“Yes… Johann?”
“‘Joan,’ please—I can’t be ‘Johann’ any longer. Jake, you know that I never expected to live through any such operation? It was a—device. A legal device.”
“Yes, Joha—Yes, Joan, I knew. That’s why I helped.”
“I knew. The most generous act of friendship I have ever known. What is it the Japanese name it?—the friend who helps, when it is necessary to die. Never mind. Jake, look me in the eye. Do you know, deep in your heart, that I would rather be dead…than to have lived through it by this incredible circumstance? Be alive…at her expense? Do you know that, Jake? Or must I live still another life, hating myself?”
Salomon raised his eyes, met hers firmly. “Yes—Joan. I know it. It was no fault of yours…you must not hate yourself. Uh…Eunice wouldn’t want you to!”
“I know! Weep, dear Jake; don’t hold back your tears—see, I am not holding back mine. Just try not to go to pieces, or I will, too. Jake, each of us would happily have died rather than let this happen. I am as certain of it about you as I hope you are about me. I don’t think I could stand it if you had not reassured me. Look at me—a lovely body and young—yet I am almost ninety-five years old and have not one friend left alive…but you.”
“You’ll make more friends.”
“I wonder if I can. The span is great, perhaps too great. I feel as the Wandering Jew must have felt, alive beyond his allotted time. His name—Aha—something. My memory is not as good as this young body. But I can’t forget one question which I must ask. Jake, is there any possibility that Eunice’s husband had something to do with her death? That prize I put up, that blood money—did it tempt him?”
(Boss, Boss, you’re way off base. I know!) (Sorry, beloved, more sorry than I can say. But I must have proof.) “Jake? Did I entice a murder?”
The lawyer shook his head. “I’m astounded. But of course you don’t know the circumstances. You enticed nothing. I wrote that offer most carefully. Were there any guilt I would share it. There was none.”
“How do you know?” (Drop it, Boss. Please!)
“Mr. Branca was in Philadelphia, visiting his mother.” (You see, Boss?) “I had to find him to get the post-death ratification. Took three days, while both of you were kept ready for surgery. Joe Branca didn’t know she was dead. Hell of a job even to find him. Three long days.”
“‘Three days.’ Why wasn’t I told!”
“And waste Eunice’s death? Are you crazy? You were unconscious; Garcia put you under as soon as I notified him that a body was going to be ready. Then that dreadful wait. I need your forgiveness, too, for—Joan—no, ‘Johann!’ I hated you…for being alive when she was dead. But I pushed on—for her sake. Oh, I got over it, it was a sick hate. I knew better.”
“Do you hate me now?”
“Eh?” Salomon looked at her, in sorrow. “No. You are not only my old friend, who has always been honest and decent under his crusty exterior—whose virtues outweighed his faults.” Salomon managed to smile. “Though sometimes just barely. But also you are the only tie I have left to her.”
“Yes. You may find me better-tempered now, Jake. It’s easier to smile, easier to be patient, then it was in that old wreck of a body I had. But, Jake, about Joe Branca. All right, he was in Philadelphia. But could he have arranged it?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Certain. Joha—Joan, it’s that million dollars that worries you, fear that it might have started a chain of events. When they located Joe Branca, I had to jet there and get that piece of paper. He was dazed. Couldn’t believe it. But accepted the fact. But not the money. I couldn’t get him to sign the post-death authorization without first preparing another document, waiving the money. The escrow trustee—Chase Manhattan—was instructed by Joe to pay it to the Rare Blood Club—his idea—as a memorial to Eunice Evans Branca.” (Oh, Boss! I’m crying.) (We all are.) (But, Boss—Joe must be starving.) (We’ll take care of it.)
She sighed. “I’ll be damned.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps myself. But I don’t think Joe Branca will be. He’s an unworldly man—Joan. From a slum family. A flower in the muck. I couldn’t even get him to accept a lesser sum. He insisted on paying for witnessing and notarizing his mark, and the tax stamp on the assignment—and it took almost every dime he could dig up. He just shook his head and said, ‘Broke don’t scare me.’”
“Jake, we must take care of him.”
