“Parallels me, somewhat. My grandparents came from the south of Germany, Catholic. So the priests had a crack at me first. Then we moved to the Middle West before I started school, and Papa, who was never devout, decided it would be better—better for business, maybe—to be a Baptist. So I got the Bible-Belt routine, with hellfire and damnation and my sins washed away with full immersion. It was the Bible-Belt indoctrination that stuck, particularly the unconscious attitudes.
“But, consciously and intellectually, I shucked off all of it when I was fourteen—probably the only real intellectual feat of my life. I became an aggressive atheist—except at home—and scorned to believe in anything I could not bite. Then I backed away from that—atheism is as fanatic as any religion and it’s not my nature to be fanatic—and became a relaxed agnostic, unsure of final answers but more patient. I stayed that way three-quarters of a century; I left religion to the shamans and ignored it.”
“My own policy.”
“Yes. But let me tell you something that happened while I was dead.”
“What? You were never dead, Joan—Johann, damn it!—you were merely unconscious.”
“I wasn’t, eh? With no body, and my brain cut off from the world and me not even aware of myself? If that is not death, Jake, it is an unreasonable facsimile. I told you that I thought Eunice’s spirit has often given me a hand.”
“I heard you. I ignored it.”
“You stiff-necked old bastard. I haven’t taken up séances and such. But here is what happens. When I am in a quandary—often, these days—I ask myself, ‘What would Eunice do?’ That’s all it takes, Jake; I know at once. No ectoplasm or voices from a medium—just instant knowledge not based on my own experience. Such as this afternoon when I decided in a split second to kiss Alec and Mac. No hesitation—you saw! That’s not the way old Johann would behave…and yet you tell me I haven’t missed behaving like Eunice even once. That’s why it feels as if her sweet spirit were guiding me. Any comment?”
“Mmm… No. You do behave like her…other than when you tell me flatly that you’re speaking as Johann. But I don’t believe in ghosts. Johann, if I thought I had to go on being Jake Salomon throughout all eternity, I’d—well, I would register a complaint at the Main Office.”
“Let me tell you what happened to me at the Main Office.”
“Hush?”
“While I was dead, Jake. I was in this—place. There was a very old Man with a long white beard. He had a big book. He looked at me, then consulted His book, then looked back at me. He said, ‘Son, you’ve been a bad boy. But not too bad, so I’m going to give you another chance. Do your best and don’t worry; you’ll have help.’ What do you think, Jake?” (What is this, Boss? Did it happen to you, too?) (Eunice, if it happened to you, it happened to me; it’s the same thing. And you are my help, beloved. My guardian angel.) (Oh, frimp you! I’m no angel, I’m me.) (A very earthy angel, beloved darling—just what I need.) (Love you, too, you dirty old man.)
Salomon answered slowly, “Anthropomorphism. Right out of your Bible-Belt Sunday school.”
“Oh, certainly. It had to be in symbols I could understand. If I had been a creature from around Proxima Centauri, the old Man and the beard might have been a Thing with eight tentacles and faceted eyes. Cliché symbols are nothing against it; I’ve never thought it was a physical experience. Men live by symbols, Jake. That—symbolic—experience was as real to me as any physical experience. And allow me to point out that I do have a second chance and I have, and am having, lots of help—from you especially, from Mac and Alec, from doctors and nurses…and also from something inside that tells me instantly, in any difficult situation, exactly how Eunice would handle it. I don’t say it’s Eunice…but it’s not Johann; he wouldn’t know how. Well?”
Salomon sighed. “Of the inventing of gods there is no end. And almost always anthropomorphic. Joan, if you are going in for that sort of self-delusion, why not go whole hog and join a nunnery?”
“Because Eunice would not. Although she might enjoy revamping a monastery.”
Jake chuckled. “She might, at that.”
“Maybe I should try it—since you are so damn chinchy about making me an honest woman. More likely I’ll change my name again and disappear and wind up in a crib in Bombay. Will you come visit me, Jake?”
“No. Too hot.”
“Chinchy. Mean old Jake. You wouldn’t refuse to go see Eunice because of heat.”
“Eunice would never wind up in a crib.”
“No, she wouldn’t. So I have to go on being a lady even though it’s quite a strain on old Johann.”
