I Will Fear No Evil

19

A short time later they were again in the car. Finchley said, "Home, Miss Smith?"

"Tom, I can't hear you."

"I asked did you want to go home, Miss?"

"I understood that part but this intercom must be out of order. I heard something that sounded like ‘Miss Smith.'"

There was a silence. "Eunice, do you want to go home?"

"Not until dinnertime, Tom; I want all of this lovely day I can have."

"Okay, Eunice. Do I cruise? Or go somewhere?"

"Uh... I have one more item on my list, and there's time enough for anything you three may want to pick up, too, so check around."

"Will do. Where do we take you for what you want, Eunice?"

"I don't know. I lost touch with such matters years ago. Tom, I want to buy a present for Mr. Salomon, something nice but unnecessary—presents should be unnecessary, a luxury a person might not buy himself. So it probably would be a men's shop that stocks luxurious unnecessaries. Abercromhie & Fitch used to he that sort—but I'm not certain they are still in business."

"They are. But let me ask Fred and Shorty."

Shortly Finchley reported: "There are a dozen places that would do. But we think The Twenty-First Century Stud has the fastest stock."

"Roz. Let's giddyap and get there."

"That is, if you don't mind their prices. ‘Twigs and leaves.'

"I don't mind; I've met thieves before. Tom—all of you. I came out of this operation with more money than I had last year... and it's a nuisance. I've played the money game and I'm bored with it. Any time any of you can think of a good way to help me get rid of some—a good way, I said; I won't be played for a sucker—you'd be doing me a favor to tell me. Hugo, are there any poor people in your church?"

His answer was slow. "Lots of them, Eunice. But not hurtin' poor, just Welfare poor. I'd like to think about it... because it don't do a man no good to plain give him what he ought to root for. So the Book says, in different words."

"That's the trouble, Hugo. I've given away money many times, and usually did harm when I meant to do good. But the Book also says something about the eye of the needle. All right, think about it. Now let's go see those thieves. I'll need a man to help me. Which one of you dresses the most far-out when you aren't in uniform?"

She heard Fred laugh. "Eunice, it's no race. You should see the getups Tom wears. A Christmas tree. A light show."

Finchley growled, then said, "Don't listen to him, Eunice."

"He's probably jealous, Tom. All right, if there is parking inside or near this shop, you come help me."

As they passed through the second gate Finchley said, "Crash belts, Eunice?"

"I'm wearing the Swedish—and it's comfortable now that Hugo has adjusted it. Could we get along with just it and the collision net if we didn't go so fast? Or does that make me ‘Joan Eunice' again?"

"Uh—Will you wear the forehead strap?"

"All right. It's just that I don't like to be tied down all over. It reminds me—well, it reminds me of the way the doctors kept me strapped down after the operation. Necessary, but I hated it." She did not mention that a forehead strap was what she disliked the most.

"We heard about that—musta been horrid. But you need the forehead strap. Say I'm doing only a hundred, a slam stop could break your neck. If you don't wear it."

"So I wear it."

"I don't see the light on the board."

"Because I haven't put it on yet. There. Did the light go on?"

"Yes. Thank you... Eunice."

"Thank you, Tom. For taking care of me. Let's mush. I wasn't pulling on the leash, truly I wasn't." (Says you. Boss, you're mendacious, untruthful, and a fibber.) (Where did I learn it, dearie? They're sweet boys, Eunice—but we've got to work out a way to live so that we don't have to clear everything with forty other people. Good servants are priceless—but you work for them as much as they work for you. Life should be simpler. Honey, how would you like to go to India and be a guru and sit on a mountain top and never have any plans? Just sit and wait for your grateful chelas to gather around?)

(Might be a long wait. Why not sit at the bottom of the mountain and wait for the boys to gather around?) (One ­track mind!) (Yes. Yours, you dirty old man.) (Conceded. But I try to act like a lady.) (Not too hard, you don't). (As hard as you ever did, little trollop. I was called ‘Joan Eunice' once. ...nd the issue had nothing to do with sex.) (You'd be surprised how much sex had to do with it, Joan.) (Well...from that point of view, yes. But as long as they call me ‘Eunice' I'll go on believing that I've ‘done just perfect.' Honestly though, good servants can be smothering. Take Winnie. She's a darling—but she's underfoot every minute. Eunice, how the devil can we manage that ‘actively female' life you want—sorry, we want—with so much chaperonage?)

