“I started to cry. ‘What about my baby?’
” ‘Well, you can’t nurse her, you haven’t milk enough for a kitten. If I were you, I wouldn’t see her-put her up for adoption.’
” ‘No!’
“He shrugged. ‘The choice is yours; you’re her mother-well, her parent. But don’t worry now; we’ll get you well first.’
“Next day they let me see the kid and I saw her daily-trying to get used to her. I had never seen a brand-new baby and had no idea how awful they look-my daughter looked like an orange monkey. My feeling changed to cold determination to do right by her. But four weeks later that didn’t mean anything.”
“Eh?”
“She was snatched.”
” ‘Snatched?’ ”
The unmarried mother almost knocked over the bottle we had bet. “Kidnapped-stolen from the hospital nursery!” He breathed hard. “How’s that for taking the last thing a man’s got to live for?”
“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 make-up. 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 bastard 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.