“Poor you. All you have is youth, beauty, and half as much money as the I.R.S.”
“And you, Jake. I could lose the rest and still be rich.” (I was wondering if you would see that opening. Sister, you don’t need my advice; I think I’ll take a vacation.) (You promised to stay!) (Yes, Boss darling. I can’t leave; we’re Siamese twins. But even if I could, I’d stay because I want to.) (Eunice beloved, I have never been happier in my life.) Joan Eunice moved closer to Jake. “Jake dear, I have never been happier in my life.”
A brassy voice from the cockpit said, “I am about to swing for landing. Please secure seat belts.”
Salomon answered, “Seat belts fastened and now being tightened. Proceed with landing.” To Joan he said, “Straighten up, Eunice—and do snap up that magno.”
Joan Eunice pouted her lip and obeyed.
15
Security check took little time; Salomon was known to the enclave guards and the copter was expected. It was a short walk from the landing to Salomon’s house but, as in all upper-class enclaves, inhabitants in sight outdoors pretended not to see them. The door opened to Jake’s voice and again they were private.
Joan Eunice took off her street robe and handed it to Jake, saying, “May I look around? Jake, it’s been years since I’ve been here; you’ve made changes.”
“Some. Moved my personal gear to the Gib or to your house, not much left but furniture which I’ll sell with the house. Oh, I keep some clothing and toilet articles here, and I can find us a drink and a tin of biscuits. Perhaps smoked oysters or caviar; we have to kill an hour or two. Or I could send out for dinner.”
“Let me see what there is in your kitchen; I would enjoy playing housewife. And I do want to look around.”
“Look all you like, but tell me what you want to drink. Joan, have you ever been in a kitchen?”
“None of your lip, lad; I’m a good cook. Mama taught me to make Apfelstrudel—dough you could read print through and so light it melted in your mouth—before you were born. Sherry, or a Dubonnet highball—no Schnaps, I’m not risking it yet.”
“I’ll stack my kosher cooking against your Bavarian messes any day, girl. The Goyim can’t cook the way the Chosen People can.”
“Oh, pooh, you fake Jew. You haven’t tasted my pot roast with noodles. I bached between wives—and cooks—and mistresses, and I always cooked. Jake, wouldn’t it be fun to cook for each other and swap recipes? We could do it here. I don’t dare enter my own kitchen; Della would faint.”
“Might be fun. We can eat my cooking when your boasts don’t pan out. Excuse me; I’ll see what liquor there is.”
Joan Eunice headed straight for the master bedroom. (Eunice, is this one of the places?) (Of course. See that sag in the bed? Boss, this is the only place we managed an all-night. Heavenly!) (‘All night?’ Then his mobiles do more than suspect; they know.) (Oh, they may suspect but it doesn’t matter. Charlie isn’t interested in women, and Rockford—well, he’s on my team. He approves of anything immoral, illegal, or dishonest—and my conduct was all three, by his standards. ‘He’s an atavism. But the all-night—I doubt if they suspected. We used more fan-dancing to keep it out of their sight than Joe’s sight—things involving two hired Brink’s cars and a non-existent errand for you.) (How did you fan-dance it for Joe?) (Didn’t. I thought up a story and told Jake I would use it—then told Joe tha
t I had met a man I wanted to spend a night with…did he mind if I was away Friday night?)
(As simple as that?) (Yes, Boss. We both were free but we were careful never to hurt each other. Only a second-class contract—since I was licensed for children and Joe was not. Either of us could have registered a dissolution on three days’ notice.)
(But what did Joe say?) (Nodded and went on painting. He kissed me good-bye and told me to have fun; Joe was always sweet. But he may not have missed me. He was painting from a new model, a beautiful boy who was a frimp type. Joe may have been changing his luck; he sometimes did.)
(And you didn’t mind?)
(That beautiful boy? Boss, you’ve got to move into the twenty-first century, now that you’re me. What possible harm? I’ve told you and told you that Joe and I were always careful of each other’s happiness; what more could I ask? Besides, I don’t know that Joe had his eye on him other than as a model but—well, if they had invited me to move to Troy with them, I wouldn’t have minded, for a night or two. I’ve always preferred older men—but the boy was pretty as a Palomino and clean as a sterilized cup; I wouldn’t have found it boring. Plus the fact that a woman is flattered if two males like her enough to let her watch what they do.)