(Take a tip from Winnie.)

(How dear?)

(Let her in on your plans. Then she'll keep your secrets and never ask a question, just as you do for her. Try it.)

(I may have to. I'm sure she won't talk... and will happily listen to anything I need to spill. But, Eunice, if I go outside the house, it's going to be hard to keep Tom and Hugo, or Anton and Fred, from guessing. You saw the elaborate maneuver I had to use today.)

(You didn't have to, Boss; they won't talk.)

(Perhaps they won't, but I don't want them even to think. They're beginning to think I'm an angel—named Eunice—and I'd rather keep it that way.)

(Boss, they know darned well that Eunice is no angel. Even Hugo knows it... because Hugo is the smartest of the four, even if he is an illit. Knows people. Understands them from having been there himself. Forgives them their transgressions and loves them anyhow. Boss dear, they loved me the way I was, feet of clay and all—and they'll love you the same way.)

(Maybe, I hope so. I know I love you more, knowing more about you and things I never suspected, than I did before we consolidated, immoral little wench. What's this about you and Fred and Anton? Did you really?)

(Wondered when you'd get around to that. Those good-night kisses did start out just friendly. Brotherly. Fatherly in Hugo's case. Never got past that with Tom, as we were always either under Hugo's eye, or Jake's, or both—I just knew darn well a man was kissing me. But Fred and Anton weren't much chaperonage for each other and they were both charged up over me. So, when a chance turned up, I thought ‘Why not?')

(Pure charity, eh?)

(Was that sarcasm, Boss? Anyhow, they took me home late one night. Not a blood donation call, just working late with Jake when we were very rushed getting things arranged for you. The ‘warm body' project. I invited them in for a Coke and a snack, as usual. Only it turned out Joe wasn't home.)

(So human nature won—again.)

(You seem to have a low opinion of human nature, Boss darling.)

(I have a high opinion of human nature. I think it will prevail in spite of all efforts of wowsers to suppress it. But that's all it took? Two men? Cold sober? And a chance that your husband might walk in? Lovely fallen angel, your story not only has holes; it is inconsistent. I do know something about men, having been one. What they'll risk, what they won't. Plenty, that is, for a woman. But two men tend to be wary of each other, and still more so when a husband might show up. Darling, you've left out something—this does not sound like a first time.)

(Boss, cross our heart, it was a first time…and the only time, for I was killed soon after. All right, I'll fill in the holes. Joe wasn't likely to walk in and they knew it. Couldn't, as our door was hand-bolted from the inside whenever either of us was there. Joe was even more careful about it than I was, as he had always been a city boy. But they knew also that Joe was not due home until midnight and they brought me home about twenty-one thirty. No hurry, no worry, no flurry. While Joe can't read, he can tell time—you know those little dummy clocks some one-man shops use? Back at such-and-such a time, and mark the time by setting the hands?

(We had one of those, to tell the other one when he would be back. That night the door opened to my voice, so I looked for the dummy clock and found it set for midnight—and told Anton and Fred that I was sorry but Joe wasn't going to be home soon enough for a visit.)

(Called attention to it, minx. Sounds like a setup.)

(Well, I knew what was ready for, once I knew we had the place to ourselves. Oh, shucks, Boss, I'm still trying to be your ‘nice girl.' I had had my ear cocked for a late arrival with that team for over a month. When Jake asked me to work after dinner, I phoned Joe, just as usual. And set it up under Jake's nose. Short-talked it——almost another language if spoken by a husband and wife. What Jake heard was me telling Joe that I wouldn't be home until twenty-one thirty. What Jake didn't hear, or would not understand, was that I was asking Joe if he minded being elsewhere, in family short-talk code we used if we wanted that favor. It was all right, Boss darling; I made myself scarce for Joe's sake oftener than I asked it of him. The only question was: Was he painting? Turned out he was not, so I was home free.

(Joe asked if I wanted him to be away all night. What be said was: ‘Roz. Punch or phone?' Not that Joe ever punched me to wake me, but I answered, ‘Judy,' meaning that it was up to him but I hoped he would punch me, and added, ‘Blackbirds,' and gave him a phone kiss and signed off. All set, no sweat—knew what I would find at home.)

