She sighed again. (Eunice, I do need to know. But—if I’m crazy—if you are just my own mind talking back to me—I’d rather not know it. Darling, forgive me…but I was relieved when you told me that you didn’t want us to try to find your baby.)
(I knew you were relieved…and I knew why. Boss, don’t be so right-now. We have all the time in the world, so relax and be happy. Proof will turn up—something I know and that you couldn’t possibly know except through me. And that will be that, and you will be as certain as I am.)
She nodded to herself. (That makes sense, Eunice—and it sounds like the scoldings you used to give me when I got fretful. You used to mother me.)
(I’m going to go right on mothering you, and scolding you when you need it—and loving you all the time, Boss. But there is one thing there is some hurry about.)
(What?)
(That bedpan. Unless you want us to have a childish accident.)
(Oh, damn!)
(Relax, Boss. Get used to it.)
(Damnation, I do not want to be placed on a bedpan by a nurse like a baby being put to potty. You know what’ll happen? Nothing! I’ll clamp down and not be able to do it. Eunice, there’s my bathroom through that door—can’t we ask to be helped into there…and left in private?)
(Boss, you know what would happen. You ring for the nurse and tell her. She’ll try to argue you out of it. Then she’ll go find Dr. Garcia. He’ll show up and argue, too. If you’re stubborn, he’ll get Jake. By the time Jake shows up, we’ve wet the bed.)
(Eunice, you’re infuriating. All right, let’s ring for that goddam pan.)
(Hold it, Boss. Can we get this side rail down?)
(Huh?)
(If we can, what’s stopping us from going to the bathroom without asking?)
(But, Eunice—I haven’t walked in more than a year!)
(That was before you got this secondhand, good-as-new, factory-reconditioned, female body, Boss.)
(You think we can walk?)
(Let’s find out. If standing up makes us dizzy, we can hang onto the bed and ease down to the floor. I’m certain we can crawl, Boss.)
(Let’s do it!)
(Let’s see how this side rail works.)
Johann found the guard rails baffling. There seemed to be no way for a person in the bed to let them down. Not surprising, she told herself; if these bars were meant to protect a befuddled patient, then proper design called for it to be impossible for a patient to remove them. (Eunice, we’re going to have to ring for the nurse. Damn!) (Don’t give up, Boss. Maybe it’s a button on the console. If we scrooch around till our head is at the foot, I think we can reach the console.)
So Johann pulled up her knees and twisted and switched ends—and was surprised and delighted at how limber her new body was. Then she stretched her right arm through the bars at the foot of the bed, could not quite reach the console—and cussed, and then discovered how the side rails locked—two simple catches, one for each side, at the foot of the bed below the springs, out of reach (no doubt the designer thought) of any patient ill enough to need the side rails.
She thumbed open the leftside catch; the rail, counterweighted, pushed down easily. She giggled. (How’re we doing, partner?) (Fine so far, Boss. Hang onto the end of the bed while we get our feet down. Keel over and they’ll put us in a wet pack—so hang on!)
Johann got her feet to the floor, stood trembling while she clung to the bed. (Dizzy.) (Of course. It will go away. Steady down, dear. Boss, I think we could walk…but let’s play safe and crawl. If we get dizzy again and take a dive on the rug, Winnie will be in here like a shot—and from then on they’ll feed us through the bars. What do you think?) (I think we had better reach that pot pronto before we have to blame it on the cat. We crawl.)
Getting to the floor was no problem; crawling was another matter, she caught her knees on the hospital gown. So she sat up—Johann discovered that her new body folded easily and naturally into a contortion young Johann had found difficult at twelve.
She did not stop to wonder. The bed jacket was no trouble; it fastened in front with a magnostrip, she shrugged it off and laid it aside. But the hospital gown fastened in back. (Stickstrip?) (Just a tie-tie. Feels like a bow knot. Careful, Boss, don’t snarl it.)
The gown joined the jacket. Unencumbered now, Johann resumed crawling. The bath-dressing room door snapped out of her way and she reached her objective.
Presently she sighed in relief. (I feel better.) (That makes two of us. Want to try walking back? As far as we have something to grab onto? Or clear to the bed if we whistle a chair and have it roll in front of us.) (I’m game.)
