I.P.s"

"I think you could cla.s.s me as a V.I.P." Joan said dryly.

Forty minutes later Dr. Olsen said, "Hold still a moment longer. I am placing a Dutch cap, a latex occlusive cervical pessary, over the donation."

"Why, Doctor? I thought those things were for contraception."

"Usually. And it will serve that purpose, too-mean to say, some of our clients wish to be protected at once from any possibility of impregnation from any other souce. But in your case my purpose in installing this temporary barrier is to make certain that the donation does does impregnate you. To give those wigglers a chance to reach target and to keep them from swimming downstream instead-follow me? Leave it in place until sometime tomorrow-or later, it doesn't matter. Do you know how to remove it?" impregnate you. To give those wigglers a chance to reach target and to keep them from swimming downstream instead-follow me? Leave it in place until sometime tomorrow-or later, it doesn't matter. Do you know how to remove it?"

"If I can't get it out, I'll call you."

"If you wish. If you fail to skip your next menses, we can try again in four weeks." Dr. Olsen lowered the knee supports, offered his hand. She stepped down and her skirt fell into place. She felt flushed and happy. (Eunice, it's done!) (Yes, Boss! Beloved Boss.) Dr. Olsen picked up her cloak, held it ready to lay around her shoulders. She said, "Doctor-don't worry about the horse race."

He barely smiled. "I have not been worrying about it. May I say why?"

"Please."

"Um. If you recall, I have met Johann Smith-Mister Johann Smith-on other occasions." Johann Smith-on other occasions."

"Eleven occasions, I believe, sir, including a private interview when Dr. Andrews nominated you to succeed him."

"Yes, Miss Smith. I'll never forget that interview. Miss, there may be some legal point to clear up concerning your ident.i.ty. But not in my mind! I do not think that any young woman of your present physiological age could simulate Mr. Johann Smith's top-sergeant manner-and make it stick."

"Oh, dear!"

"Pardon me?"

"Dr. Olsen, this s.e.x change I've undergone is not easy to handle. It is fortunate-for both of us-that you were able to spot Johann Smith behind the face I now wear. But-darn it, sir!-I've got to acquire manners to match what I am now now. Will you call on me-oh, say three weeks from now when I hope to have cheerful news-and let me show you that I can can simulate a lady when I try? Come for tea. We can discuss how the Foundation's work can be expended under a doubled endowment." simulate a lady when I try? Come for tea. We can discuss how the Foundation's work can be expended under a doubled endowment."

"Miss Smith, I will be honored to call on you whenever you wish. For any reason. Or none." (Wups! Hey, Eunice, I thought you said he was bored with female tails?) (So I did. But we have an unusually pretty one, Joan, even from that angle. Gonna kiss him?) (Eunice, can't you treat just one man impersonally?) (I don't know; I've never tried. Aw, don't be chinchy; he's been a perfect lamb.) (Now you be a lamb, too-let's get out of here.) Joan let the doctor lay her cloak around her shoulders; it brought his head close to hers. She turned her face toward that side, wet her lips and smiled at him.

She could see him decide to risk it. She did not dodge as his lips met hers-but did not put her arms around him and let herself be slightly clumsy, stiffened a little before giving in to it. (Twin! Don't let him put us back on that able-make him use the couch in his office.) (Neither one, Eunice. Pipe down!) Joan broke from it, trembling. "Thank you, Doctor. And you see I can can be a girl if I try. How do I get back to the waiting room without pa.s.sing your Miss Perkins?" She hooked her yashmak. be a girl if I try. How do I get back to the waiting room without pa.s.sing your Miss Perkins?" She hooked her yashmak.

18.

A few minutes later Shorty handed her into her car, locked her in, and mounted into the forward compartment. "Gimbel's Compound, Miss Smith?"

"Please, Finchley."

Once inside the compound Joan had Fred escort her to Madame Pompadour's. The fact that she had a private bodyguard got her immediate attention from the manager, who was not Madame Pompadour even though he wore his hair in the style made famous by the notorious Marquise and had manners and gestures to match. (Eunice, are you sure we are in the right place?) (Certainly, Boss-wait till you see their prices.) "How may I serve Madame?"

"Do you have a private viewing room?"

"But of course, Madame. Uh, there is a waiting room where-"

"My guard stays with me."

The manager looked hurt. "As Madame wishes. If you will walk this way-" (Eunice, shall we walk that that way?) (Don't try, twin-just follow him. Or her, as the case may be.) way?) (Don't try, twin-just follow him. Or her, as the case may be.) Shortly Joan was seated facing a low model's walk; Fred stood at parade rest behind her. The room was warm; she unfrogged her cloak and pushed back its hood but left the yashmak over her features. Then she dug into her purse, got out a memorandum. "Do you have a model who comes close to these measurements?"

