"Miss Joan? It'll really be my own apartment? I can entertain?"
"Of course, dear. Private. Oh, Cunningham's staff will clean and so forth, any service you want. Breakfast tray, whatever. Or never enter it if you prefer it that way."
"It sounds heavenly. I'm sharing a room with two other girls... at a rent that's horrid because it's inside an enclave. Safe—but I never have any privacy."
"Winnie. Look at me, dear, and lay it on the line. The bed in there now is, I believe, a single. Would you like to have it replaced with a big, big double bed?"
The girl blushed. "Uh, it would be nice."
"So stop blushing. I won't know you have a visitor unless you tell me; that~ door is soundproof. Of course visitors have to be identified and checked for weapons, just as visitors to an enclave have to be—but that simply means you must vouch for a visitor to my chief guard the first visit. But I won't know it unless you choose to tell me. The in-house staff all have visitors. But security is my chief guard's worry, not mine."
"But he does have to show his I.D.?"
"You still would have to vouch for him to Chief O'Neil but— Hold the countdown. Did you mean he would rather not show an I.D.? Is he married, or something?"
Winnie blushed again, did not answer. Joan Eunice went on, "Nobody's business, dear. This is a private home, not a government compound. You vouch for him, that's enough. Chief O'Neil doesn't trust I.D.s; they're often faked. But he has a photographic eye. Are you going to stay with me? As nurse in residence, or lady's companion, or social secretary, or whatever you want to call it."
"Lady's maid. If I'm to be your maid, Miss Joan, I'd rather that your staff knew it and no pretense. And dress as your maid. What sort of uniform? Traditional? Or Acapulco? Or something in between?"
"Oh, not traditional, surely; you have such pretty legs. All-out Acapulco, if you like."
Winnie looked pleased. "I might go all out. A girl gets tired of these white coveralls." (Joan! Tell her not to use an all-out Acapulco paint job. Bad for her skin.)
"Suit yourself, dear. But don't use a lot of paint. Bad for your skin."
"Oh, I know! I'm a real redhead, you probably noticed. I can't even sunbathe. I was thinking of a little black frill skirt with a white lace apron about the size of a saucer. Little perky maid's cap, white on a black ribbon. Cling-On cups, in black. Transparent? Or opaque?"
"Whichever suits you, Winnie. High heels?"
"Uh, translucent, I guess, like the panels in that nightie. High heels, certainly, or the effect is lost—I can wear real stilts if I'm barefooted most of the time. Then just enough paint for accent. There are lovely decals that go on in no time and come right off with cold cream. Butterflies and flowers and things. Cheap, too. Everything I mentioned I can buy in disposables. I'll look like a proper lady's maid, yet not spend more time getting dressed than I do in pulling on this smock and tights."
"You'll look cute, dear. Going to dress up in a maid's outfit and model it for your friend?"
Winnie started to blush again, then grinned. "I certainly am! And let him take it off me, too!"
(Cheers!) (Eunice, you have a one-track mind.) (You should know, dearie—it's your mind.)
A few moments later Winnie announced Mr. Salomon, then left. The lawyer came toward Joan solemnly, took the hand she extended and bowed over it. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Disappointed," Joan answered soberly. "Because my oldest and dearest friend hasn't time to dine with me my first day up. But physically I feel fine. Weak, but that's to be expected."
"Sure you're not overdoing?"
"I'm sure. My respiration and heartbeat are being telemetered—if I weren't all right, someone would come in and order me to bed. Truly, I'm all right, Jake—and I won't get strong unless I do stay out of bed. But how about you, old friend? I have been terribly worried."
"Oh, I'm all right. Just made a fool of myself, Johann."
"You did not make a fool of yourself... and I feel certain Eunice knows it, Jake." (Watch it, Boss!) (Pipe down.) "You could have paid her no finer tribute than those honest tears." Joan found her own tears starting; she encouraged them while ignoring them. "She was a sweet and gallant lady, Jake, and it touched me more than I can say to learn that you appreciated her wonderful qualities as much as I did. Jake—please sit down, if only for a moment. There is something I must ask you."
"Well...all right. Can't stay long."
"Whistle that chair closer, and face me. Uh, a glass of sherry? Doctor says I may have it—and I find that I need it. That Spanish cocktail sherry, dry as your wit. Will you do me the honor of pouring for us?"
Joan waited until the lawyer had filled their glasses, and had seated himself. She raised her glass and at the same time raised her chest, letting those "wicked" panels do their best. "A toast, Jake—no, don't get up. The same toast, Jake—always the same toast from now on whenever you and I drink together... but silently." She took a sip and put her glass down. "Jake—"
"Yes... Johann?"
"‘Joan,' please—I can't be ‘Johann' any longer. Jake, you know that I never expected to live through any such operation? It was a—device. A legal device."
"Yes, Joha— Yes, Joan, I knew. That's why I helped."
"I knew. The most generous act of friendship I have ever known. What is it the Japanese name it?—the friend who helps, when it is necessary to die. Never mind. Jake, look me in the eye. Do you know, deep in your heart, that I would rather be dead... than to have lived through it by this incredible circumstance? Be alive... at her expense? Do you know that, Jake? Or must I live still another life, hating myself?"
Salomon raised his eyes, met hers firmly. "Yes—Joan. I know it. It was no fault of yours... you must not hate yourself. Uh... Eunice wouldn't want you to!"
"I know. Weep, dear Jake; don't hold back your tears—see, I am not holding back mine. Just try not to go to pieces, or I will, too. Jake, each of us would happily have died rather than let this happen. I am as certain of it about you as I hope you are about me. I don't think I could stand it if you had not reassured me. Look at me, a lovely body and young—yet I am almost ninety-five years old and have not one friend left alive... but you."
"You'll make more friends."
"I wonder if I can. The span is great, perhaps too great. I feel as the Wandering Jew must have felt, alive beyond his allotted time. His name—Aha—something. My memory is not as good as this young body. But I can't forget one question which I must ask. Jake, is there any possibility that Eunice's husband had something to do with her death? That prize I put up, that blood money—did it tempt him?"
(Boss, Boss, you're way off base. I know!) (Sorry, beloved, more sorry than I can say. But I must have proof.)
"Jake? Did 1 entice a murder?"
The lawyer shook his head. "I'm astounded. But of course you don't know the circumstances. You enticed nothing. I wrote that offer most carefully. Were there any guilt I would share it. There was none."
"How do you know?" (Drop it, Boss. Please!)
"Mr. Branca was in Philadelphia, visiting his mother." (You see, Boss?) "I had to find him to get the post-death ratification. Took three days, while both of you were kept ready for surgery. Joe Branca didn't know she was dead. Hell of a job even to find him. Three long days."
"‘Three days.' Why wasn't I told!"