Johann found that she was not unsteady on her feet—walking was easier than it had been for twenty years. Nevertheless she stayed close to the walls, the bathroom having been equipped years ago with grab rails for a frail old man grimly afraid of falling. It took her close to a tall three-way mirror in the dressing room end. She stopped.
Then she stepped into the central spot and looked at herself. (My God, Eunice, but you’re beautiful!)
(My God, but we’re a sloppy bitch! Boss, look at those toenails! Claws. Talons. And, oh dear, my breasts sag! And my belly is positively flabby.)
(Beautiful. Utterly gorgeous. Eunice beloved, I always wanted to see you stark naked. And now I do.)
(So you do. I wish I had had time to get looking nice before you saw me. Hair a mess. And—yes, I thought so. We stink.) (Hey!) (Sorry, hit the panic button by mistake. Boss, we’re going to have a hot, soapy bath before we get back into that bed. That’s straight from Washington. We can’t do much about flab in one day—but we can get clean.) She turned and inspected her buttocks. (Oh, dear! A broad should be broad—but not that broad.) (Eunice, that’s the prettiest fanny in the state. In the whole country.) (Used to be, maybe. And it’s going to be again and that’s a promise, Boss. Tomorrow morning we start systematic exercise. Tighten up everything.) (Okay, if you say so—though I still say you’re the most gorgeously beautiful thing I ever saw in my life. Uh, Eunice? That mermaid getup you wore once—You were wearing a trick bra with it…weren’t you?)
She giggled. (Heavens, no. Just me, Boss. And paint. But my breasts were firm as rocks then; Joe had something to work with. I guess that’s the nakedest you’ve ever seen me.)
(What do you think I’m staring at now, Beautiful?)
(Oh, I meant back before I was killed. When I was your ‘nice’ girl who didn’t dare let you see me as naked as I knew you would like, you dirty old man. Although you could have seen me naked—and much more beautiful—any time you had gotten up the nerve to ask.)
(I’m going to spend hours every day standing right here and staring.)
(No reason why you shouldn’t, dear; it’s your body now. But let’s put an exercise mat on the floor and get in that toning up at the same time. Most exercises can be done better with the aid of a full-length mirror. I think we—)
The door snapped open. “Miss Smith!”
Johann started with surprise, then answered savagely, “Miss Gersten, what the devil do you mean by bursting into my bath without knocking?”
The nurse ignored the outburst, hurried to her patient, put an arm around her. “Lean on my shoulder, let’s get you back into bed. Oh, dear, I don’t know what Dr. Garcia will say! He’ll kill me—are you all right?” Johann saw that the little nurse was about to cry.
“Of course I’m all right.” Johann tried to shrug off the arm, found that the girl was stronger than she looked. “You didn’t answer.”
The nurse did cry then. “Oh, please, dear, don’t argue with me! Let’s get you into bed before you hurt yourself. Maybe Dr. Garcia won’t be quite so angry.”
Seeing that the younger woman was most unprofessionally disturbed, Johann let herself be urged out into the bedroom and to the bed. The little redhead caught her breath. “There! Now if you’ll hold tight around my neck, I can get your legs up—you bad, bad girl! To worry me so!”
Johann did not c
ooperate. “Winnie.”
“Yes, dear? Oh, do let me get you into bed! Doctor will be terribly angry.”
“Not so fast. If you’re planning on telling teacher, go do it. I can hang onto the bed, I won’t fall.”
The nurse looked desperate. “Are you trying to get me fired, Miss? Maybe blacklisted? What have I ever done to you?”
“Winnie dear.”
“Yes?”
“You aren’t going to say a word to Dr. Garcia.” Johann slid an arm around the redhead’s waist. “Are you?”
The nurse looked flustered but did not pull away. “Well, I should. I’m supposed to report everything.”
“But you aren’t going to. And I’m not going to tell him, either. Tight secret, just you and me. And no huhu for anyone.”
“Well… I won’t if you won’t.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Johann kissed her. Winnie did not dodge but seemed startled and somewhat timid. Then she caught her breath and her lips opened and the kiss progressed rapidly.
The nurse pulled her mouth free and said huskily, “I could get fired almost as quickly for this.” She did not say what “this” was. She ignored the fact that Johann’s free hand was cupping one of her breasts.
“So we’ll stop and I’ll get into bed—no, don’t help me; I don’t need it.”
