Penny watched her go back to her desk, and then picked up the telephone and started to dial. There was a buzzing in her ear, a click, and then a voice: “Hello?”
“Hello, Marie?”
“Yes?”
“This is Penny.”
“I thought it was you,” Marie D’Chastidi said. “How’s everything going?”
“Fine. How about you? Are you feeling better?”
“Oh, sure. I’m fine now. I’ll be in tomorrow for sure.”
“That’s what I called about,” Penny said. “We have a sort of an emergency here, and I thought if you were up to it, I might ask you to help out.”
“Of course. What do you want me to do?”
“It’s a backyard problem. It’s running way over, and I have to cut it tonight. But the problem is I won’t have the galleys until late. About nine-thirty. If you really are feeling better, do you think you might come in then and give me a hand?”
“You mean nine-thirty tonight?”
“I’m afraid so. You can take a cab both way and put it on the expense account. What do you say?”
“What can I say? If it has to be done, it has to be done.”
“Thanks a million, Marie. I knew I could depend on you. I’ll be right here waiting for you at nine-thirty. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Penny hung up. She really did spend the rest of the afternoon reading galleys. At five-fifteen she put them away, and at five-thirty promptly she was at the cocktail lounge to keep her date with Balzac Hosenpfeffer.
By the time they started on their second drink, Penny had outlined the plan to him. Which probably explains why Balzac was choking on that second drink. Penny pounded him hard, on the back and he finally got his breath back and found his voice.
“A eunuch!” he exploded.
“That’s the idea,” Penny told him.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It is not!” Penny said indignantly. “Unique perhaps, but—”
“You think being a eunuch’s unique—?”
“Well, isn’t it?”
“Well, sure it is! Too damned unique! That’s what I mean. I don’t want to be a unique eunuch—!”
“You don’t have to be,” Penny soothed him. “You just have to pretend to be one.”
“Why couldn’t I just be a virgin?” Balzac whined. “Just a plain, simple, garden-variety male virgin?”
“Because it’s too simple. I told you. Now, look,” Penny demanded. “Did you or did you not say you were willing to do anything to show your gratitude to me?”
“Well, sure. Anything within reason. But-—”
“Well then?”
“All right,” Balzac sighed. “I’ll do it.”
Penny led him to the now mostly darkened office building and rode up in the elevator with him. When they reached the door to the offices of Pussycat Publications, she left him. “Wait a few minutes before you go in,” she instructed him.
Then Penny slipped around to a rear door and used her key to enter the premises. Tiptoeing down a darkened corridor, she spotted Annie sitting at her desk. The red-headed girl was idly filing her nails. Penny managed to sneak behind her and into her own darkened office. She left the door slightly ajar and settled herself behind her desk. From here she would be able to hear and to see through the glass paneling into the lighted room beyond. But in the darkness no one would be able to see her.
Penny hadn’t long to wait. No sooner had she settled herself than Balzac Hosenpfeffer entered the outer room. Hearing the door close behind him, Annie Fitz-Manley looked up inquiringly.
“I am Balzac Hosenpfeffer!” he announced dramatically.
“Yes?” Annie cocked her head at him.
“I have to see the editor of Lovelights.”
“She isn’t in just now. I’m her assistant. Can I help you?”
“I hope so. Oh, God, I hope so!” Balzac’s tone was distraught with emotion.
“Calm yourself, Mr. Hosenpfeffer. I’ll do what I can. Now, what seems to be the problem?” Annie’s voice was meant to be soothing.
“Balz.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Call me Balz, not Mr. Hosenpfeffer. That’s too formal. And how can I confide in you if you’re going to be formal?” r
“Very well. Balz.”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause while Balzac gave a good imitation of a man trying to keep himself from going completely to pieces. Several times he seemed to be making an attempt to speak, but too overwhelmed by emotion to succeed. Annie waited patiently, but finally she decided to prompt him.
“Balz,” she said gently, trying to establish some rapport.
“Yes. That’s it.”
“What?”
“That! I don’t have any! That’s my problem.”
“Don’t have any, Balz?” Annie was confused.
“Right! Now you’ve got it.”
“Oh! I see!” A great light of understanding broke over Annie’s face. “But how—?”
“It was an accident. I’m a victim of progress. Of automation! God damn automation, anyway! It dehumanizes everybody! And it unmanned me!”
“Control yourself. And try to be a little more coherent, Balz.”
“That name! I can’t stand it!” He sobbed hysterically. “I can’t stand my own name. Every time I hear it, it reminds me! That’s what automation’s done to me!”
“Try to be calm. Please. Now then, tell me exactly how it happened.”
“I was selected to be a test case for a new product they were trying out,” Balzac sniffled. “It was a giveaway. All I had to do was use it for one month and give a testimonial. Then it was mine for nothing.”
“What sort of a product?”
“An electronic pants zipper. You don’t have to pull it. Just press a button at the waistband of your pants and it zips up automatically.”
“And you mean it —”
“Exactly! The timing was off. Or I pushed it accidentally, or something. I’m not really sure. All I know is, the damn zipper shot up, sliced clean as a whistle, and there I was—a eunuch!”
“But what did the manufacturers do when they found out what happened?”
“Just shook their heads, sad-like. ‘Back to the old drawing board’ —that’s what they said. ‘Got to get the bugs out’—that’s what they told me. But— But— It was too late for me.” Balzac broke down again.
“You should sue them!” Annie said indignantly.
“I am. For a million dollars.”
“Well, I certainly hope you win.”
“So do I. Maybe then I’ll be able to find a girl who thinks a million bucks is worth it to overlook my little defect.”
“But what would you do with her?”
“That’s what I came here to ask the editor of Lovelights. I need advice. I need help!”
“I think you need a good plastic surgeon,” Annie murmured.
“No. I saw one. There’s nothing they can do. They’re gone. They can’t be sewed back on again. Roots and all, they’re gone.” Balzac moaned pitifully. “But you’ve got to help me! Someone’s got to help me!”
“Annie?” A broguish voice called from the entrance hall. “Are you about, lass?”
“In here, Brian.”
“Oh, so there you are.” Brian Henannigan came into view.
“You’re early,” Annie greeted him. “The proofs haven’t been delivered yet. And Penny hasn’t come back, either. “Shall I wait for you, then?”
“If you like.” Annie remembered Balzac then. “Oh, this is Mr. Hosenpfeffer. And this is Brian Henannigan.”
“ ’Tis pleased I am to be makin’ your acquaintance, Mr. Hosenpfeffer.”
“Balz.”
“Now, wait just a minute there, me bucko! I’ll be askin’ you to mind your manners with a lady present!”
“No,” Annie explained. “You don’t understand, Brian. There’s no need to get angry. He meant no insult. Balz is his first name. He wants you to call him that. He dislikes formality.”