The manager studied the list-height, weight, shoulders, bust, waist, leg. "This is Madame?"

"Yes. But here is another specs list even if you can't match me. A friend for whom I wish to buy something pretty and exotic. She's a redhead with pale skin to match and green eyes." Joan had copied Winifred's measurements from the exercise records the two had been keeping.

"I see no problems, Madame, but in your own case permit me to suggest that our great creative artist, Charlot, will be happy to check these measurements or even to design directly on-"

"Never mind. I am buying items already made up. If I buy."

"Madame's pleasure. May I ask one question? Will Madame be wearing her own hair?"

"If I wear a wig, it will be the same color as my hair, so a.s.sume that." (Eunice, should I buy a wig?) (Be patient and let it grow out, dear. Wigs are hard to keep clean. And they never smell smell clean.) (Then we'll never wear one.) (Smart Boss. Soap and water is the world's greatest aphrodisiac.) (I've always thought so. Though a girl should smell like a girl.) (You do, dearie, you do-you can't help it.) clean.) (Then we'll never wear one.) (Smart Boss. Soap and water is the world's greatest aphrodisiac.) (I've always thought so. Though a girl should smell like a girl.) (You do, dearie, you do-you can't help it.) "Madame's hair is a beautiful shade. And now, since Madame indicated that her time is short, perhaps it would suit her convenience to let our accounting department record her credit card while I alert the two models?"

(Watch it, Boss!) (I wasn't a-hint the door, dearie.) "I use credit cards with several names. Such as McKinley, Franklin, and Grant. Or Cleveland." Joan reached into her purse, fanned a sheaf of bills. "The poor man's credit card."

The manager repressed a shudder. "Oh, goodness, we don't expect our clients to pay cash cash."

"I'm old-fashioned."

The manager looked pained. "Oh, but it's unnecessary. If Madame prefers not to use her general credit account-her privilege!-she can set up a private account with Pompadour in only moments. If she will permit me to have her I.D.-"

"Just a moment. Can you read fine print?" Joan pointed at a notice near a portrait of President McKinley. " 'This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private.' I shan't get tangled up in a computer. I pay cash."

"But, Madame-we aren't set up for cash! I'm not certain we could make change."

"Well, I don't want to put you to any inconvenience. Fred."

"Yes, Miss?"

"Take me to La Boutique."

The manager looked horrified. "Please, Madame! I'm sure something can be arranged. One moment while I speak to our accountant." He hurried away without waiting for an answer.

(Why the fuss, Boss honey? I've bought endless things for you, against your personal-expenditures account. Jake said we could use it.) (Eunice, I've despised those moronic machines since the first time I was trapped by a book club. But I'm not just being balky. Today is not not a day to admit who we are. Later-after we're out of court-we'll set up a "Susan Jones" account for shopping in person. If we ever do again. I can see it's a b.l.o.o.d.y nuisance.) (Oh, no, it's fun! You'll see, twin. But, remember-I hold a veto until you learn something about clothes) (Sho', sho', little nag.) (Who are you calling a nag, you knocked-up bag?) (Happy about it, beloved?) (Wonderfully happy, Boss. Are a day to admit who we are. Later-after we're out of court-we'll set up a "Susan Jones" account for shopping in person. If we ever do again. I can see it's a b.l.o.o.d.y nuisance.) (Oh, no, it's fun! You'll see, twin. But, remember-I hold a veto until you learn something about clothes) (Sho', sho', little nag.) (Who are you calling a nag, you knocked-up bag?) (Happy about it, beloved?) (Wonderfully happy, Boss. Are you? you?) (Wonderfully. Even if it wasn't romantic.) (Oh, but it was! We're going to have your your baby!) (Quit sniffling.) (I'm baby!) (Quit sniffling.) (I'm not not sniffling; you sniffling; you are are.) (Maybe we both are. Now shut up, here he comes.) The manager beamed. "Madame! Our accountant says that it is perfectly all right to accept cash!"

"The Supreme Court will be pleased to hear it."

"What? Oh! Madame is jesting. Of course there is a service surcharge of ten percent for-"

"Fred. La Boutique."

"Please, Madame! I pointed out to him how unfair that is . . . and found the most wonderful solution!"

"Really?"

