The little girl took a deep breath. “I’d do it! Bob would understand.”
“Ah, but if I begged you not to explain it to Bob? Just take the rap for me?”
“I’d still do it.”
Joan kissed her. “I know you would. But you won’t have to, sweet Winsome. If—no, when—I slip, I won’t load it onto my chum. But I may ask you to tell lies for me someday—jigger for me—help me cover up. Would you?”
“Of course I would!”
“And I knew it and didn’t need to ask. It might be soon, I’m feeling more female every day. Now let’s play Christmas—I think that round, flubsy box is for Winnie.”
Shortly Winifred was parading in front of mirrors with an awed look on her face. “Oh, Joan, you shouldn’t have!”
“That’s why I made you stay home. It’s a maid’s uniform, dear—an allowable deduction for me by terms of the Cooks, Domestics, and Hotel Workers approved contract.”
‘Maid’s uniform’ indeed! It’s a Stagnaro Original straight from Rome; I read the label.”
“As may be, I’ll tell my accountant to list it as a deduction just to annoy the I.R.S. Take it off, dear, and let’s see what else we find. Hey, here’s one for me.” Joan quickly got dressed. “What do you think? Of course with this I ought to have my body painted.”
“I wouldn’t use paint, if I were you. You look yummy and that off-white sets off your skin. It’s a delicious design even though kind o’ wicked. Joan, how do you know so much about buying women’s clothes? I mean, ‘uh—”
“You mean, ‘How does an old man who hasn’t picked out a dress for a woman in at least half a century manage it?’ Genius, dear, sheer genius. You ought to hear my bird imitations.” (Hey! Don’t 1 get any credit?) (Not unless you want to break your cover, Mata Hari. The men in the white coats are just outside that door.) (Pee on you, twin. Maybe someday we can tell Winnie.) (I hope so, darling—I not only love you, I’m proud of you.) (Kiss!)
They worked down to two boxes which Joan had held back. When Winifred saw the synthetic emerald set—gee patch and two half-moon cups shaped for bare nipples—she gasped. “Oh, goodness! Put it on, Joan, and let me find your highest heels!”
“You find your highest heels, darling—those green rhinestone stilts you were wearing earlier. They didn’t have stilts to match this outfit in your size. I’ve ordered them.”
“This is for me? Oh, no!”
“Then put it down the trash chute; gee-strings can’t be exchanged. Winsome, that dress was designed for a redhead—and the cups are-too small for me. Put it on. That envelope contains a floorlength transparent skirt, silk with a hint of matching green. With this skirt it’s just right for formal—dinner parties. You could wear one emerald on your forehead. Not any other jewelry. Nor paint.”
“But, Joan, I never go to that sort of party—I’ve never ever been invited to one.”
“Perhaps it’s time I gave one; the banquet bali hasn’t been used in ten years. You would look beautiful—junior hostess at the other end of the long table. But, dear, besides an ultra-formal party, it’s intended—without the skirt—for most informal occasions. Would you enjoy wearing it for Bob—and would he enjoy taking it off?”
Winifred caught her breath. “I can’t wait.”
“Got a date tonight, hon?”
“No, that’s why I said ‘I can’t wait.’ Because I can’t resist it—want Bob to see me in it…want him to take it off me, Joan, I shouldn’t accept it, it’s much too expensive. But I will, I do. Goodness, you make me feel like a kept woman.”
“You are one, dear; I’m keeping you. And enjoying it very much.”
The little nurse stopped smiling. Then she faced her mistress, looked up directly into her eyes. “Joan, maybe I shouldn’t say this, maybe it’ll spoil everything. But I think I must. Uh—” She stopped and took a deep breath. “Two or three times it’s seemed to me you almost made a pass at me.”
(There’s the pitch, twin! Too late for me to help.) “It’s been more than three times, Winifred.”