"Cleo."
"What is it? This will take a little effort, but I think I can make it worth your while, so if you'd just—"
"Cleo, what the hell is the purpose of this?"
She stopped dead and let her head sag between her shoulders.
"What's the matter? Are you feeling silly with your feet in the air?"
"Maybe. Is that what you wanted?"
"Jules, humiliating you was the farthest thing from my mind."
"Then what was on your mind? It's not like we've never done it this way before. It's—"
"Only when you chose to do so. It's always your decision."
"It's not degrading to be on the bottom."
"Then why were you feeling silly?"
He didn't answer, and she wearily lifted herself away from him, sitting on her knees at his feet. She waited, but he didn't seem to want to talk about it.
"I've never complained about the position," she ventured. "I don't have any complaints about it. It works pretty well." Still he said nothing. "All right. I wanted to see what it looked like from up there.
I was tired of looking at the ceiling. I was curious."
"And that's why I felt silly. I never minded you being on top before, have I? But before... well, it's never been in the context of the last couple of weeks. I know what's on your mind."
"And you feel threatened by it. By the fact that I'm curious about changing, that I want to know what it's like to take charge. You know I can't—and wouldn't if I could—force a change on you."
"But your curiosity is wrecking our marriage."
She felt like crying again, but didn't let it show except for a trembling of the lower lip. She didn't want him to try and soothe her; that was all too likely to work, and she would find herself on her back with her legs in the air. She looked down at the bed and nodded slowly, then got up. She went to the mirror and took the brush, began running it through her hair.
"What are you doing now? Can't we talk about this?"
"I don't feel much like talking right now." She leaned forward and examined her face as she brushed, then dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. "I'm going out. I'm still curious."
He said nothing as she started for the door.
"I may be a little late."
The place was called Oophyte. The capital "O" had a plus sign hanging from it, and an arrow in the upper right side. The sign was built so that the symbols revolved; one moment the plus was inside and the arrow out, the next moment the reverse.
Cleo moved in a pleasant haze across the crowded dance floor, pausing now and then to draw on her dopestick. The air in the room was thick with lavender smoke, illuminated by flashing blue lights.
She danced when the mood took her. The music was so loud that she didn't have to think about it; the noise gripped her bones, animated her arms and legs. She glided through a forest of naked skin, feeling the occasional roughness of a paper suit and, rarely, expensive cotton clothing. It was like moving underwater, like wading through molasses.
She saw him across the floor, and began moving in his direction. He took no notice of her for some time, though she danced right in front of him. Few of the dancers had partners in more than the transitory sense. Some were celebrating life, others were displaying themselves, but all were looking for partners, so eventually he realized she had been there an unusual length of time. He was easily as stoned as she was.
She told him what she wanted.
"Sure. Where do you want to go? Your place?"
She took him down the hall in back and touched her credit bracelet to the lock on one of the doors.
The room was simple, but clean.
He looked a lot like her phantom twin in the mirror, she noted with one part of her mind. It was probably why she had chosen him. She embraced him and lowered him gently to the bed.
"Do you want to exchange names?" he asked. The grin on his face kept getting sillier as she toyed with him.
"I don't care. Mostly I think I want to use you."
"Use away. My name's Saffron."
"I'm Cleopatra. Would you get on your back, please?"
He did, and they did. It was hot in the little room, but neither of them minded it. It was healthy exertion, the physical sensations were great, and when Cleo was through she had learned nothing.
She collapsed on top of him. He did not seem surprised when tears began falling on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she said, sitting up and getting ready to leave.
"Don't go," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Now that you've got that out of your system, maybe we can make love."
She didn't want to smile, but she had to, then she was crying harder, putting her face to his chest and feeling the warmth of his arms around her and the hair tickling her nose. She realized what she was doing, and tried to pull away.
"For God's sake, don't be ashamed that you need someone to cry on."
"It's weak. I... I just didn't want to be weak."
"We're all weak."
She gave up struggling and nestled there until the tears stopped. She sniffed, wiped her nose, and faced him.
"What's it like? Can you tell me?" She was about to explain what she meant, but he seemed to understand.
"It's like... nothing special."
"You were born female, weren't you? I mean, I thought I might be able to tell."
"It's no longer important how I was born. I've been both. It's still me, on the inside. You understand?"
"I'm not sure I do."
They were quiet for a long time. Cleo thought of a thousand things to say, questions to ask, but could do nothing.
"You've been coming to a decision, haven't you?" he said, at last. "Are you any closer after tonight?"
"I'm not sure."
"It's not going to solve any problems, you know. It might even create some."
She pulled away from him and got up. She shook her hair and wished for a comb.
"Thank you, Cleopatra," he said.
"Oh. Uh, thank you..." She had forgotten his name. She smiled again to cover her embarrassment, and shut the door behind her.
"Hello?"
"Yes. This is Cleopatra King. I had a consultation with one of your staff. I believe it was ten days ago."
"Yes, Ms. King. I have your file. What can I do for you?"
She took a deep breath. "I want you to start the clone. I left a tissue sample."
"Very well, Ms. King. Did you have any instructions concerning the chromosome donor?"
"Do you need consent?"
"Not as long as there's a sample in the bank."
"Use my husband, Jules La Rhin. Security number 4454390."
"Very good. We'll be in contact with you."
Cleo hung up the phone and rested her forehead against the cool metal. She should never get this stoned, she realized. What had she done?
But it was not final. It would be six months before she had to decide if she would ever use the clone.
Damn Jules. Why did he have to make such a big thing of it?
Jules did not make a big thing of it when she told him what she had done. He took it quietly and calmly, as if he had been expecting it.
"You know I won't follow you in this?"
"I know you feel that way. I'm interested to see if you change your mind."
"Don't count on it. I want to see if you change yours."
"I haven't made up my mind. But I'm giving myself the option."
"All I ask is that you bear in mind what this could do to our relationship. I love you, Cleo. I don't think that will ever change. But if you walk into this house as a man, I don't think I'll be able to see you as the person I've always loved."
"You could if you were a woman."
"But I won't be."
"And I'll be the same person I always was." But would she be? What the hell was wrong? What had Jules ever done that he should deserve this? She made up her mind never to go through with it, and they made love that night and it was very, very good.
But somehow she never got around to calling the vivarium and telling them to abort the clone. She made the decision not to go through with it a dozen times over the next six months, and never had the clone destroyed.