I Will Fear No Evil

20

"Good evening, Chief." Joan rested her hand on O'Neil's forearm, stepped lightly down.

"Good evening, Miss. Message from Mr. Salomon. His respects to you and regrets he will not be back for dinner. Twenty-one o'clock, he hopes."

"I'm sorry to hear it. Then I shan't dine downstairs; please tell Cunningham or Della that I want trays in my lounge for Winnie and me. No service."

"Two trays and no service, Miss—right."

"And tell Dabrowski that I want him to drive me tomorrow."

"He's gone home, Miss. But he knows he has the duty. He'll be ready."

"Perhaps you didn't understand what I said, Chief. I want to tell him, now, that I want him to drive me tomorrow. Ten, possibly—not earlier. So after you phone the pantry, call Dabrowski and give him that message from me. Leave the call in until you reach him. And phone me at once when Mr. Salomon's car returns, no matter what hour. Don't consult him; do it. Before Rockford unbuttons."

"Yes, Miss. Phone the pantry. Phone Dabrowski immediately thereafter. Phone you instantly when Mr. Salomon's car returns, before he is out of his car. If I may say so, Miss, it feels good to have your firm hand back at the controls."

"You may say so, to me. But not to Mr. Salomon. For his firm hand has been invaluable. As you and I know."

"As we both know. He's a fine gentleman, Miss; I respect him. Shall I tell Cunningham to send down for your packages?"

"No, Finchley and his guns can handle them—though I did go on quite a shopping spree." Joan gave her security boss Eunice's best happy-little-girl grin. "I was drunk with excitement, bad as a kid on Christmas, and tried to buy out the town. Finchley. Split those packages three ways and you three come up with me. Yes, I know it's not your work, so don't report me to your guild."

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 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 up. 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 forty-odd 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 1 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 this 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 bali 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 tier. "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 Bojangles? 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 mike 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."

It was a necklace rich and simple—a heavy gold chain with tripled linkage, supporting a large gold ankh, a crux ansata. Winifred took it in her hands. "It's lovely," she said slowly. "But it's not a woman's necklace, you know. Or did you?"

"It's a man's necklace. A present for Jake."

Winifred frowned slightly. "Joan, you do want me to help you learn how to behave as a woman."

"You know I do."

"Yes, I know. When I see that you are about to make a mistake, I must tell you."

"You don't think Jake will like this?"

"I don't know. He may not know what it means. And you may not know. This cross with a loop is called an ‘ankh'—and it's what my grandaddy would have called a ‘heathen symbol.' It means—well, it means most of the things our meditation prayer means, life and goodness and love and so forth. But specifically it means sex, it's an ancient Egyptian symbol for the generative forces, both male and female. It's no accident that the loop looks something like a vulva and that the rest of the design could be interpreted as a male symbol. The way it's used now—amongpeople my age, people the, age you have become—is...well, a wife could give it to her husband, or a husband could give a smaller one to his wife. Or they might not be married—but it always means sexual love—flatly and no nonsense about it. If that's not what you mean, Joan, if you just want to give him a nice necklace, take it back and exchange it for another that isn't so specific in its symbolism. Any necklace means love—but perhaps you want one that a daughter could give her father."

Joan shook her head. "No, Winnie. I've known what the ankh means since a course in comparative religion, oh, three-quarters of a century ago. I assume that Jake knows, too; he has solid classical training. I hadn't been sure you kids knew its ancient meaning—I see I was mistaken. Winnie, this present is no accident; I've asked Jake to marry me several times. He won't. Because of age."

"Well...I can see why he might feel that way."

"It's ridiculous. Sure, I'm a quarter of century older than he is—but it no longer shows and I'm healthy enough for marriage. Even though dear Doctor thinks I may drop dead."

"But Dr. Garcia doesn't really think you'll drop dead. And I didn't mean you were too old, I meant he—oh, dear!"

"Yes, yes, I know. He's being ‘noble,' damn him! But he doesn't have to marry me, Winnie. I'll accept any crumb I'm offered. This present is intended to say so."

Winifred looked solemn, suddenly kissed the ankh and handed it back. "You and me both, Joan—any crumb we're offered. Well, I wish you luck. With all my heart."

"Good Winnie. Let's sop up some calories; it's getting latish and Jake will be home—I hope—by twenty-one. I want to be clean as a kitten and just as pretty and smelling even prettier when the stubborn darling gets here. Help me?"

"Love to. And look, Joanie, we douse you in ‘Harem Breeze,' both the cologne and the perfume—and the powder. And I won't wear any scent. I'll scrub off what I'm wearing."

"No, we'll renew the bait on you, too. Maybe we'll heterodyne."

‘Heterodyne'?"

"Term that used to be used a lot in radio. In this case it means that if one girl isn't enough, two might do the trick. Last night Jake was polite about not staring...except that he was noticing my Winsome with both eyes all the time he was pretending not to. I'm not trying to crowd you into a Troy—but I have no scruples about staking you out as bait."

They were out of the tub and working on the finishing touches when the house phone sounded. "Miss Smith. Mr. Salomon's car just rolled in."

"Thank you, O'Neil."

A few minutes later Joan phoned the Green Suite. "Jake dear? This is your resident guru. If you wish to share a prayer meeting, guru and chela will call on you whenever you say."

"That's welcome news; I'm tired—and last night was the best sleep I've had in years, Guru."