"Truly, Madame. Anything you choose to buy, I'll simply charge against my personal account-and you can pay me cash. No trouble, I'll be happy to. My bank doesn't make the least fuss over accepting cash deposits. Really." (Watch it, Boss; he'll expect a fat tip.) (If he can show us something we want, he may get it. Cost is no huhu, Eunice; we can't get rid of the stuff.) (It's the principle of the thing, Boss.) (Forget it and help me spend money.) (All right. But we don't buy unless we like it.) For the next two hours Joan spent money-and was dazed to discover how expensive women's clothes could be. But she suppressed her early upbringing and paid attention only to an inner voice: (Not that one, twin-it's smart but a man wouldn't like it.) (How about this one, Eunice?) (Maybe. Have her walk it around again, then have her sit down. Show some leg.) (Here comes 'Winnie' again. Is that girl a real redhead, Eunice?) (Probably a wig but doesn't matter; she's almost exactly Winnie's size. That would be cute on our Winsome. Twin, see what they have in fancy gee-strings-green, for a redhead. Winnie ought to have at least one outfit intended to be seen by no one but her new boy friend.) (Okay, we'll give 'Bob' a treat. Who do you think he is, beloved?) (Haven't the faintest-and we don't want to guess. Do we? I just hope he's nicer to her than Paul was.) "Mr. duValle? Do you have something exotic in a minimum-gee for a redhead? Green, I suppose. And matching cups would be interesting, too. Something nice-an intimate present for a bride." (Bride?) (Well, it might help Winnie become a bride, Eunice-and it steers him away from thinking I'm buying it for my sweetheart.) (Who cares what he he thinks?) thinks?) "Jeweled perhaps? Emeralds?"

"I wouldn't want a bride to be mugged over a wedding present. Nor do I wish to buy her something more expensive than her bridegroom can afford. Bad taste, I think."

"Ah, but these are synthetic emeralds. Just as lovely but quite reasonable. Yola dear-come with me."

Several thousand dollars later Joan quit. She was getting hungry and knew, from long experience, that being hungry made her unwilling to spend money. Her subconscious equated "hungry" with "poor" in a ca.n.a.lization it had acquired in the 1930's.

She sent Fred to fetch Shorty to help carry while her purchases were being packaged and while she paid the startling sum. (Eunice, where shall we eat?) (There are restaurants inside this compound, Boss.) (Uh, darn it-no, d.a.m.n it!- d.a.m.n it!-I can't eat through a yashmak. You know what will happen. Somebody who watched video yesterday will recognize us. Then the news snoops will be on us before you can say 'medium rare.') (Well . . . how about a picnic?) (Wonderful! Eunice, you win another Brownie point. But-where can we go?-a picnic with gra.s.s and trees and ants in the potato salad-but private so I can take off this veil . . . and yet close enough that we won't starve on the way?) (I don't know, Boss, but I'll bet Finchley does.) Finchley did know. Shorty was appointed to buy the lunch at The Hungry Man inside the compound-"Get enough for six, Shorty, and don't look at the prices. Be lavish. But there must be potato salad. And a couple of bottles of wine."

"One is enough, Miss. I don't drink, wine is a mocker, and Finchley never drinks when he is on call to drive."

"Oh, think big, Shorty; I may drink a whole bottle myself-you can save my soul tomorrow. Today is special-my first day of freedom!" (Very special, beloved.) (Very, very very special, Boss!) special, Boss!) Down into the crosstown chute, up onto Express Route South, out to the unlimited zone, then fifty miles at three hundred feet per second-a speed that Finchley did not use until Joan was protected by full harness plus collision net. The fifty miles melted away in fifteen minutes and Finchley eased it down and over, ready to exit. They were not shot at, even where Route South skirts the Crater.

"Finchley? Can I get out of this pesky coc.o.o.n now?"

"Yes, Miss. But I'd feel easier if you would wear the Swedish belt. Some of these drivers are cowboys."

"All right. But tell me the instant I can take it off." (Eunice, the engineer if-that's-the-word who designed if-that's-the-word these G.o.ddam straps did not not have women in mind!) (You've got it rigged for a have women in mind!) (You've got it rigged for a man man, Boss-of course you're pinching a t.i.t. Move the bottom half closer in and shift the upper anchor point after we stop; that's the way they rigged it for me. Some man has used it since the last time I did.) (Jake, probably, sometime when his own car was laid up. Sweetheart, how many things do I have to learn about being a woman before I can avoid tripping over my feet?) (Thousands. But you're doing all right, Boss-and I'm always here to catch you.) (Beloved. Say, this doesn't look like picnic country. I wonder if Finchley is lost.) They were pa.s.sing through solid ma.s.ses of "bedroom" areas-walled enclaves, apartment houses, a few private homes. The trees looked tired and gra.s.s scarce, while the car's air-conditioning system still fought smog.

