"Uh... Eunice, I can't help feeling personally responsible: I know you're wealthy—but a marriage contract can exclude any ‘fortune hunter' possibility and—well, I'm available."
"Roberto, I think that's the sweetest—and bluntest—proposal a knocked-up broad ever got. Thank you, dear; I do appreciate it. But, as you pointed out, I am wealthy— and I do not care what the neighbors think."
"Eunice, I am not simply accepting my responsibility... I want you to know that I do not regard marrying you as a chore."
"Roberto darling, it is not your responsibility. For all you know I've been sweetheart to the regiment." (We've tried, haven't we, twin!) (Don't joggle my elbow, dear; he wants to be noble.) "It's my baby. Who helped me is my business."
‘‘Sorry."
"I meant that you mustn't feel any responsibility. If you did help me, I'm grateful. I'm grateful even if you didn't. Roberto? Instead of trying to make an honest woman out of me—difficult—why don't you remove that implant from Winnie's pretty thigh, then place another sort of implant where it will do the most good... then make an honest woman out of her. Much easier, she leans that way."
"It's a thought. Truthfully it's a thought I've considered quite a lot lately. But she doesn't want to leave you."
"She need not. Oh, she could stop pretending to be my maid, but this is a big old barn, several spare suites. If you get her pregnant, she and I could chum and giggle about it and have our babies almost together. I'll shut up and stop trying to run your life. Two questions—I had planned to go out on the town tonight, to celebrate the good news I expected to hear from you. Must I stick to soft drinks now?"
"Not at all. Shortly we'll put you on a diet and limit your drinking. But tonight you could get stinking drunk and the only effect would be a hangover. You don't lose a baby that easily... as millions of women have learned."
"May not get stinking but I may soak up several glasses of bubbly. Last question— if you're able to sign off, would it suit you to lose a night's sleep helping me celebrate?
Officially it's to celebrate our court victory. That ‘the Greeks have captured Athens' will stay secret a while longer."
"Uh—"
"You sound fretted, dear."
"Well, to tell the truth I have a date with Winnie."
"Oh! I expressed myself badly. 1 have a date with Jake; I hope that you and Winnie can make it a four. I wasn't asking you to spend a night with me in that sense—although I certainly would not be averse if it could be managed some other time without hurting our Winsome. The moments you and I have been able to steal have been too short, dear. I think you are a man it would be sweet to be leisurely with."
"I know that you are such a woman, Eunice."
"Go along with you, you tell that to all your female patients. Doctor, you are a delightful wolf. Will you wait ten minutes before phoning Winnie? I have a favor I want to ask of her."
"Ten minutes."
"Thank you, Roberto. Off."
Joan switched to the house intercom. "Winnie? Are you busy, dear?"
"Just reading. Be right in."
Joan met her at their connecting door. "Nothing much, hon. I want you to call O'Neil and tell him that I wish to speak to Finchley. In my lounge. Sure, I could phone O'Neil myself, sweet, but I want it to look more formal."
"Sure, Joanie. Do I stay and chaperon?"
"Winsome, you know darn well that all I ever want is fake chaperonage—and sometimes a jigger. This time I don't need a jigger—but I do want to ask Finchley something privately and he will speak more freely if you aren't around. So let him into my lounge, come tell me he has arrived, and don't come back in. Go on into your own room and close the door. Then stay there—you are going to receive a phone call in about eight minutes."
"I am?"
"Yes, and a nice one. You and I and Jake and Dr. Garcia are going nightclubbing tonight."
"Oh!"
"And when we get home just keep him here the rest of the night and I'll see to it that Jake doesn't twig. Or does he know who ‘Bob' is?"
"Uh... yes, he does. I told him."
"It may still suit dear Doctor to cover up; men are shy. Now skedaddle, dear, and phone O'Neil."
Four minutes later Winnie announced Finchley, and left the lounge. He said, "You sent for me, Miss?"
"Tom Cat, these doors are soundproof; you can stop being formal."
He relaxed a little. "Okay, Pussy Cat."
"So give us a kiss and sit down. That hall door locks itself. Winnie is the only one who could walk in and she won't."
"Pussy Cat, sometimes you make me nervous."
"Oh, piffle." She moved into his arms. "I do have a question to ask you—advice that I want. You can discuss it with O'Neil and get his advice, and any of the guards. But it is your advice I want; the rest is cover-up."
"Woman, quit talking and shove me some mouth."
Joan did so, a long thorough kiss. Presently he said hoarsely, "You don't have much on under this."
"I don't have anything on under it. But don't get me distracted, Thomas Cattus; let me get my question in. I'm going nightclubbing tonight—Jake and me, Winnie and Dr. Garcia. They're going to want to take us to cubes. I want to see rough places. I figure you know where they are."
"Mmm...Eunice, the up-high places are all in bad turf."
"Well, are they safe once we're inside? And can one get inside safely?"
"Uh... there's one, has its own inside parking and as good armor as the doors you have. Look, I'll bring up a list, addresses and so forth, and everybody's suggestions. But I'll star my own."
"Good. Thank you, Tom Cat."
"God, but you feel good. Do we have time? Can I lock that other door?"
"If I'm not worried about Winnie, why should you be? Grab a pillow and put me on the floor."
The party made rendezvous in Joan's lounge. Jake Salomon had elected to dress with ultra old-fashioned formality: maroon tuxedo jacket and trousers, with white turtleneck. The silky knit made a splendid background for his gold ankh necklace. Dr. Garcia was just as formal in modern mode: scarlet tights boldly padded, stretch-fit white mess jacket with jabot of pearls and black lace. Little Winifred wore her new emerald dress with floor-length skirt—no body paint as Joan had advised but blushes caused her skin to change again arid again from extremely fair to rosy glow. On her forehead in caste-mark position was a single emerald.
Jake looked at her. "Little one, what holds that solitaire in place? Insurance?"
She blushed again but answered saucily, "It's on' a corkscrew, sir. Shall I unscrew it and show you?"
"No, I'm afraid you might be telling the truth."
"Never in mixed company, sir. Actually it's the adhesive we use on bandages. Won't come loose even with soap and water but alcohol takes it right off."
"Then be careful not to spill your drinks that high."
"Oh, I don't drink, Counselor; I learned my lesson long ago. I'll be drinking Cuba Libre without the ‘libre' and screwdrivers with no drive to them."
"Doctor, let's leave her at home; she's just a chaperon."
"Would you make me stay home, Counselor? Just for not drinking?"
"Just for calling me ‘Counselor' if you do it again. And for calling me ‘sir'. Winifred, men my age do not care to be reminded of it by pretty little girls. After sundown my name is Jake."
"Yes, Counselor," Winifred answered meekly.
Jake sighed. "Doctor, someday I hope to win an argument with a woman."
"If you do, tell Dr. Rosenthal. Rosy is writing a book on the difference in mental processes between male and female."
"A dreamer. Eunice, does that thing cover you any better when you stand up? And what is it?"