“Oho! I can write the ending.”
“Well. . . champagne doesn’t taste strong. I sopped up a lot of it.
“Then I was in bed and it was happening. Wasn’t surprised and tried to cooperate. But things were vague. I noticed that he wasn’t dark-haired after all; he had hair as red as mine. When I had been certain that he was dark-haired and had a mustache. When I noticed later that he was almost bald, I realized that something odd was going on. Joan, there were seven interns at that party. I think all of them had me before morning. I don’t know how many times. I knew what was happening after thick, curly red hair was replaced by mostly bald. But I didn’t try to stop it. Uh. . . I didn’t want it to stop. A nympho, huh?”
“I don’t know, dear, but that’s the way I felt this afternoon. Wanted it to happen at last, wanted it to go on happening—and I don’t even know what it feels like. Go on.”
“Well, it did go on. I got up once and went to the bathroom and noticed in the mirror that I didn’t have a stitch on and couldn’t remember having undressed. Didn’t seem to matter. I went back to bed, and found that I was feeling lonely; the party seemed to have stopped.
“Only it hadn’t. A man came in and I managed to focus my eyes and said, ‘Oh, Ted! Come here’. And he did and we did, and it was worse than ever.
“I woke up about noon with a dreadful hangover. Managed to sit up and here were my clothes, neatly folded on a chair, and on the bedside table a tray with a thermos of coffee and some Danish pastry and a glass with a note by it. It read: ‘Drink this before you eat. You’ll need it. Chubby.’ Chubby was the one who was almost bald.”
“A gentleman. Aside from his taste for mass rape.”
“Chubby was always nice. But if anybody had told me that I would ever be in bed with Chubby, I would have laughed in her face.”
“Were you ever again?”
“Oh, yes. I really did appreciate the thoughtful little breakfast and especially the hangover cure. It put me back together. Not good enough to go on watch but good enough to get dressed and back to my room.”
“Were you all right? I mean, uh, not caught or anything?”
“Not even sore. Not anything. Wasn’t my time, even if I hadn’t been protected with an implant, which I was. And one nice thing about going to bed with interns, almost no chance of picking up an infection. No, I was lucky all the way, Joan. Oh, no doubt the story went the rounds, but I wasn’t the only graduate getting it that night, and that wasn’t the only party. Nobody teased me about it. But it was a gang bang, and I didn’t make the slightest move to stop it.” She added thoughtfully, “The thing that worries me is that I might do it again. I know I would. So I don’t drink at all anymore. I know I can’t handle it.”
“Why, Winnie, you’ve had a drink with me, more than once.”
“That’s not the same thing. Uh, if you wanted me to get drunk with you—I would. I’d be safe.” (Safe? Little does she know.) (Eunice, we haven’t done more than snuggle and you know it.) (She’s asking you to step up the pace.) (Well, I won’t! Not much, anyhow.)
“Winnie! Winnie dear! Look at the time.”
“Uh? Oh, my heavens! Ten minutes after midnight. I—”
The little redhead seemed about to cry.
“Are you late? He’ll wait. Oh. I’m sure he will—for Winnie.”
“Not late yet. He’s off duty at midnight and it takes a while to get here. But— Oh, dear, I don’t want to leave you. Not when we were—I was, anyhow—so happy.”
“Me, too, darling,” Joan agreed, gently, untangling herself from Winifred’s arms. “But big sister is always here. Don’t keep your man waiting. Check your lipstick and hair and such in my bath if there. is any chance that he may already be in your room.”