But not for long-Finchely turned into a secondary freight route and shortly they had farms on each side. Joan noticed that one belonged to her-to a subsidiary of Smith Enterprises, she corrected, and reminded herself that she no longer held control.

Nevertheless she noted that the guard at a comer watch tower seemed alert and the steel fence was stout and tall and capped with barbed wire and an alarm stand, all in good maintenance. But they were past without her seeing what was being cropped-no matter; Johann had never tried to manage that slice of conglom, he had known his limitations. (Eunice, what are we raising back there?) (Joan, I can't see if you don't look-and you never looked.) (Sorry, dearest. Speak up if you don't like the service.) (I will. I think it was a rotation crop. This soil has been farmed so hard and long that it has to be handled carefully.) (What happens when the soil no longer responds to management?) (We starve, of course. What do you expect? But before that they'll build on it.) (Eunice, it's got got to stop, somewhere. When I was a boy I was a city kid but I could to stop, somewhere. When I was a boy I was a city kid but I could walk walk in less than an hour to green fields and uncut woods . . . woods so private I could play Tarzan in my skin. I wasn't 'just lucky'-even in New York City a boy with five cents could ride to farms and woods in less time than it took me to walk it.) in less than an hour to green fields and uncut woods . . . woods so private I could play Tarzan in my skin. I wasn't 'just lucky'-even in New York City a boy with five cents could ride to farms and woods in less time than it took me to walk it.) (Doesn't seem possible, Boss.) (I know. It's taken a fast car and a professional driver to do what I used to do on bare feet-yet this isn't real farm country; these are open air food factories with foremen and time clocks and shop stewards and payroll deductions and house-organ magazines and you name it. A dug well and a tin dipper would cause a strike-and they'd be justified; those open wells and tin dippers spread disease. Just the same, the tindipper era was a good good time in this country . . . and this one isn't. time in this country . . . and this one isn't. Where do we go from here? Where do we go from here?) The inner voice failed to answer. Joan waited. (Eunice?) (Boss, I don't know!) (Sorry, just sounding off. Eunice, all my life I did the best I knew how with what I had. I didn't waste-shucks, even that white-elephant house keeps a lot of people off Welfare. But every year things got worse. I used to get sour consolation from knowing that I wasn't going to be around when things fell to pieces. Now it looks like I will be. That's why I say: 'Where 'Where do we go from here?" I don't know the answer, either.) do we go from here?" I don't know the answer, either.) (Boss?) (Yes, dearest?) (I could see it, too. Moving from an Iowa farm to a big city made me see it. And I did have plans, sort of. I knew you were going to die, I couldn't help but know, and I figured that Joe would get tired of me someday-no kids and no prospect of any, and me someday no longer with a fine job that took care of everything Joe needed. I underrated Joe; nevertheless I never forgot that he could hand me a pink slip anytime. So I had plans, and saved my money. The Moon.) (The Moon! Hey, that's a fine idea! Take one of Pan Am's package tours-deluxe with private courier and all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. Do it before we bulge so big we can't climb through a hatch. What do you say, little imp?) (If you want to.) (You don't sound enthusiastic.) (I'm not against it, Boss. But I wasn't saving money for a tourist trip. I meant to put my name on the list and take the selection exams . . . and be able to pay the difference, since I didn't have one of the subsidized skills. Out-migrate. Permanently.) (I'll be durned! You had this in mind-and never said a word?) (Why talk about if and when? I didn't plan to do it as long as you or Joe needed me. But I did have reason to be serious. I told you I was licensed for three kids.) (Yes, surely. I've known it since your first security check.) (Well, three is a high quota, Boss-more than half a child over replacement. A woman can be proud of a three-baby license. But I wanted more.) (So? You can, now. Fines are no problem, even though they've upped them again and made them progressive. Eunice, if you want babies, this one is just a starter.) (Dear Boss. Let's see how we do with this one first. I knew I could not afford fines . . . but Luna has no restrictions against babies. They want want babies. I think we're there.) babies. I think we're there.) Finchley turned in at a gate-Agroproducts, Inc., Joan noticed-a compet.i.tor. He parked so as not to lock the gate, then got out and went to the guard post. He had parked at such an angle that Joan could not see what was going on, the armor between her and the control compartment cut off her view.

