“He patted my bottom. I think he did. Things were fuzzy right then.”
“I know he did. 1 saw it and didn’t believe it. Joan? You wouldn’t have made me skin down. Would you?”
“Why not? I was.”
“Yes, but you’re a patient. I’m a nurse, I’m supposed to be a robot and a chaperon.”
“Only we know you’re not. Don’t we?”
“Well . . . anyhow I can’t do that one; it’s much too hard.”
“I told him to come back in two weeks and you’d be able to. Shall I remind him?”
“Oh, Joan! You’re teasing me again.” The redhead added thoughtfully, “Do you really think I could, by myself, in only two more weeks?”
“I know you can. But not in clothes, not even tights. So if you are going to blush and go chicken, I had better not remind dear Doctor.”
“Uh. . . that did look like quite a kiss. But Paul wouldn’t like it.”
“Wouldn’t like what? Your demonstrating precision body control to a doctor? Or kissing a doctor? Or what the kiss might lead to? And how is Paul to know if you don’t tell him?” (Boss, you are corrupting the youth of the land.)
(Egg feathers, Eunice. Either Paul won’t marry her. . . or he’s married and can’t. Either way he’s got no business monopolizing her. As you pointed out, sex is not a sport, it’s for being happy.)
“Uh…Doctor wouldn’t kiss me, anyway. He doesn’t even know I’m female.”
“Never believe it. You—are and he’s not stupid. He’ll kiss you if I suggest that it’s the applause expected for a perfect performance. You’ve got two weeks to make up your mind, and right now I’ve got to go see dear Jake.”
13
“—having business before this Honorable Court draw nigh!” —“May it please the Court, while Petitioners are ready to proceed, may they respectfully invite to the Court’s attention that no proper foundation has been laid. This matter relates to the competency of Johann Sebastian Bach Smith, grandfather of the four Petitioners…and Counsel is not aware that he is in court.”
“Order! There will be order in the court—at once. Or the room will be cleared. Counsel, are you suggesting that Miss Smith—this young lady at whom I am pointing—is not Johann Sebastian Bach Smith?”
“Counsel suggests nothing, Your Honor. I merely note that we have nothing in the record to show that the person at whom the Court pointed is Johann Sebastian Bach Smith—and that the question of competency cannot be considered until proof of identity is indubitably established.”
“Is Counsel attempting to instruct this Court in the law?”
“Oh, not at all!”
“It sounded like ‘that. May I remind Counsel that this Court sits today in equity, not in law—and that the procedures are what the Court says they are.”
“Most certainly, Your Honor. I regret if I inadvertently sounded otherwise.”
“You were one-sixteenth of an inch from contempt, and don’t let it happen again.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“…as I am sick and tired of the behavior of about fifty percent of the spectators and at least ninety percent of the press, I order the Bailiff to clear the room. Use a platoon, Evelyn, and clear these cattle out of the chutes promptly—and if that fancy video equipment is damaged in the process, we won’t worry about it.
“Counsels, Petitioners, Guardian, and Ward—putative ward, let the record show—will adjourn to my chambers while we get this silly hassle cleared up.”
“Jake, this is fun! If I’m not me, then I’m flat broke and footloose. You’ll have to marry me—to keep me off
Welfare.”
“Johann, shut up that drivel. This is serious.”
“Jake, I refuse to see doom. If I’m not me, then I’m dead and it would be worth being broke to hear my will read and see the faces of my loving descendants when they discover that they wind up with trivial incomes that aren’t even tax-free. Jake, every rich man wants to hear his will read—and I may get the chance.”
“Hmm. Under the theory they seem to be following, Eunice is entitled to hear your will read—remember that paragraph about ‘all persons not specifically named who are in my personal and private employ at the time of my demise—’”