"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.'
"Mmmm, yes. But there is already a ‘Johanna' in my family. Got another?"
"Well... if you called yourself ‘Joan' and gave it the two-syllable pronounciation, 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 mc ‘Joan,' not ‘Miss Smith.' Uh, I need a 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 rue 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 damnedest 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."