“I don’t think you can, Joan, In his own odd way he is as proud as she was. But I did one thing. In searching for him I had to get a court order to open their studio—indispensable it turned out, as an old letter from his mother gave us the clue that located him. But I learned that the rent was almost due…the corporation’s rent agent wanted to know how soon the lease was going to lapse—he assumed that, with her dead, the rent would not be paid. So I covered the matter for the moment; then when I got back, I bought the lease. As long as Joe chooses to stay, he won’t be asked for rent. Then I checked around and located her bank account and arranged with a friendly judge to let me guarantee the matter and had it assigned to Joe without bothering him with legal formalities. The little dear was smart about money—a nice sum, enough to keep him eating a couple of years, I think.” (All gone in a couple of months, I think. Boss, Joe doesn’t understand money. A bank account isn’t real, to him.) (Don’t worry, darling. Jake and I will handle it.)
She sighed. “I feel reassured, Jake. But distressed about her husband. We must look into it. If he’s that unworldly, then there must be some way to subsidize him without his knowing it.”
“All right, Joan, we will try. But Joe Branca taught me—at my age!—that there are things money cannot buy. Not if the prospective seller is indifferent to money.”
“Will you have more sherry? And may I have another drop? If you can’t stay, I think I’ll ask to be put to bed and right to sleep. Skip dinner.”
“Oh, but you must eat, Joan. For your strength. Look, if I stay, will you eat?”
She gave him Eunice’s best sun-coming-up smile. “Yes! Yes, Jake dear! Thank you.”
Dinner was informal, service only by Cunningham and two assistants. Joan did her best to simulate a charming, gracious hostess—while trying not to appear greedy; everything tasted so wonderful! But she waited until coffee had been served and Jake had refused a perfecto and accepted a glass of port, and she then could say, “Thank you, Cunningham, that will be all,” before returning to personal matters.
Once they were alone she said, “Jake, when will I be up for a competency hearing?”
“Eh? Any time you feel well enough. Are you in a hurry?”
“No. I would be utterly content to be your ward the rest of my life.”
Her lawyer smiled slightly. “Joan, by the actuarial tables you now have a life expectancy of about sixty years; mine is more like ten or twelve.”
“Well…that’s hard to answer. But will you go on as before as my de-facto manager? Or am I asking too much?”
Salomon studied his glass. “Joan…once the court dissolves this guardian-and-ward relationship, there is no reason why you should not manage your affairs.”
(Joan! Change the subject; he’s trying to leave us!) (So I know! Keep quiet!) (Tell him your middle name!) “Jake. Jake dear…look at me. Look hard and keep on looking. That’s better. Jake—is it that you would rather not see me…as I am now?”
The lawyer said nothing. She went on, “Isn’t it better to get used to what is…than to run away from it? Wouldn’t she—Eunice—want you to stay?” (Keep slugging, Sis—he wants to stay.)
“It isn’t that simple… Joan.”
“Nothing ever is. But I don’t think you can run away from it any more than I can—for I won’t stop being what I am—her body, my mind—and you will always know it. All you accomplish by leaving is to deprive me of my one friend and the only man on earth I trust utterly. What does it take to change my name?”
“Eh?”
“Just what I said. I changed my surname from ‘Schmidt’ to ‘Smith’ when I enlisted on December eighth nineteen-forty-one simply by spelling it that way to a recruiting sergeant. No one has bothered me about it since. This time perhaps it must be formal, considering the thousands of places where my signature appears. It is technically a sex-change case, is it not? A court takes judicial notice, or some such, and it’s made a matter of record?”
Salomon slipped into his professional persona and relaxed. “Yes, of course; I had not thought about that aspect—too many other details on my mind. Joan, your earlier name change was legal—although informal—because any person is free to call himself by any name, without permission of a court, as long as there is no criminal intent—to defraud, deceive, evade responsibility, avoid taxes, whatever. You can call yourself ‘Joan’—or ‘Johann’—or ‘Miniver Cheevy’—and that is your name, as long as your purpose is innocent. And pronounce it as you like. Knew of a case once of a man who spelled his name ‘Zaustinski’ and pronounced it ‘Jones’ and went to the trouble of publishing the odd pronunciation as a legal notice—although he did not have to; a name may be pronounced in any fashion its owner chooses.”
