“Whose policy, Mr. Barnes? The Commission’s? Or yours?”
“Eh? Why, mine. I said so.”
“Then quit wasting my time, you damned idiot!”
(‘That’s telling him, Fat Lady!’) (Eunice, this is one fat lady who isn’t going to take any more nonsense. My back aches.)
The blast almost caused Mr. Barnes to fall out of his swivel chair. He recovered his balance, said: “Please, Madam Salomon!”
“Young man, let’s have no more nonsense! I’m far gone in pregnancy, as you cart see. You’ve lectured me about the dangers of childbirth—and you aren’t a doctor. You’ve pried into personal matters with the gall of a kinsey. You’ve tried to tell me I can’t have my own doctor when he is going in the same ship—and now it turns out that it was not a Commission regulation but merely petty tyranny on your part. Bullying. All through this nonsense—although I’ve appeared with a complete and carefully prepared proposal—you’ve kept me sitting on a hard uncomfortable chair. My back aches. On how many poor helpless applicants have you fattened your ego? But I am neither ‘poor’ nor ‘helpless’. You spoke of a ‘chill breeze.’ It’s an icy blast now. I bloody well mean to have your job!”
“Please, Madam! I said you could have your own doctor. And I am required to review each applicant’s proposal.”
“Then get your lazy arse out of that comfortable chair and give it to me! You come sit in this ducking stool.”
“Very well, Ma’am.” They exchanged chairs. Shortly he said, “I see that you are putting almost all of the other fifty percent of your fortune into starship research and development.”
“It’s none of your business what I do with it.”
“I didn’t say it was. It just struck me as…unusual.”
“Why? My child may want to go in a starship. I want that research to move. Mr. Barnes, you’ve had time to look at that proposal; if you hadn’t talked so much, you could have it memorized by now. Do whatever it is you do. Mark your X, or stamp your chop. Or hand it back and let me out of here. Now! Not five minutes from now—but now. My back still hurts. You’re a pain in the back, Mr. Barnes, you and your petty ‘policy’ and your worthless talk.”
He signed it. “Through that door, Madam Salomon.”
“Thank you.” She started toward it.
“You’re barely welcome-you ancient bitch!”
Joan Eunice stopped, turned back, and smiled her best golden-sunrise smile. “Why, thank you, dear! That’s the best thing you’ve said to me. Because it is utterly honest. Of course I’m not welcome, the way I’ve stormed at you—and answered your bullying with worse bullying. And I am indeed both a bitch and ancient.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Oh, but you should have. I richly deserved it, but I would never have tried to get your job—truly, I’m not that petty. That was just backache bad temper talking. I admire your spunk in telling me off. What is your first name?”
“Uh, ‘Matthew.’”
“A good name, Matthew. A strong name.” Joan Eunice came back, stood close to him. “Matthew, I’m going to the Moon. I’ll never be back this way again. Will you forgive this ancient bitch and let us part friends? Will you kiss me good-bye? I’ve no one to see me off, Matthew—will you kiss me good-bye as I leave for the Moon?”
“Uh—“
“Please, Matthew. Uh, mind the big belly; turn me a little sideways—that’s better.” She wet her lips, lifted her face, and closed her eyes.
Presently she sighed and nestled closer. “Matthew? Will you let me love you? Oh, I don’t mean seduce you, it’s too late for that, I’m about benched. Just tell me that I may think of you with love as I go to the Moon. It’s a long way off and I’m a little scared—and I lived too long without love and want to love everyone who will let me. . . any who will love me back even a little. Will you, dear? Or is this bitch too ancient?”
“Uh, Madam Salomon—”
“’Eunice,’ Matthew.”
“Eunice. Eunice, you’re a sparky little bitch, you really are. But I kept you sitting there—even before I realized who you are——because I like looking at you. Hell, honey, my wife says I can love any woman I want to—ten percent of what I love her.”