Luscious Penny Candie, the (unmarried) girl from PUSSYCAT, finds herself in an embarrassing situation, i.e. pregnant — again!
The plans to fix Penny up get kind of screwed up, and before it's over, her bright little brain is transplanted into the body of a tall, handsome, girl-ridden young man!
He, too, is called “Penny.” He’s in trouble not only with his monster mother, his nymphomaniac ex-wife, and his boss’s sexy secretary, but the Law, too.
Well — there are some false starts and, uh, “peculiar" difficulties in adjusting to the life of a virile man, but the girl from PUSSYCAT hasn’t been a conniving female all these years for nothing, and it all helps—when you’re suddenly called upon to be a conniving man.
THE PUSSYCAT
TRANSPLANT
Ted Mark
1968
CHAPTER ONE
One of the saddest stories that Penny Candie had ever heard concerned a young, unmarried girl who became pregnant. Valiantly, this girl decided to bear her illegitimate child. She took a train to another city where nobody knew her, changed her name, checked into a maternity home, and took all sorts of other precautions to insure having her baby in absolute anonymity. Going into labor, she felt secure in the knowledge that she’d done everything possible to hide her identity and to carry through with the childbirth without her parents or friends finding out about it. And so she gave birth—
To quintuplets!
The odds were a trillion to one, but nevertheless Penny Candie wasn’t willing to take the chance. Like the unfortunate girl, Penny was young, single—and pregnant. But she didn’t feel valiant, and she didn’t want to have the baby. The problem was that she didn’t know what to do about it.
She couldn’t even talk it over with Studs Levine, because Studs was in Vietnam. Studs was the father—the only possible father, since he was the only man with whom Penny had ever had a carnal caper. Two carnal capers, to be exact. That was the extent of coital experience for Penny, but it was enough. Now Studs was off soldiering and Penny was left holding the baby bag.
It was her bag, and she knew it, and she confided her predicament to nobody. The only other person who knew about it was the doctor who’d run the rabbit test.
“Hello, Mrs. Candie,” he’d said when he called her. “Good news I have for you—”
“Miss Candie.” Penny had corrected him automatically.
“I see.” The doctor had sighed. “Well, Miss Candie, trouble I’m afraid you’ve got . . .”
That about summed it up. Penny was pregnant. Penny had trouble. There seemed no way out. And then, one night shortly after she’d learned of her condition, Penny’s doorbell rang.
“Overpopulation is the major problem facing the world today!” the woman at the door announced. “Something has to be done about it.”
“I’m for that!” Penny agreed. “And fast!” she added fervently.
“Yes, fast,” the woman sighed. “But it’s too late for me.” She spoke firmly. The maternity dress she was wearing pushed the proof out in front of her like a watermelon in a wheelbarrow.
“Won’t you come in and sit down?” Penny, quite a few months behind her, nevertheless felt a natural empathy.
“Thanks.” The woman followed Penny into the living room and sank into an easy chair.
“Is this your first pregnancy?” Penny asked.
“No. My tenth.”
“I can see why you’re worried about overpopulation.”
“Right here is where it’s at, baby.” The woman thumped her protruding tummy.
“Excuse me for asking,” Penny said hesitantly. “But are you married?”
“Ten years,” the pregnant Woman sighed.
“T-en years, ten babies,” Penny mused.
“All born at the end of September. This one’s due then too. Goddam New Year’s Eve parties!” Another sigh. “But like I said, it’s too late for me. Not for some other poor woman though.”
Penny felt a flickering of hope. “What do you mean?” she asked. “How isn’t it too late for other girls? What can be done?”
“Sign this!” The woman waved a sheaf of papers in Penny’s face.
“What is it?”
“A petition to the state legislature.”
“What for?”
“To reform the abortion laws, that’s what.” The Woman shifted her bulk uncomfortably and grimaced. “Gas pains,” she explained. “Pressure. It won’t be long now.” She belched delicately. “They’re archaic,” she continued. “They’re based on an outmoded morality that has nothing to do with the realities of our time. Yes, reality itself demands that they be changed.”
“How long do you think it will take to change them?” Penny asked.
“To make them really modern? Years probably. But change has to begin somewhere.”
Years! That wasn’t going to help her own reality, Penny reflected. There was no hope for her own condition through legislation.
“Will you sign the petition?” the pregnant woman persisted.
“Of course.” Penny signed.
After she’d seen the woman out, the word bounced around Penny’s mind like a visiting relative overstaying his welcome, but secure in the knowledge that he won’t be thrown out. Abortion! “Who can withstand the strength of an idea Whose time has come”? Not Penny Candie! Her time was ripe, the idea planted: Abortion! True, legally it was out of the question. But illegally there must be ways. Penny’s problem was to find one.
She decided to seek advice. There was a girl Penny worked with named Sappho, a “swinger,” a Juno-esque brunette who’d made a life study of the terrain of erotic behavior and who might be expected to have charted detours around such sandtraps as the one from which Penny was now trying to extricate herself. Penny approached the topic with Sappho obliquely.
“I have a friend who’s in trouble,” Penny began.
“Penny, you got caught!” Sappho deduced. “How far gone are you?”
“It’s not me. It’s a friend. This girl—”
“At least you don’t show yet, so it can’t be too bad,” Sappho mused.
“She’s about six weeks along,” Penny persisted doggedly. “She came to me and asked if I knew some way she might—”
“It’s easy, baby. Do you knit?”
“Do I what?”
“Knit. You know. Do you knit?” Sappho repeated.
“Well, no. I don’t knit. I mean my friend doesn’t knit.” Penny caught herself. “In any case, in this day and age, I wouldn’t be bothered making a layette. I mean, she wouldn’t be both--”
“I don’t mean you should start making little things like booties. I mean you can solve your problem with a knitting needle,” Sappho clarified.
“With a knitting needle? How?”
Sappho explained.
Penny listened carefully. She even made Sappho repeat certain things. When the brunette had finished, Penny was sure she understood. After she and Sappho parted, the first thing Penny did was to go down to a knitting supply store.
“I’d like to buy a knitting needle,” she told the woman behind the counter.
“Certainly. Long, short, or medium?”
“I’m not sure.” Penny pondered a moment, doing a little mental measuring. “About so long.” She held her hands apart to demonstrate.
“I don’t believe we have any quite that small. But I guess you want short needles all right. What number do you want?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What number? We have numbers six through fourteen in the short.”
“What difference does it make?” Penny inquired.
“It depends on what you’re knitting. If you’re making argyles, you’ll want a narrower needle point. If you’re doing a loose-weave sweater, you’ll want something larger.”