(‘Blackbirds?')

(‘Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie'—set midnight on the clock even if you stay out all night, Joe darling. ‘Oh, it could have been ‘pumpkin' or ‘Christmas Eve' or ‘Reach' or ‘solid gold.' But what I used was ‘Blackbirds.')

(Did you kids ever talk English?)

(Of course we did, Boss. Joe speaks good English when he needs to. But short-talk settled it in a dozen words. Without giving Jake any hint that I was late-dating him. If I had had Betsy at hand, I would have used hush and spoken standard English. But we weren't actually working late, not that late. I was using the phone you used yesterday, with Jake only feet away from me. Had to be short-talked.)

(Let me get this straight. Joe set the dummy clock, saying he would not be home until midnight. Did he come home then?)

(About ten minutes after midnight. Joe wouldn't embarrass a guest by being too prompt. Joe is a natural gentleman, never had to learn; he just is. It was the first thing that attracted me to him, and the quality that caused me to ask him to marry me. An illit, certainly—but I'll take an illit gentleman over an Ivy-League squeak any year.)

(I agree, beloved. The more I hear about Mr. José Branca the better I like him. And respect him. And regret his tragic loss—meaning you, beloved little strumpet. I was just trying to get the schedule straight for what must have been a busy night. Okay, Joe got home shortly after midnight. But early that evening you phoned him and set things up for this date with Anton and Fred. Then you got back into bed with Jake—)

(Oh, dear! Boss, I've shocked you again.)

(No, my darling. Surprised, not shocked. I find your memoirs fascinating.)

(Shocked. That schedule sounds like a whore on payday. But it wasn't that at all, Boss. It was love—love and respect for Jake, love and affection for Anton and Fred, love and devotion and understanding and mutual trust and respect with Joe. If my husband didn't disapprove, what right have you—or anybody!—to look down your nose at me?)

(Darling, darling! I was not shocked, I have never been shocked by you. Damn it, it's that Generation Gap. You can't believe that I packed far more offbeat behavior into my long years of lechery than you possibly could have crowded into the fourteen years you claim. You've been a busy body, that's clear—but I had more than five times as many years at it and quite as much enthusiasm. Probably not as frequent opportunities, but beautiful girls get asked oftener than do homely boys. But it was never for lack of trying on my part, nor do I have any complaints, as I received more cooperation than I had any reason to expect.)

(I think you were shocked.)

(No, little innocent. Sheer admiration—plus surprise at your endurance. You must have been half dead the next day.)

(On the contrary I felt grand. Glowing. Happy. You remarked on it. You may even recall it... it was the day Joe painted me with tiger stripes and a cat's face makeup.)

(Be darned if I don't! You were bouncy as a kitten—and I said you looked like the cat who ate the canary. Darling girl, I was hurting that day; you cheered me up.)

(I'm glad.)

(How much sleep did you get?)

(Oh, plenty. Six hours. Five at least. Plus a nap stretched out on my tummy while Joe did most of the stripes. Joan, a well-loved woman doesn't need as much sleep as a lonely one—you'll find out. As for it being too much for me—Boss, who told me just last week that nothing encourages sex the way sex does? You, that's who.)

(Yes. But I was speaking from a. man's viewpoint—)

(Works the same for a woman, twin. You'll see.)

(I hope so. I know that most people—in my day—assumed the opposite. But it's not true. Sex, whatever else it is—much else!—is an athletic skill. The more you practice, the more you can, the more you want to, the more you enjoy it, the less it tires you. I'm glad to hear—very personally glad—that it works that way for a woman, too. But you aren't the first girl to tell me so. Uh first time I heard a girl say that, or roughly that, was when Harding was President. Not a girl, a very sweet young married woman who had more in common with you than you are likely to believe. Almost certainly dead now, God rest her soul; she would be over a hundred years old)

(What was her name?)

(Does it matter? Little busybody, you were telling me about Fred and Anton. I still don't understand how you swung it. The setup, yes—but how did you gentle them to it? Did you split the time and take them into your apartment separately?)

(Oh, heavens, no! That would be rude. And embarrassing for everyone. It would have turned me off utterly. It was a Troy.)

(Well?)

(Boss, can you imagine how excited two men can get while kissing—fondling—the same girl? If she's willing? If they trust each other? Which they did, they were driver and Shotgun together.)

