“A bad deal, ” I agreed. — Let’s pour you another. No clues? –
“Nothing the police could trace. Somebody came to see her, claimed to be her uncle. While the nurse had her back turned, he walked out with her. –
“Description? –
“Just a man, with a face-shaped face, like yours or mine. — He frowned. — I think it was the baby’s father. The nurse swore it was an older man but he probably used makeup. Who else would swipe my baby? Childless women pull such stunts
but whoever heard of a man doing it? –
“What happened to you then? –
“Eleven more months of that grim place and three operations. In four months I started to grow a beard; before I was out I was shaving regularly… and no longer doubted that I was male. — He grinned wryly. — I was staring down nurses necklines. –
“Well, ” I said, “seems to me you came through okay. Here you are, a normal man, making good money, no real troubles. And the life of a female is not an easy one. –
He glared at me. — A lot you know about it! ”
“So? –
“Ever hear the expression “a ruined woman’? –
“Mmm, years ago. Doesn’t mean much today. –
“I was as ruined as a woman can be; that bum really ruined me – I was no longer a woman… and I didn’t know how to be a man. –
“Takes getting used to, I suppose. –
“You have no idea. I don’t mean learning how to dress, or not walking into the wrong rest room; I learned those in the hospital. But how could I live? What job could I get? Hell, I couldn’t even drive a car. I didn’t know a trade; I couldn’t do manual labor-too much scar tissue, too tender.
“I hated him for having ruined me for the W. E. N. C. H. E. S., too, but I didn’t know how much until I tried to join the Space Corps instead. One look at my belly and I was marked unfit for military service. The medical officer spent time on me just from curiosity; he had read about my case.
“So I changed my name and came to New York. I got by as a fry cook, then rented a typewriter and set myself up as a public stenographer – what a laugh! In four months I typed four letters and one manuscript. The manuscript was for Real Life Tales and a waste of paper, but the goof who wrote it sold it. Which gave me an idea; I bought a stack of confession magazines and studied them. — He looked cynical. — Now you know how I get the authentic woman’s angle on
an unmarried-mother story… through the only version I haven’t sold – the true one. Do I win the bottle? –
I pushed it toward him. I was upset myself, but there was work to do. I said, “Son, you still want to lay hands on that so-and-so? –
His eyes lighted up-a feral gleam.
“Hold it! ” I said. — You wouldn’t kill him? –
He chuckled nastily. — Try me. –
“Take it easy. I know more about it than you think I do. I can help you. I know where he is. –
He reached across the bar. — Where is he? –
I said softly, “Let go my shirt, sonny-or you’ll land in the alley and we’ll tell the cops you fainted. — I showed him the sap.
He let go. — Sorry. But where is he? — He looked at me. — And how do you know so much? –
“All in good time. There are records – hospital records, orphanage records, medical records. The matron of your orphanage was Mrs. Fetherage – right? She was followed by Mrs. Gruenstein – right? Your name, as a girl, was “Jane” – right? And you didn’t tell me any of this – right? –
I had him baffled and a bit scared. — What’s this? You trying to make trouble for me? –
“No indeed. I’ve your welfare at heart. I can put this character in your lap. You do to him as you see fit – and I guarantee that you’ll get away with it. But I don’t think you’ll kill him. You’d be nuts to – and you aren’t nuts. Not quite. –