(Eunice my love, you continue to startle me. That angle I would never have thought of. Yes, I guess it would be a compliment, in a way. I think that men—even men today—are shyer about such things than women are.)
(Men are horribly shy, Boss—whereas women usually are not. We just pretend to be, when it’s expected of us. Look, a woman is a belly with a time bomb inside, and women know it and can never get away from it. They either quit being shy—no matter how they behave to please men—or they go crazy; it’s the choice we have to make. And high time you made that choice, dear. Accept your femaleness and live with it. Be happy.) (I think I have.) (You’re coming along. But sometimes it feels like the bravado of a little boy who says, ‘I am not either scared!’ when he’s ready to wet his pants, he’s so frightened.) (Well, maybe. But I’ve got you holding my hand.) (Yes, dearest. Mama will take care of you.)
Joan went into Jake’s bathroom, primarily to snoop. She had just found something she half expected to find—when she heard Jake’s voice. “Hey! Where are you? Oh! Coming, or going? Fixed you Chablis over ice, best I could do.”
“That’ll do fine. Jake. Was this hers?” She held up a luxurious negligee—two ounces of cobweb.
Jake gulped. “Yes. Sorry.”
“I’m not sorry.” Suddenly Joan stripped off the Cling-Ons, shoved down her frill-skirt panties and stepped out of them, leaving her bare from sandals to eyebrows, put on the negligee. “Do I wear it the way she would? Wups, I wrapped it man-style.” She rewrapped the lap-over to the left. “Do I do her justice?”
“Eunice! Eunice!”
She folded it back, let it slither to the floor, went into his arms, let him sob against her face: “That’s enough, darling, Eunice doesn’t want you to cry. Eunice wants you to be happy. Both Eunice and Joan Eunice. Hold me tight, Jake. We’re lost and lonely—and all we have is each other.” While she cuddled him and soothed him, she opened the zipdown of his shirt. (Eunice, I’m scared!) (Easy does it, dear. Chant the Money Hum to yourself; I’ve taken over. Om Mani Padme Hum.) (Om Mani Padme Hum. Om Mani—)
Joan was jerked out of it by the telephone signal. She pulled her mouth from Jake’s and started to cry. “Oh, damn!”
Jake said huskily, “Ignore it. It’s a mistake, no one knows I’m here.”
“Uh—If we don’t answer, they’ll try again and interrupt us again. I’ll take care of it, dear. Where is the pesky thing? Living room?”
“Yes, but there’s an extension over there.”
“Keep thinking nice thoughts.” Joan hurried over, high heels tapping, stood close to the pickup so that only her face would be seen, flipped the switch—said in Eunice’s most crisp secretarial voice: “Mr. Salomon’s residence. Who is calling?”
The screen stayed blank. “Recorded. Urgent call for Counselor Salomon, third attempt.”
“Urgency noted. Proceed. Who is calling?”
Another voice came on, screen still blank. “This is Mr. Salomon’s answering service. Judge McCampbell has placed an urgent call. I told the Judge that the Counselor was more likely to be at his club or at the Johann Smith residence, but he insisted that I keep trying this code, too. Is he there?”
“One moment.” Joan glanced back, noted with annoyance that Jake had closed his shirt and picked up her clothes. “I have Mr. Salomon. Can you reach Judge McCampbell? I will hold.”
“Thank you. One moment.”
Joan stepped still closer and tilted the pickup to make certain that it caught only her face. Jake stepped up by her, handed her her clothes. She accepted them, did not put them on.
The screen lighted. “Jake, we—Hey! Brother Schmidt!”
“Alec! How nice!”
“Step back so I can see you, dear. Mac, don’t shove,” Train added as the Judge’s face appeared by his in the screen. “Is Jake there?”
“Right beside me, boys.”
“All I can see is his shirt. Stand on a box, honey, so that you’re both on screen; this must be a four-way conference. Or back away.”
“Here he is.” Joan tilted the pickup higher, reluctantly pressed the cups to her breasts, stepped into her frill-skirt, wiggled it into place. Then she backed off. “Can you see me now?”