(Yes, that's true but I can't visualize—wups! I just remembered something that happened so many years ago I had almost forgotten it.)

(Tell me.)

(No, no, you go on. Just that history repeats itself—as it always does. Go on.).

(Well, they do, Boss. Excite each other even if they don't touch each other at all. Just her. ‘Heterodyning' is the term I learned for it in secretronics; I don't know what the kinseys call it. But I had been kissing them good-night almost every other night for weeks, and kissing them when they picked me up in the mornings. And the kisses got warmer and it's never been my nature to discourage a man if I like him—which I did; I felt affectionate toward both of them; they're nice people.

(Presently we were stopping for a necking session—could no longer call it a good-night kiss—in the basement parking before they would take me up the lift. I had to slow that down by saying, ‘Watch it, boys. You're not only getting body paint on your uniforms, you're getting me so mussed up I'll have trouble getting neat enough that Joe won't notice it.' Which did slow them down, more on my account than any fret about uniforms; they liked Joe—everybody likes Joe—and did not want to cause me worry at home. Didn't tell them that Joe wasn't fooled; his artist's eye sees much more than most people see.

(But we settled it that night, Boss. I told them that I was not a tease and that I was as eager as they were... but that I was not going to be spread in a basement. But that I would find a chance. They are both nice boys—oh, men, sure; Anton is forty and Fred is as old as I am. Was. So they waited, and didn't do more than kiss me and grab a friendly feel. Then twice we almost had it made but Joe was busy painting, which I would not interrupt to take the President to bed.

(Then we hit the jackpot. Almost missed at the last minute; Jake was going to send me home in his car. He told me to cancel the call I had put in for my car. Yours, I mean. I surprised Jake by being balky—told him that I didn't feel safe with Charlie unless he, Jake, was along. True, as far as it went; Charlie is a bad one, not like our four.

(So dear old Jake was going to get dressed and ride with me—I said that was silly, that Finchley and Shorty—I never referred to them as Tom and Hugo and wouldn't advise you to—)

(I'm not stupid, dearest. When I'm ‘Miss Smith,' they are ‘Finchley' and ‘Shorty.')

(Sorry, Boss darling, I know you're not stupid. But I have more experience in being a woman than you have.)

(So you have, and you keep me straight, darling. But what's this about Tom and Hugo?)

(Misdirection. I knew who was on call that night. So Fred and Anton picked me up and I was tempted to tell them—getting excited all the time, myself. Couldn't. Would have spoiled it some for them, since men enjoy so much spreading a married woman without her husband knowing it—even sweet old Jake relished me more for that naughty reason. I always went along with this quirk because it gave me more control over a situation not easy to control once a man has had you. Gives you a lever. You might remember that, Joan.)

(I will. But I'll need a husband to make use of it.)

(You'll get us a husband, never fear, dear—I still think we ought to marry Jake. He'll come around. But don't hold out on him, Joan; Jake is not a man you can pressure that way.)

(Eunice, I won't hold out on Jake one-half second. I've never had any respect for that female tactic and won't use it now that I am female.)

(I have never used it, Boss, I've used almost every other female deception—but not that one. That one is whoring but not honest whoring. ‘Minds me. How do you feel about whores, Boss?)

(Me? Why, the way I feel about any professional who performs a personal service. Say a dentist, or a lawyer, or a nurse. If he's honest, I respect him. If he is competent as well, my respect is limited only by his degree of competence. Why?)

(Have you ever patronized whores? Hired their services, I mean, not ‘patronize' in the snooty sense.)

(If I give that a simple affirmative will you get on with your story? We're already downtown, damn it.)

(Yes, sir. I mean, ‘Yes, twin sister you knocked-up virgin.' Got home, went up the lift with them, was ‘surprised' to find Joe not at home, found the dummy clock propped on the sink, hands set at midnight, and told them what it meant. That did it. Finis.)

(Hey!)

(What is there to tell? You already know what we did.)

Joan sighed. (That is the skimpiest account of a gang bang I ever heard in my long and evil life.)