Johann proved it by doing it. The nurse pulled the sheet over her, at once resumed her professional persona. “Now let’s put our clothes back on, shall we?” She stooped to retrieve them. “What a naughty girl, throwing her clothes on the floor. And giving me such a fright.”
“Stuff ’em in the hamper. I’m not going to wear them.”
“Now, now, dear. You needn’t wear the jacket. Just the gown. Or do you want a fresh one?”
“Winnie, I’m not going to wear those silly angel robes ever again, so chuck it. You can hang up the jacket. But I won’t wear a hospital gown. I’ll stay raw.”
“Dr. Garcia—”
“Quit threatening me with Dr. Garcia. We’re past that. Aren’t we?”
The nurse bit her lip. “Well…yes.”
“It’s none of his business if I sleep raw. And I shall, until something more appropriate can be bought for me. Or—Do you sleep in the house? Maybe you could lend me a nightie. A girl-type nightgown.”
“Well, yes, I sleep here. But I can’t lend you a gown because, well—I sleep raw myself.”
“Sensible.”
“But there are nightgowns and negligees and things right here. In your dressing room.”
“Be damned. Who ordered them?”
“I don’t know, Miss Smith. They were brought in and stored there when, well, when it became clear that you were going to need them.”
“Good planning. Uh, do you know if they’re my size? Whatever that size is, I don’t know myself.”
“Oh, yes! I helped measure you.”
“More good planning. Find me the most feminine nightgown in there—I might as well practice.”
“Glad to.” The nurse left the bedroom.
(Butch.) (Oh, nonsense, Eunice. Sure, she’s a cute little trick…but I simply suddenly realized what treatment she would respond to. Had to dig back into my memory; I’m out of practice.) (‘Butch’ I said. You enjoyed it.) (Didn’t you enjoy it?) (Sure I did. She kisses like don’t-stop. But I’m not a hypocrite about it. Who was shocked when I said girls could be a blast? You, you dirty old hypocrite. And butch.)
(Eunice, you are out of your frimping mind. I’ve had most of a century to appreciate girls; do you expect me to change overnight? The time I’ll feel like a queer is the first time some man kisses us. I’ll probably faint.) (Poor Boss. Doesn’t know whether he’s A.C. or D.C. Never mind, dear, Eunice will coach you—as I do know how to kiss a man.)
(I imagine you do.) (Was there salt in that one? Never mind, I know how. He faints. Boss, you claimed you had done everything. Everything?) (See here, little snoopy, I am not going to give you any excuse to call me both ‘butch’ and ‘pansy’ in the same sentence. You can have my memoirs later. But, Eunice, speaking of ‘butch,’ is that what Winnie is? She certainly responded.) (More ‘sweetheart’ than ‘butch’ is my guess, though she may stroll both sides of Gay Street. But if you were asking ‘Is she a Lez?’ then I would bet anything she’s not. Ambi, sure, but much more interested in men. Haven’t you watched her? Sparks.)
Winnie returned with a nightgown in each hand. “I think these two are the prettiest, Miss Smith. I thought—”
“Winnie.”
“Yes, Miss Smith?”
“No ‘Miss Smith.’ I mean you are not to call me ‘Miss Smith.’ Not after kissing me. Or did I get the message wrong?” (Butch.) (Shut up, Eunice. She’s going to help us.)
The nurse said nothing, blushed.
Johann said gently, “That’s answer enough, dear. So call me—no, damn it, I don’t want you to call me ‘Johann.’ I need a new name. Winnie dear, what girl’s name is closest to ‘Johann’?”
“Uh, ‘Johanna.’”
“Mmm, yes. But there is already a ‘Johanna’ in my family. Got another?”
“Well…if you called yourself ‘Joan’ and gave it the two-syllable pronunciation. it would be almost like ‘Johann’ except for the ‘J’ instead of the ‘Y’ sound.”
“Perfect! You’ve named me. I think that makes you my godmother. Do you mind being godmother to an old, old man who has just been reborn as a woman?”
Winnie smiled. “I’m flattered.”
“So call me ‘Joan,’ not ‘Miss Smith.’ Uh, I need middle name. ‘Eunice.’” (Why, Boss, now I’m flattered.) (Yes, beloved. Now shut up.) “‘Joan Eunice Smith.’ Winnie, do you know why that’s my middle name?”
