"You see? The old tyrant is making bets with himself as to whether you'll come trotting in tomorrow and lick his hand like a dog. So don't even mention it. Tell me about yourself, Eunice—age, how long you've been married, and how often, number of children, childhood diseases, why you aren't on video, what your husband does, how you got to be Johann's secretary, number of arrests and for what— Or tell me to go to hell; you are entitled to privacy. But I would like to know you better; we are going to be working together from here on."
"I don't mind answering"—(I'll tell just want I want to tell!)—"but does this work both ways?" She stopped to let down the leg rest, straightened up. "Do I quiz you the same, way?"
He chuckled. "Certainly. I may take the Fifth. Or lie."
"I could lie, too, sir. But I don't need to. I'm twenty-eight and married once and still am. No children—no children yet; I'm licensed for three. As for my job—well, I won a beauty contest at eighteen, the sort that offers a one-year contract making appearances around your home state, plus a video test with an option for a seven-year contract—"
"And they didn't pick up your option. I'm astonished."
"Not that sir. Instead I took stock of myself—and quit. Winning that state contest and then losing the national; contest made me realize how many pretty girls there are. Too many. And some things I heard from them about what you have to go through to get into video and stay there, well, I didn't want it that much. And went back to school and took an associate's degree in secretarial electronics, with a minor in computer language and cybernetics, and went looking for a job." (And I'm not going to tell you how I got through school!) "And eventually filled in as Mrs. Bierman's secretary while her regular secretary had a baby then she didn't come back and I stayed on... and when Mrs. Bierman retired, Boss let me fill in. And kept me on. So here I am—a very lucky girl."
"A very smart girl. But I'm sure your looks had much to do with Johann's decision to keep you on."
"I know they did," she answered quietly. "But he would not have kept me had I not been able to do his work. I know how I look but Fm not conceited about it; appearance is a matter of heredity."
"So it is," he agreed, "but there are impressive data to show that beautiful women are, on the average, more intelligent than homely ones."
"Oh, I don't think so! Take Mrs. Bierman—downright homely. But she was terribly smart."
"I said ‘On the average,'" he repeated. "What is ‘Beauty'? A lady hippopotamus must look beautiful to her boy friend, or we would run out of hippopotamuses—potami—in one generation. What we think of as ‘Physical beauty' is almost certainly a tag for a complex of useful survival characteristics. Smartness—intelligence—among them. Do you think that a male hippopotamus would regard you as beautiful?"
She giggled. "Not likely!"
"You see? In reality you're no prettier than a female hippopotamus; you are simply an inherited complex of survival characteristics useful to your species."
"I suppose so." (Humph! Give me one opening and I'll show you what I am.)
"But since Johann—and I—are of your species, what that means to us is ‘Beauty.' Which Johann has always appreciated."
"I know he does," she said quietly. She straightened her scarlet-covered leg in full extension and looked at it. "I dress this way to amuse Boss. When I first went to work for Smith Enterprises I wore as little as the other girls in the outer offices—you know, skin paint and not much else.
Then when I went to work for Mrs. Bierman I started dressing quite modestly because she did—covered up all over, I mean, like Nurse MacIntosh—not even a see-through. Uncomfortable. I went on dressing that way when Mrs. Bierman left. Until one morning I had only one such outfit—I wore disposables, cheaper than having them cleaned—and spilled coffee down the front and was caught with nothing to wear.
"And no time to buy anything for I was more afraid of being late—you know how impatient Mr. Smith is—than I was that he might disapprove of my dress. Or lack of it. So I gritted my teeth and got out an office-girl bikini and asked Joe to paint me and hurry it up! Joe's an artist, did I say?"
"I don't believe so."
"He is. He does my skin painting, even styles my face. But I was late anyhow that morning as Joe really is an artist and refused to let it go with just spraying me the background color. The two-piece was white with assorted sizes of big blue polka dots…and Joe insisted on continuing the pattern all over me, with me cussing and telling hint to hurry and him insisting on painting just one more big polka dot. I was so late that I cut through an Abandoned Area I ordinarily circled around."
"Eunice, you should never go into an Abandoned Area. Good God; child, even the police don't risk it other than in a car as well armored as this one. You could be mugged, raped, and murdered and no one would ever know."
"Yes, sir. But I was scared of losing my job. I tried to explain to Boss why I was late, and he told me to shut up and go to work. Nevertheless he was unusually mellow that day. The next day I wore the sort of full cover-up I have been wearing—and he was downright mean all day. Mr. Salmon, I don't have to be slapped in the face with a wet fish; from then on I quit trying to look like a nun, and dressed and painted to enhance what I've got, as effectively as possible."
"It's effective. But, dear, you should be mere careful. It's all very well to wear sexy clothes for Johann; that's charity, the old wretch can't get much pleasure out of life and is no threat to you, the shape he is in."
"He never was a threat, sir. In all the years I've worked for Mr. Smith he has never so much as touched my hand. He just makes flattering remarks about each new getup—sometimes quite salty and then I sass him and threaten to tell my husband, which makes him cackle. All innocent as Sunday School."
"I'm sure it is. But you must be more careful going to and from work. I don't mean just stay out of Abandoned Zones. Dressed the way you dress and looking as you do, you are in danger anywhere. Don't you realize it? Doesn't your husband know it?"
"Oh. I'm careful, sir; I know what can happen, I see the news. But I'm not afraid. I'm carrying three unregistered illegal weapons—and know how to use them. Boss got them for me and had his guards train me."
"Hmm. As an officer of the Court I should report you. As a human being who knows what a deadly jungle this city is, I applaud your good sense. If you really do know how to use them. If you have the courage to use them promptly and effectively. If, having defended yourself, you're smart enough to get away fast and say nothing to cops. That's a lot of ‘ifs,' dear."
"Truly, I'm not afraid. Uh, if you were my attorney, anything I told you would be privileged, would it not?"
"Yes. Are you asking me to be your attorney?"
"Uh... yes, sir."
"Very well, I am. Privileged. Go ahead."
"Well, one night I had to go out on a blood-donor call. By myself, Joe wasn't home. Didn't worry me, I've made donations at night many times and often alone. I keep my Gadabout in our flat and stay in it until I'm inside the hospital or whatever. But— Do you know that old, old hospital on the west side, Our Lady of Mercy?"
"I'm afraid not."
"No matter. It's old, built before the government gave up trying to guarantee safety in the streets. No vehicle lift, no indoor parking. Just a lot with a fence and a guard at the gate. Happened when I came out. This frog tried to hop me between the parked cars. Don't know whether he was after my purse. Or me. Didn't wait to find out—don't even know if it was a man, could have been a woman—"
"Unlikely."
"As may be. Stun bomb in his face with my left hand as I zapped with my right and didn't wait to see if he was dead. Buzzed out of there and straight home. Never told the police, never told Joe, never told anybody until just now."