"I'm glad. Have you had dinner?"

"At the Gib, hours ago. Ready for bed now. If you'll let me have, oh, twenty minutes, for a tub."

"Shall we be there in exactly twenty minutes? I don't want to run into Hubert."

"1 sent him to bed. Nobody here but just us chickens."

"Twenty minutes, dear. Off."

Again two girls went barefoot down the hallway. Joan was wearing, under a negligee, the ankh necklace. The door opened for them and Jake came toward them. He was wearing a bathrobe and had a book in hand with a finger marking his place. "Hello, my dears. You both look charming. Joan, I took the liberty of stopping in your downstairs library and borrowing this book."

"It's not a liberty and you know it. What is it, Jake?"

He handed it to her. "Vishnudevananda's Yoga text. Thought there might be some of the simpler postures I could try. But I'm afraid I must stick to meditation."

Joan looked puzzled. "This was downstairs?" She glanced at the endpaper, saw her bookplate: "Ex Libris— J S B Smith." "I had forgotten I owned it."

"You're a pack rat, dear. This house must have ten thousand books in it."

"More, I think. There were that many the last time I had them catalogued. Well, after you're done with it Winnie and I will look through it. We might find exercises we haven't tried." She handed it back; he put it aside. "Ready for autohypnosis?"

"Ready for prayers and I'm sorry I sounded disparaging last night."

"I can't see what difference. a name makes, Jake. But first—" Joan opened her robe, lifted the necklace from her neck. "A present for you, Jake. Bend your head down."

He did so. She placed it around his neck with the ceremonial kiss. He lifted the ankh, looked at it. "Thank you, Eunice. It's a beautiful present. Am I to wear it now?"

"As you wish. Or wear it in your mind—I know you've never been one for much jewelry. Ready, Winnie?" Joan Eunice dropped her robe, melted into Lotus; Winnie followed her. Jake got out of his bathrobe, leaving the necklace on, joined them.

"Jake, will you lead us tonight? No need to say ‘hold' or ‘breathe,' we'll stay in step. Just like last night, a prayer for each of the four parts. Keep the tempo slow."

"I'll try. Om Mani Padme Hum!"

(Om Mani Padme Hum.)

Jake Salomon appeared to fall asleep instantly once they put him to bed. The girls quietly left the darkened room. Joan stopped a few feet down the hail. "Winnie, will you do something for me?"

"Anything, dear."

"What time do people start stirring in the morning?"

"I don't know what time Cook gets up. About six, maybe. Mostly seven or near it, for the others; staff breakfast is at seven-thirty."

"Della doesn't matter, she never comes upstairs. I mean this floor."

"Well, cleaning starts at nine. But no one cleans near your room until you phone down for your tray. Have you been disturbed?"

"No. And I don't mean to be. I guess Hubert is the only one who worries me. I'm going back and sleep with Jake."

"Oh!"

"I'm not going this instant, I want to be sure he's sound asleep. If he sleeps all night, I shan't wake him; the poor dear needs his rest. But sleep with him I will! I don't want Hubert barging in. Can you think of a way to divert him?"

"Oh, I see. I'm pretty sure Hubert never goes to Mr. Salomon's room until Mr. Salomon sends foe breakfast and Hubert takes it up. Some mornings I've eaten downstairs and seen Hubert sit and drink coffee and watch the news, oh, quite a long time. Waiting for Mr. Salomon to phone."

"That's a relief. It's not likely that anyone but you will know it, then. Not that I mind for myself, but I would hate to be the cause of Jake being dragged into a gossip item. All right, will you do three things for me? Read or sleep in my bed a while, muss it up. Stay all night if you like but muss yours, too. And will you set your alarm for eight and if I'm not in my own bed by then, phone the Green Suite? I'm sure Jake would rather know that you knew than have us caught by someone else. Then one other thing. Would you fetch me lounging pajamas and slippers? Then, if anything slips, I'll put a bold face on it—I'll be dressed and to hell with snoops. While you get them I'm going to put my robe down here and say a few more Money Hums. My mind is made up but I'm a touch nervy. Afraid Jake will scold me, I guess.. (Afraid Jake won't scold you, I guess.) (Don't you want us to, Eunice?) (Yes! Quit yattering and get on with it.)

"Right away, Joan. Oh, I'm excited myself! Uh, I think I'll sleep in your bed. If you don't mind."

"You know I don't. But I may come back and wake you, most any time."

"Don't mind. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I want to be there. Or maybe just for snuggle."

"Or I might have something to tell you. You don't fool me a bit, Winsome. Never mind, I would like to find you there when I return, no matter when or why."

A few minutes later Joan slipped silently into the bedroom of the Green Suite, dropped her clothing without lighting a light, found her way to the bed by Jake's soft snores. Cautiously she got into bed, felt the radiant warmth of his body close to hers, sighed happily, and went to sleep.

Some indefinite time later Joan felt a hand on her in the dark, came instantly awake. (What?) (General Quarters twin! It's now.) (I'm scared!) (I've taken over, dearest—the body remembers. Say a Money Hum)

Without a word Jake firmly took possession of her. (Oh, God, Eunice! Why didn't you tell me?) (Tell you what?) (That for a woman it's so much better!) (Is it?) (Ten limes, a hundred limes—I don't know; I'm fainting.) (How could I guess that it's better? Kiss him as you faint.)