(What? But it wasn't a gang bang, Boss! Quit dragging your feet and come on into this century. A Troy is not a gang bang. Nor is it a frimp session, or needn't be and this was not. A Troy is friendly and loving. They are both married and they treated me as sweetly as they would treat their wives—and I loved the way they treated me and loved both of them, quite a lot and still do, long before the evening was over... when up to then it had been just affectionate, sex-charged friendship. Boss, one of the regrets I have about being killed is that I was never able to offer them the second chance at me they had earned—and I had promised. Mmm...do you think you might make it up to them?)

(Huh? As you pointed out, I'm their boss; it wouldn't be easy. And besides... well, hell, I'm scared. Two men?)

(You didn't seem scared of Mac and Alec.)

(Not quite the same thing.)

(Nothing ever is, Boss—especially about sex. But I want to tell you this. A Troy—if it works right, and it can't unless there is trust and respect all the way around—if it works, it is the nicest thing that can happen to a woman. Not just twice as nice because she gets twice as much of what she wants so badly. That's not it; she might even get less than some rutty young stud, could manage alone. It's the warm and friendly and loving and trusting aspect that makes it so good. Four times better, at least. Maybe eight. Oh, arithmetic can't measure it. But, Joan darling—listen to me—until you have been in bed between two sweet and loving men, men who love each other almost as much or even more than they love you... with your head pillowed on both their arms and surrounded by their love—until that's happened to you, you still have one virginity to go, and an important one. Darling, I was crying most of the time they were with me... cried again when I kissed them good-night...was still crying happy after they left... then jumped out of bed and rushed to unbolt the door when Joe got home a few minutes later—and blubbered all over him and took him straight to bed and told him all about it while he was being especially sweet to me.)

(Did he want to hear about it?)

(Wouldn't you want to?)

(Yes, but no two men are alike and some husbands get headaches from horns.)

(Some do. Maybe most of them, Joan. I was always careful of Joe's feelings. Sometimes I strayed and carefully kept it from him—I never told him about Jake.)

(Why not? I would think that Joe would approve of Jake for you if he approved of anyone. Jake respects Joe very highly—you know it, too; you heard him.)

(Yes. But Jake is rich and Joe is dirt poor. Perhaps Joe could have accepted Jake—I now think he could have. But I wasn't sure, so I didn't risk hurting him. But Anton and Fred—well, they are just mobile guards; Joe treated them as friends and equals, and secretly—I think—felt a little superior to them, since he is an artist and they are just stiffs. I knew they wouldn't trouble Joe's mind... and I was right; he was delighted for me. Happy that I was happy. Can't explain it, Joan; you get an instinct for it. But a man's pride is a fragile thing and it is all the armor he has; they are far more vulnerable than we are. You have to be oh so careful in handling them. Or they droop.)

(I know, Eunice. Literally droop in some cases. Did I tell you that my second wife made me psychically impotent for almost a year?)

(Oh, you poor darling!)

(Got over it. Not through a shrink. Through the warm and generous help of a lady who didn't assume that it was my fault. And I was never troubled again until I was too feeble for any sort of proper physical functioning.)

(I'm glad you found her; I wish I could thank her. Joan I wasn't born knowing this about men; I found out the hard way. Twin, I made some bad mistakes in. high school. Look—males are so much bigger and more muscular than we are, I didn't dream that they could be so fragile. Until I hurt one boy's pride so badly he dropped out of school, and I've tried never to hurt any boy, or man, since. I was stupid, Boss. But I did learn.)

(Eunice, how long has it been since I last told you I love you?)

(Oh, at least twenty minutes.)

(Too long. I love you.)

Finchley's voice interrupted her reverie. "We're about to park, Miss Eunice."

"What's this ‘Miss Eunice' nonsense? We're not in public."

"Seemed like a good compromise."

"It does, huh? Why just dabble your toes? Why not go whole hawg and call me ‘Miss Smith?' and I won't kiss you good-night."

"Very well—Miss."

"Oh, Tom, don't tease me. It's been a perfect day; don't remind me that I must be ‘Miss Smith' again. You know I'll kiss you good-night if you'll let me... or the real Eunice wouldn't speak to me. Hugo, make him behave!"

"I'll fix his clock, Eunice. Tom, you call her ‘Eunice,' real nice."

"I'm sorry, Eunice."

"That makes me feel better, Tom. Are you going to be able to park this wagon close enough that you can come with me?"

"Sure thing, Eunice—but keep quiet right now, please; I've got to work close with the traffic computer to get us in."