Garcia reddened slightly. "A doctor doesn't have time for formalities."
(Slug him again, dearie! He's still twitching.) (I shall!) "Doctor, if I were in danger, I would expect you to rush in without buzzing; I depend on you. But you came in to tell me I can't have a bath—surely not an emergency. I'm not asking much—just asking you to think of this room, not as an old man's sickroom, but as a lady's boudoir. To help me. Please?"
Dr. Garcia said stiffly, "Very well, Miss Smith. I shall remember."
"Thank you, sir. By the way, my name is ‘Joan Smith' now; I can't go on being ‘Johann.' You might call me ‘Miss Joan' to help me get used to it. Or simply ‘Joan,' as I don't want to be unnecessarily formal with my doctor, truly I don't. Just that little touch of formality that I need as training in learning how to be my new self. Will you call me ‘Joan'?"
He grudged a smile. "All right—Joan."
She gave him Eunice's best you-wonderful-man smile.
"That sounds nice. And you are welcome any time, Doctor, either professionally or just to visit. Which I hope you will do. Just have the nurse make sure I'm ready to receive a gentleman. Things. You know." She raised herself on an elbow and looked at him, acutely aware of her "modest" nightgown. "Such as lipstick." She wet her lips. "Odd to have to wear it. Is it on properly? Does it look right?"
"You look lovely!"
(Cancel and erase—change ‘butch' to ‘tart.' You're a natural-born tart, dearie. Where's your beat?) (Stow it, sister tart; I haven't finished hustling him.) "Why, thank you sir! Now tell me why I can't have a hot, soapy, tub bath so that I will feel lovely, too. I'll follow your orders, Doctor, but I would like to understand them. Can you tell me without using a lot of long medical words?"
"Well— Joan, my objection is to the tub itself. People are forever breaking legs or cracking skulls through slipping in bathtubs. And you haven't even learned to stand up, much less walk."
"True." Joan threw the sheet back, dropped her feet over the edge of the bed, sat up—controlled a slight dizziness and smiled. "Let's see if I can. Will you help me, Doctor? Arm around me perhaps?"
"Lie down!"
"Must I? I feel fine. Is there a stool? My feet don't touch the floor."
"Miss Sm— Joan, damn it, so hell me I'm going to quit this business and buy a junkyard! Lie down while I call a nurse. Then we'll get on each side of you and let you stand up. When you find out how weak and dizzy you are, I'll expect you to go back to bed and stay there."
"Yes, Doctor," she said meekly, and lay down.
Winnie answered the summons. "You rang, Doctor?"
"We're going to try a practice walk. Help me get the patient up. You take her left side."
"Yes, sir."
With too much help Joan got out of bed, stood up. The room wobbled a little but she steadied herself on Winnie while letting her arm be feather-light on the Doctor's shoulder.
"How do you feel?"
"Fine. We should have music; I feel like dancing."
"Feel like it if you wish, don't try it. Slow march now and short steps." They walked toward the door, while Joan relished the thick pile of the rug against her bare feet. Walking was fun; everything was fun! (Eunice my love, do you realize what a perfect body this is?) (It's way out of shape. But two weeks' hard work and we'll have it tuned up.) (Oh, pooh, I never felt this good even as a child.) (You'll see, Boss. Say a vertical split with our hair sweeping the floor, then hold it through ten controlled breaths—and come out of it with a slow walkover and melt on down into a full Lotus with never a hurried movement. Just wait.) (You think we'll be able to do that? I was c1umsy even as a boy.) (No huhu. The body remembers, dear.)
They stopped. "Now turn around slowly, and bead for your bed."
"Doctor? Now that I'm up, why not head me straight for that soap and water?"
"Aren't you tired?"
"Not a bit. I didn't lean on you, did I? I thought I had been promised a real bath as soon as I was able to walk.
Must I stand on my hands as well? Back away and I'll try." She let go of his arm.
The Doctor promptly put his arm around her waist "No nonsense! Nurse, that tub has grab rails; make her use them."
"Yes, Doctor."
"If this patient falls, you had better head for Canada—you can find the shortest route by following me. If you're fast enough."
"Winnie won't let me fall," Joan said warmly while warmly leaning into his arm. "But if you're worried, you can come in and help. Scrub my back."
He snorted. "Ten minutes ago you bawled me out merely for walking into your bedroom unannounced."
"And if you do it again, I shall again. That's social; this is professional. Doctor, I'm well aware that you've seen my new body—professionally—many times. One more time won't kill me." She wiggled slightly in his arm.
"Scrubbing a patient's back is not part of my professional duties. Lukewarm tub, Nurse, and don't let her stay in too long."
Once inside the bathroom and the door shut Joan threw her arms around her nurse and giggled. "Honey, did you see his face?"
Winnie shook her head. "Joan, you don't need me to coach you in how to be female. You already know."
"Oh, but I do need you, dear. Because I don't know. I simply used on dear Doctor things that used to fluster me when I was his age—and male." She giggled again. "For a second I thought he was going to take my dare and scrub my back." (And I thought you were going to lay him, right on the rug.) (Oh, be quiet, Eunice; I didn't even pinch him.) Joan let go of Winnie, stepped back, and started to skin the gown over her head. "Now for a bath. Oh boy!"
"Joan! Please hold onto something. Doctor might show up any second."
"Oh, pooh, he wouldn't dare. Never again." Joan turned and touched the latch switch. "Now he can't, so quit fretting."
"You mustn't lock the door. Hospital baths are never locked."
"This isn't a hospital and I'll lock my bathroom door whenever I like and if Dr. Garcia finds out I've locked it the only way he can—by trying to walk in—and dares to mention it, I'll scream my head off to Jake Salomon and there'll be a change in doctors. Winnie dear, I wasn't a cranky old man more years than I care to think about without learning how to get my own way. I just have to use different weapons now. Want to peel off that uniform and hang it in the dressing room? I not only may splash you but this end is going to fill up with steam."
"No, Joan—lukewarm tub. You heard him."
"I heard him and it's going to be the temperature 1 like and that's another thing he'll never know and you know that I'm lively as a frog and not the weak kitten he insists on thinking I am; a hot tub won't hurt me. If you want to get your uniform clammy, that's your business. Better yet, climb into the tub with me. It's big, and short as I am now, I might slide under and drown, alone."
"I shouldn't," Winnie said slowly.
"Isn't that a horrid thought? Patient faints in tub and drowns before nurse can reach her. Not good enough for flash news but they might mention it on the late-late-late early news."
"Joan! You're teasing me." (You sure are, Boss. Erase and correct again—Both tart and butch.) (Fiddlesticks, Eunice. That's a big enough tub for all three of us.)
Winnie bit her lip and slowly unfastened her smock. Joan turned away and started filling the tub, adjusted the temperature, and avoided watching her.
11
An hour later Joan was seated in an easy chair, with her feet on a stool. To the nightgown had been added a filmy negligee and a pair of high-heeled boudoir pumps. Her hair had been arranged, her face had been most carefully made up, and she was lavishly scented with a cologne labeled "April Mist" but which deserved the title of "Criminal Assault." Her toenails were trimmed, not to Eunice's satisfaction but well enough for the time being. Best of all, she was enjoying the euphoria of a woman who is utterly clean, scented and powdered, and dressed attractively.