“Why did he do it, Jake?”
“His grandmother’s will required him to change his name in order to inherit—but did not specify how he must pronounce it. Joan, in your case a formal change of name is advisable, but it might be best to wait until you are no longer my ward. But de facto your new name is already what you say it is.”
“Then my name is now—‘Joan Eunice Smith.’”
Salomon knocked over his glass of port. He made quite a busyness of mopping it up. Joan said, “Jake, let it be, no importance. I did not mean to shock you. But don’t you see the necessity? It’s a tribute to her, a public acknowledgment of my debt to her. Since I can never pay it, I want to publish it, place it on the wall for all to see, like a Chinese man’s debt to his tong. Besides that, ninety-five percent of me is Eunice…and only five percent is old Johann now named ‘Joan’ and even that fraction no one can see, only surgeons have seen it. Last but by no means least—Jake dear, look at me—if you ever forget that fraction and call me ‘Eunice,’ it won’t matter; it’s my name. And if you intentionally call me ‘Eunice,’ it will matter, for I shall be pleased and flattered. And any time it suits you to call me ‘Joan Eunice,’ it will make me happy, as I will be certain you have done it intentionally—and accepted me as I am.”
“Very well… Joan Eunice.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Jake. I feel happier than I have felt since I first knew. I hope you do.”
“Um. Yes. I think so. It’s a good change—Joan Eunice.”
“Did you get wine on your clothes? If so, let Cunningham see to it. Jake, is there any reason for you to go clear out to Safe Harbor tonight? I’m sure Cunningham can find you clean socks or whatever.”
“Goodness, Joan—Joan Eunice—I’ve been here two nights already.”
“Do you think three will wear out your welcome? You can’t wear it out.”
“And the drive isn’t that far, as I placed my house for sale with the enclave trustees months ago. I have rooms at the Gibraltar Club now. Good service, central location, none of the fiddlin’ worries of a householder.”
“I see your point. Hmm, must remember to resign from the Gib myself.” She smiled. “They’ll never let me past the ladies’ lounge—now.”
The lawyer said dryly, “I took the liberty of withdrawing you from membership shortly after I became your guardian—Joan Eunice.”
She laughed in delight. “And me a founding member! This is delicious—souls and honks and thirds all welcome…but females are second-class citizens. Jake dear, I’m going to have to get used to a lot of things.”
“I suppose so—Joan Eunice.”
“So I’ll need you more than ever. Where have you been sleeping?”
“The Brown Room.”
“Cunningham must be slipping. He should have put you in the Green Suite.”
“Well…the Green Suite has been used for hospital equipment and supplies. I authorized it.”
“Then you can just unauthorize it, as that is your suite. They can store that stuff somewhere else. Or remove it, as little of it will be needed from now on.”
“Hedrick had most of it removed the middle of the day.”
“All right, you stay in the Brown Room tonight; then tomorrow Cunningham can get the Green Suite in shape for you.”
“Joan Eunice, what leads you to think I’m moving in here? I’m not.”
“I didn’t say you were. I said that the Green Suite is yours. Whether you stay a night or a year. Yours without invitation, yours to come and go without bothering to say hello or good-bye. Although I hope it will suit you to say hello to me frequently. Is Hubert, my former valet, still around?”
“Yes. He’s tended me the last two nights.”
“From now on he’ll tend the Green Suite and take care of you whenever you honor us with your presence. Jake, you had better move some clothes here.”
“Damn it—Pardon me, Joan Eunice.”
“For saying ‘Damn it’? It’s a strange day when my oldest friend must curb his language in my presence. Jake, I’ve heard you use language that would blister paint at forty yards—and at me, not merely in my presence.”
“True. But I must now remember that you are a lady, Joan Eunice.”
“Please yourself. I’m going to have more trouble learning to be a lady than you will have in remembering that I am supposed to be one. If you slip, ignore it—for you know that I never took a back seat to any muleskinner in other days. You were saying?”