“Not well enough,” the Judge’s resonant baritone answered. “Jake, back off a little. Joan, you need a stool. Better yet, Jake, hold her up in your arms—you lucky man.”
“What’s the message, gentlemen? And, thank you Judge, for your flitter. We were delivered quickly and safely.”
“De nada, compadre. Jake, my old roomie got a brilliant idea—no doubt through long association with me.” The Judge explained what each was willing to do in order to speed confirmation of Joan’s identity. “This can be our comm center. I am going to live in my chambers a few days—ready to issue a warrant, phone a judge in another jurisdiction or whatever. Then we’ll rush it through my court and crowd them into an appeal—get this nailed down tight. Meanwhile Alec is your man Friday. Want him to go anywhere in a hurry? He’s stupid but healthy, and losing a night’s sleep to time-zone changes is good for him.”
“Probably not before morning. But I’m relieved, gentlemen; I’ve been wondering how I could be everywhere I need to be. Since I’m retired from everything but Joan’s personal affairs, I’m without staff—and I’ve been cudgeling my brain trying to think whom I could get who would be reliable and competent. As we all know, this is touchy.”
“We know!” agreed Alec. “And we’re going to fix those harpies—aren’t we, Mac?”
“Yes—but legally and so that it cannot be reversed. Jake, you can reach us here—and don’t hesitate to wake us if you decide you want Alec to catch a midnight liner. Where will you be? Your house?”
“Until my car arrives; then we’ll be at Joan’s. Or on our way. My answering service can flip you into my car’s wavelength. It’s a longish drive.”
“We’ll be in touch. Don’t worry, Jake, and don’t let Joan worry. We’ll have her baptized before you can say ‘missing heir.’”
“I’m not worried,” said Joan, “but I feel like crying. Boys—Brothers—how can I thank you?”
“Shall we tell her, Mac? Would she blush? Thank me, that is, Brother Schmidt; don’t thank Brother Mac; he’s just doing his duty, what the taxpayers reluctantly pay him for. But you can thank me—I’m a volunteer.”
“I’ll thank you both, in whatever way you wish,” Joan said simply.
“You heard that, Mac? Brother Schmidt committed herself—and you can’t break a promise between Brothers, that’s the old Bita Pi law. Brother Schmidt Joan Eunice honey, back off and let us see all of you. Jake, get out of pickup; you ruin the composition. Go have a beer. Take a nap.”
“Ignore him, he’s drunk.” advised his for
mer roommate.
“So’s Mac, we’ve been working on it. But I’m not too drunk to hop a guided missile, Jake, if you say to.”
“Jake,” said the Judge, “this is getting out of hand. Not that I disagree with this low forehead’s enthusiasm. Good night, sir. Good night, Joan. Off.”
Joan Eunice flipped the switch, made certain that the screen was dead, started undressing.
“Joan. Stop that.”
She went on removing her saucy, scanty clothing, heeled off her sandals, then stood facing him. “Jake, I refuse to be treated like a porcelain doll. You had me expecting to be treated as a woman.”
He sighed. “I know. But the golden moment passed.”
“Well… I’m not going to dress. You’ve seen this body many times, we both know—and I want us both to get easy about it. Actually I’m shy, Jake; I’m only weeks old, as a woman, and not used to it. But I want to get used to it. With you.”
“Well—As you wish, dear; you know how beautiful I think you are. What shall we do? Read aloud to each other till my car arrives? Watch video?”
“Beast. If you were a gentleman you would at least take your clothes off. Instead you are a difficult, stubborn beast and I don’t know why I love you. Except that Eunice loved you—loves you, wherever she is—so I have to love you. Jake, if you won’t take me to bed, at least sit down in that big chair and let me crawl up into your lap. We can talk. We’ll talk about Eunice.”
He sighed. “Girl, you’ll give me a heart attack yet. All right, come curl up in my lap. On one condition.”
“Jake, I’m not sure I’ll agree to any conditions. I’m in a very unstable state.”
“You certainly are, dear. But it’s my lap. No ticky, no washee.”
“I should go back to the courthouse; I don’t think Mac and Alec would insist on conditions. Might as well relax, Jake; I’m climbing into your lap with no more yatter. There! That’s better. Arms around me, please.”
“First the condition. That you not try to rape me in a chair—”