The nurse said slowly, “I’m not supposed to know.”
“Then you do know. It’s for the sweet and gracious lady who gave me this wonderful body—and I hope she can hear me wherever she is.” (I can, Boss!) “Put down those gowns and come here and name me with my new name. Name me formally, for it’s all the christening I will ever have. Then seal it.”
Almost timidly the little redhead came close to the bed, bent over her patient. She said softly, “I name thee ‘Joan Eunice’”—and kissed her.
Perhaps Winnie intended to make it a formal peck; Joan Eunice did not let it be. Both women were leaking tears before it was over.
Joan patted the nurse’s cheek and let her straighten up. “Thank you, dear. I’m Joan now. Joan Eunice. Hand me a tissue and you need one, too.” (How was that one, Eunice?) (Butch, your technique is improving. I felt that one clear down in our toes.) (Who the hell are you calling ‘Butch,’ Butch? My name is Joan Eunice.) (No, you’re Joan and I am Eunice and collectively we’re Joan Eunice…and I’ve never had a nicer present, Boss. Joan. And I know you’re not a butch but you had better cool it with our godmother. Unless you mean business.)
“Which gown do you like… Joan?”
“Winnie, I don’t know first verse about women’s clothes. What do you think?”
“Well…this Cretan design is rather extreme. But you have the figure to justify it.” (No, Boss! Take the one with the high neckline.) (Eunice, I thought you were proud of our bumps? They don’t really sag.) (It’s not that at all. Trust me, Joan; I know what I’m doing.)
“You may be right, Winnie. But it may not be the right gown for doctors and lawyers. I had better start easy, with the high neckline. Help me, please.”
While they were getting Joan into a nightgown she asked, “Winnie? How did you happen to burst in on me?”
“What? Why, the displays of course. Both your heart rate and respiration were way up. Exercise. So I rushed in to check—and sure enough, my bad girl had managed to get out of bed. Oh, how you frightened me, dear!”
“Winnie, there’s a hole in that story I could throw a dog through.”
The nurse stiffened. “What do you mean—Joan?”
“My heart rate and respiration must
have climbed a good ten minutes before you came in.”
“Oh, dear! You won’t tell on me? You promised.”
“I did and so did you. Winnie with the sweet mouth, from now on neither of us is ever going to tell Dr. Garcia a durn thing unless we think he needs to know it. You and I, dear. Solid. Now tell me what happened.”
“Uh…oh, this is silly. Whoever is on watch at the remotes isn’t supposed to take his eyes off the displays even a moment. But you were doing so nicely…and Mrs. Sloan was taking a nap—which she needed, poor dear—and Dr. Garcia had gone to check on Mr. Salomon…and he takes a grim view of being sent for unless the patient needs him…and the washroom is just down the hall from the displays—”
“I get it. We had the same urge at the same time. Right?”
Winnie blushed again. “I deserve to be fired. I know better than to take any chance with a patient. Patients do the darnedest things.”
“You aren’t ever going to be fired, you’re going to be here long after Dr. Garcia leaves. If you’ll stay. How do I look?”
“Simply lovely. I wouldn’t have guessed it but I do think this gown does more for you than that Cretan number.” (What did I tell you, Boss?) “But I’m going to put more lipstick on you. It’s all gone.”
“Now how in the world did that happen?”
Winnie giggled. “Don’t ask me. But guess maybe I’ll put on some myself before Doctor sees us. Joan? Is it all right for me to call you ‘Miss Joan’ when Dr. Garcia is around? He’s terribly strict.”
“Tell him to go soak his head. Sho’, sho’, honey, if it makes you feel easier. But I’m ‘Joan’ when he’s not around. You’re my coach. You’re going to make a lady out of me.” (That’s my job, Boss. And a tough one, I can see.) (So you need help with it. Don’t joggle my elbow; Winnie is our secret weapon.) (Okay. But this weapon might explode.) (Look, infant, I learned to cope with women long before your grandmother was born.)
“I’ll be glad to help, any way I can… Joan dear.”
“Then you can start by convincing dear Doctor that I’m well enough for a tub bath. I stink. Ladies ought not to stink.”
“Why, you had a bed bath not two hours ago!”