I Will Fear No Evil (30 page)

“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 brillant 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 former 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—”

“Don’t think I could.”

“You’d be surprised what can be done in a chair, Joan.”

“Would not, I’ve done ’em all. As Johann. But they require cooperation.”

“Mmm, so they do.—and that, as soon as my car arrives, you dress at once and no nonsense, and we go home.”

“All right—since you made that ‘we.’ I was afraid you were feeling ornery enough to send me home alone. In which case I was going to have Rockford and Charlie take me straight back to Alec and Mac. Aren’t they delightful wolves, Jake? Hold me tight. The only way you can protect me from them is you-know-what.”

“Hmm. Joan, can you keep a chuckle to yourself?”

“Well . . . I promise never to tell anyone but Eunice.”

“Eh? Okay, I don’t think you would break a promise made that way. But, let me add that if you did tell, it would hurt Alec and Mac both—and Eunice would not like that.”

“No, Eunice certainly would not like that. Jake, you’re going to be able to hogtie me with that phrase the rest of my life.” (Don’t fret, Boss honey. Any time Jake is wrong, I’ll give you the ammo to change his tune.) “All right, I’ll tell no one but Eunice—and the old Man with the long white beard next time I see Him.”

“Safe enough. Okay, here’s the chuckle. Your two charming wolves—and they
are
charming—are as gay as Julius Caesar.”

“What? Jake, I have trouble believing that.”

“I won’t offer proof but I assure you that I know it beyond any reasonable doubt.”

“But—Look, dear, I’ve
kissed
them. I may be an ersatz female . . . but not where it matters, and I
know
those kisses weren’t phony. They were hot over me. Shucks, darling, I could tell it by Braille. Besides, they are married.”

“I said, ‘As gay as Julius Caesar,’ dear—not Governor Arkham.”

“Oh. Ambi gay, you mean. I still have trouble believing it. Doesn’t it show at all? Even in a kiss?” (
I
spotted it, Joan, the potential at least. But they’re still wolves . . . and we may be back there someday. To thank them.) (Eunice, is that the only way a female can thank a man?) (That’s the only convincing way, twin. This is news?) (No, beloved—but it was possible that your generation had learned something mine had not. They haven’t. Not in anythng you’ve told me. Just more open about it.)

“Joan, there is no way to spot it, if an ambi does not want it known. Either ambi, or clear over the line and no return. Look, when you were Johann, could you spot a virgin?”

“Jake, I’m not sure I ever met a virgin. But you have.”

“You must mean someone we both know.”

“Of course.”

“Who? Winnie? Wouldn’t have thought so. But she does blush easily.”

“Not Winnie. If she is one, I didn’t have her in mind.” (You crawled out of that one!) (Winnie can tell her own secrets. Honey girl? Does Jake know about your baby?) (No, and we’re not going to tell him!) (Didn’t intend to, darling—just didn’t want to be caught foolish.)

“Well, I can’t guess. Who is this paragon?”

“Me.”

“Uh—But—” Jake Salomon shut up.

“Sure, sure, dear—Johann was not, and Eunice was married. Not to mention an old wolf who tripped her.” (I tripped him.) “But none of that applies to this new female in your lap. I’m a virgin. But would not have been, by now—I think—if that goddam phone hadn’t sounded. Don Ameche should never have invented it.”

“Who’s he? Some Russian? Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone.”

“An obsolete joke, Jake—sorry. Ameche played Bell in a movie, oh, about the time you were three or four years old. But let’s not talk about long-dead actors, nor my virginity that I can’t get rid of; let’s discuss Eunice.” (My favorite subject!) “That overhead light is in my eyes; where can I squeeze it down? And will you keep your lap warm while I trot and do it?”

“I can do it from here. Is that better?”

“Oh, much! I want to see you, darling—but floor lights are enough. Now tell me about (Eunice. I not only want to be like her in other ways . . . but I would like to learn to make love the way she did. As much as you’ll tell me.”

“Joan, you know I can’t tell such things about a lady.”

“But I
am
Eunice, Jake. I just don’t have her memory. So I need help. Eunice loved you, and still loves you, I feel certain—and Joan Eunice loves you—with a love not at all like the fierce affection Johann always had for his one friend—Joan Eunice loves you with a love that comes also from Eunice’s sweet body that I wear so proudly. So tell me about her. Was she as eager as I am?”

“Uh—” (Slide your hand inside his shirt, twin. Be careful not to tickle.) “Joan, Eunice was eager. I had trouble believing it at first—me an old wreck and she so young and beautiful. But she managed to make me believe it.”

“But you are
not
an old wreck, darling. You are in better shape than I was at your age. Oh, your face has character lines; it has a granite majesty that impresses everyone. But your body is as firm and trim as a man half your age. Muscly. And your skin is smooth and elastic, not that distressing crepelike texture I remember too well. Darling . . . even if you divorce me later, will you marry me soon enough to let me have your baby?” (Hon, you’re knocking him out of the ring! That’s one I never dared use.)

“Eunice! Joan Eunice.”

“Oh, I don’t mean soon enough for
you
—I mean soon enough for
me
. I may have fifteen more fertile years—but the sooner the better; a woman ought not to have her first baby at past forty. But
you
will be making babies as long as you live. How many children do you have, Jake beloved?”

“Three. You met two of them once. And four grandchildren.”

“I don’t mean those, I mean others. I’ll bet you have at least a dozen more, here and there. You’ve been rich a long time; you could afford it. How many that you haven’t mentioned?”

“Joan Eunice, that’s snoopy.”

“Yes, and no one has to answer that sort of question. But didn’t Eunice ever ask?” (I did and I think he fibbed. I want to hear what he says
this
time.)

“Uh—”

“I won’t tell anybody but Eunice. Not even the old Man with the book.”

“You insidious little cuddle puppy. I think I have four more. Plus one by a married lady who may have been kidding me. Three I supported until they were on their own; the fourth—and that possible fifth—I couldn’t even offer to. But they were never in want.”

“How was it handled, dear? Three maiden ladies who moved elsewhere and became overnight widows?”

“Uh . . . only in one case. I offered to marry her—I was a grass widower then—but she elected not to, and did marry later and her husband adopted the child and I made a cash settlement. The other similar case I was married but the settlement was just as amicable. The other two were married. Some grief about one—she was a compulsive confesser, from which the good Lord deliver me!—and her husband had to be soothed with mucho dinero. The last—well, her husband was sterile—mumps—and together they picked a father. Me. Startled the hell out of me. But he offered to put it in writing and did. I tore it up and settled it with a handshake.” (This is
all
news to me, Joan. But I couldn’t believe that such a virile and charming man had left no by-blows. Keep him talking.)