“Well, I was saying, ‘Damn it, we must remember your reputation’—Joan Eunice.”
“My what? My reputation as a woman? I doubt if I have one—other than as a sideshow freak. Doesn’t worry me.”
“You’re not in the news, Joan Eunice, since shortly after the operation. Oh, you will be again when we go into court…and perhaps sooner, when someone in your household staff or Dr. Hedrick’s staff spills the fact of your recovery.”
“So I’ll be a sideshow freak again and who cares? A nine-day wonder lasts only a couple of days now; they wear out faster than they did when I was a kid. Jake, I haven’t worried about what anyone said about me for over half a century. The image our P.R. men built up was for the company, not for me personally. As for Mrs. Grundy—I think she’s dead. The present generation does not care about her opinion—a change for the better in a world otherwise deteriorating. I doubt if Eunice ever heard of Mrs. Grundy.” (Sure have, Boss. My fourth-grade teacher. Used to shack with the vice-principal until his wife found out. We kids giggled over it—but you would have liked her…you dirty old darling. Keep working on Jake, dear-time to back away closer.) (Who’s driving this car?) (I am.)
Mr. Salomon said thoughtfully, “I think you are right about this younger generation, Joan Eunice. Only people my age and older give such matters a thought. But you know that I should not live under your roof now. And so do I.”
“Jake, I am not trying to force you. Nor am I trying to compromise you—”
“Eh? Me? It’s your reputation I am thinking of. With your servants, at least.”
(Why, the old hypocrite. Ask him about the time he crowded me into a cloak closet with Cunningham almost breathing down our necks. Go on, I dare you. Oh, he’s a one, that one—courage under fire.) “Jake, that is sweet of you but I don’t give a triple damn how my servants gossip in the kitchen. But I am able to protect you from gossip, sir. I have acquired the most conventional of Victorian chaperonage—a respectable lady’s maid. She’ll sleep just through that door, where Hubert used to sleep. If it frets you, she can always be present when you and I are together.” (Hey, what is this? Trying to get Winnie into the act? She might go for it—Jake won’t. Watch it, dear.) (Quit kibitzing, Eunice.)
The lawyer raised his brows. “You’ve hired a maid already? Surp
rising. Though you never were one to dillydally. Or did you shift around part of your in-house staff?”
“Some of both, Jake. I anticipated that Dr. Garcia will insist on my having a trained nurse…so I persuaded one of the nurses to stay on, in both capacities. Winnie. You’ve seen her, the little redhead.”
“Possibly I have.”
(‘Possibly’ he says. All you men are hypocrites. If he hasn’t patted her butt, he’s thought about it.)
“I’m lucky to get her. Intelligent. Educated. Able to teach me things I must know and, being a nurse, used to caring for people even more than a maid does. I used the usual argument—money—but I was careful to respect her professional pride; she’ll still be my nurse, she’ll lady’s-maid me as a friendly favor. I think she may be in bed. But she would get up and chaperon us if asked. Shall I send for her?”
“What? Oh, don’t be silly, Joan Eunice. You’re making a mountain of a molehill.”
“It seemed to me that you were, Jake. I do feel defenseless as a woman…even though I was far more vulnerable as a sick old man than I am now in this strong young body. But I feel safe with you present—and not at all safe when you are away. Jake, I can’t urge you to live here…but can’t you see what a favor it would be to me? As well as—How many rooms do you have at the Gib?”
“Two. Adequate for my needs.”
“The rooms there aren’t large…whereas the living room of the Green Suite is as large as this room. We could cut a door from it into the upstairs library and it could be your study. Move anything into it you need for my affairs or your own—plenty of room for files or books. Jake, I don’t need this big mausoleum any more than you needed your house. But if I tried to sell it, I couldn’t get ten percent of what it cost; I built it during the worst of the Riot Years and the cost doesn’t show; it’s a prettied-up fortress, stronger than police barracks. Well, we may have such years again; I may yet be glad I spared no expense. In the meantime it’s big and safe and comfortable, and you might as well use it. When you wish, I mean, especially when you work on my affairs.”