Finchley returned, the car rolled through the gate. "Miss Smith, I was told to hold it under twenty miles per hour, so no safety belts is okay now."

"Thank you, Finchley. How much was the bribe?"

"Oh, nothing to matter, Miss."

"So? I expect to see it on O'Neil's Friday Report. If it is not there, I will have to ask you again."

"It'll be there, Miss," the driver answered promptly. "But I don't know yet what the total will be. Have to stop at their Administration Building and get us cleared through a back gate. To where you picnic."

"To where we we picnic." Joan stopped to think. It irked her to pay a bribe when her status as a major compet.i.tor (retired, conceded) ent.i.tled her by protocol to red-carpet treatment. But she had not sent word ahead, a minimum courtesy in visiting a compet.i.tor's plant, to allow him time to sweep dirt under the rug or to divert the visitor away from things. Industrial espionage could not with propriety be conducted at top level. "Finchley, did you tell the gate guard whom you were driving?" picnic." Joan stopped to think. It irked her to pay a bribe when her status as a major compet.i.tor (retired, conceded) ent.i.tled her by protocol to red-carpet treatment. But she had not sent word ahead, a minimum courtesy in visiting a compet.i.tor's plant, to allow him time to sweep dirt under the rug or to divert the visitor away from things. Industrial espionage could not with propriety be conducted at top level. "Finchley, did you tell the gate guard whom you were driving?"

"Oh, no, Miss!" Finchley sounded shocked. "But he checked the license even though I tell him it's your car-best to tell; he has a list of all private armoreds in the state, just like I have. What I tell him was, I'm driving guests of Mr. Salomon . . . and let him think it was a couple of Vips from the Coast with a yen to picnic in a safe spot. Didn't tell him anything really, except Mr. Salomon's name. That okay?"

"Just fine, Finchley." (Eunice, I feel like an interloper, being inside without giving my name. Rude.) (Look at it this way, Boss. You You know who you are. But the public doesn't-not after that silly carnival yesterday. I think it's best to be Jake's guest . . . which is true, in a way.) (I still feel that I should tell Finchley to give my name to the Chief Agronomist. But would the word get out? Or, rather, how soon?) (Thirty minutes. Long enough for some clerk to phone in and a news copter to fly out. Then some snoop will try to interview you by loudspeaker because the boys won't let him land.) know who you are. But the public doesn't-not after that silly carnival yesterday. I think it's best to be Jake's guest . . . which is true, in a way.) (I still feel that I should tell Finchley to give my name to the Chief Agronomist. But would the word get out? Or, rather, how soon?) (Thirty minutes. Long enough for some clerk to phone in and a news copter to fly out. Then some snoop will try to interview you by loudspeaker because the boys won't let him land.) (Some picnic!) (If he does land, Shorty and Fred will be elbowing each other for a crack at him. Eager. Too eager. Boss, maybe you haven't noticed, but, while they call you 'Miss Smith,' they treat you exactly as they treated me. In their heads they know you are you you . . . but in their guts they feel you are . . . but in their guts they feel you are me. me.) (That's not far wrong, Eunice. In my head I am me . . . me . . . but in my guts-your pretty belly-I am but in my guts-your pretty belly-I am you. you.) (Boss, I like that. We're the only one-headed Siamese twins in history. But not everything in our belly is me. There's one wiggler swimming faster than the rest-and he is 'Johann,' not Joan, not Eunice-and if he makes it to the finish line, he's more important than both of us put together.) (My love, you're a sentimentalist.) (I'm a slob, Boss. And so are you.) (Nolo contendere. When I think about Johann and Eunice-both dead, really-getting together in Joan to make a baby, I come unstuck and want to cry.) (Better not, Joan; the car is stopping. Boss? How long does it take a wiggler to get there? I know a spermatozoon has to move several inches to reach the ovum-but how fast does he swim?) (Durned if I know, dear. Let's leave that cork in place at least a couple of days. Give the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d every possible chance.) (Good!) (Do you know how to take it out? Or do we have to see Dr. O'Neil? We don't want to let Winnie in on this.) (Boss, I've seated them and taken them out so many times I can do it in my sleep. No fret, Annette. I've worn out more rubber baby b.u.mpers than most girls have shoes.) (Bragging. Boasting.) (Only a trifle, Boss dearest. I told you I had always been an ever-ready. For years and years, any day I missed was not my idea. I knew my purpose in life clear back when I was a Girl Scout, no b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and still a virgin.) Finchley returned to the car, spoke after he had b.u.t.toned in. "Miss?"

"Yes, Finchley."