"He won't, Miss; he never does."
"He used to, sometimes, when he was tending me—be a touch noisy when he thought I should be up. So keep him off this floor. Keep everyone off this floor until I call you—that includes all cleaning, everything. Except, of course, that I want you to bring up breakfast—with whatever help you need—promptly."
"Yes, Miss. Perhaps coffee and juice at once?"
"No, we don't want to be disturbed twice; my ears might fall off. You'll find evidence of the debacle in my lounge—a case lot of empty magnums. Remove them—quietly—for Heaven's sake don't bang one against another; I can hear an ant stomp this morning. Pencil ready? We need a simple, nourishing breakfast. At least four cups of coffee each, double orders of orange juice, half grapefruits, either pinks or the big Arizonas, scrambled eggs, poached eggs, some link sausages and breakfast steaks. Better include cold cuts and sliced cheeses. Oh, toast and muffins and jam and such. Flatbread. And a big pitcher of ice-cold milk for cereal, I think this is a cereal morning. Some decent, quiet, well brought-up cereal that doesn't snap, crackle, or pop. That's all. Unless you know a remedy for a hangover."
"Well, Miss, when I was tending Mr. Armbrust before I went to work for you, I used to mix something that he thought well of."
"Yes?"
"Silver fizz, Miss, using vodka rather than gin."
"Cunningham, you're a genius. One each, plus largish dividends, in thermos glasses. How soon will breakfast be ready?"
"Can't be sooner than twenty minutes, Miss, even though Della has started the sausages. But I could still fetch up coffee and juice."
"One trip only. Then steal quietly away on stocking feet. This is a hospital zone, Cunningham. Winnie and I need at least twenty minutes to put our eyeballs back in, they're bleeding. I'll expect you not sooner than twenty minutes, not later than twenty-five. Off."
She put down the bedside intercom, said, "Doctor, did I handle that?"
"Eunice, sometimes I think you're not truthful."
"And sometime I'm going to be a hermit and not have to dodge servants. Where are your clothes, Roberto? In the lounge?"
"Yes. I had better get into them."
"Better think again. We've got twenty minutes of privacy, we'll use it."
"Oh, Eunice!"
"Courage, comrade; I'm not a black widow spider. We'll use it to gather up all clothes in the lounge, toss feminine items in here, fast—then take your clothes and Jake's down to his suite—where I'll grab a robe and pajamas and slippers for Jake, and a second set of his for you. If you're a sissy, you'll stay there and put them on. If you're not, you'll stay in skin and come back here with me, and dress when you feel like it. Then I'll switch on a light that tells Winnie I'm awake-better than phoning the love bugs, they might be love-bugging, and even a bug hates to be disturbed at such times. Come on, you bony, hairy, wonderful man. Sixteen minutes—we can do it in twelve, I'll bet."
"Pussy Cat, sometimes you make me nervous."
"Oh, piffle, I own this house. Although I may sell it and buy a nudist resort in California—then run it just for me and my friends. Roberto, I like skin—when it's the wonderful skin I have now. It's meant to be seen and touched—not hidden away in clothes. Did you like our waitress last night?"
"A healthy young woman, apparently."
"Oh, piffle twice. I'll bet you were thinking about her when you took me to bed last night. I know men, darling—I was one, much longer than you've been alive.
Fifteen minutes. Let's move."
23
Dabrowski handed her out and Fred locked the car. They escorted her to and into the lift. Joan Eunice looked around. "This must be where it happened."
Her driver said, "Eunice, I wish you would change your mind."
"Anton, Tom and Hugo should have driven me today, but I was afraid the poor dears would get upset when they saw the inside of this lift. I thought you and Fred could stand it. Fred, are you nervous?"
"You know damn well I am, Eunice."
"Over what? She entered this lift alone. I've got the two with me."
"Well... you're a stubborn one. I don't know what Ski is going to do but I am going to wait outside the door until you come out." (Eunice, what do you do with stubborn men?) (It's hard, twin, especially when they love you. You had best use female jujitsu—let them have their own way until it turns out it's your way.) (I'll try.)
"Fred, Eunice lived here for years. Utterly safe, except for one mistake. I have the radio link and I promise you both, solemnly, that I won't stir outside Joe's door until I know you're waiting for me."
"We'll be waiting, all right—all the time. Right, Ski?"
"Right! Eunice, you don't even know Joe Branca still lives here."
"But I do. It's just that he didn't pay his phone bill, so they cut him off. Joe's still there, or was at sixteen o'clock yesterday. Look, how does this sound? First, you know that Joe wouldn't hurt me, don't you? Anton?"
"Oh, sure. Joe might not want to see you—but Joe Branca would put a fly outdoors before he would swat it."
"Then I'm safe as long as I'm inside with Joe. But you're right, he may not want to see me. He may not let me in. Or I may be inside only minutes. So wait an hour, then go home. I'll call you when I want you to take me home."
"Two hours?" suggested Fred.
"All right, two hours. But if I don't come home tonight, you are not to come back and buzz Joe's door. You can come back tomorrow at noon and wait an hour, or even two, if that will make you feel better. And again the next day. But I'll stay in Joe Branca's studio a full week if it takes that to make his mind easy. Or a month, damn it! Or anything. Boys, I've got to do this; don't make it harder."
Anton said glumly, "All right. We'll do it your way."
"Am I ‘Eunice' now? Or ‘Joan Eunice'?"
He grudged a smile. "You're Eunice. She would do it."
"That's why I must. Look, darlings"—she put an arm around each of them—last night was wonderful, and I'll find a way to manage it again. Perhaps next time Mr. Salomon is away—you know he fusses over me like a mother hen. But you two do also—and you must not except when you're guarding me. Right now I must try to find a way to soothe Joe's soul. But I'll be your playmate another day. Be darlings and kiss me; the lift is about to stop."
They did so; she hooked up her veil. They left the lift and headed toward the Branca studio—Joan found she knew the way, as long as she didn't stop to think.
She stopped at the door. "She always kissed you goodbye? Here, with Joe watching?"
"Yes."
"If he lets me in, kiss me good-bye the same way. Just don't stretch it out; he might close the door. Oh, I'm shaky!" (Steady down, Boss. Om Mani Padme Hum. Don't use the button; try our voice on the lock. ‘Open up!' Like that.)
"Open up!" Joan said. She unhooked her veil, faced the door.
The lock started clicking but the door remained closed. A transparency flashed on the wall: PLEASE WAIT. Joan stood in front of the door peep, wondered if Joe was scanning her. (Eunice, will he let us in?) (I don't know, Boss. You shouldn't have come. But you wouldn't listen to Jake... nor to me.) (But I am here. Don't scold me—help me.) (I'll try, Boss. But I don't know.)
Through the door, not as soundproof as her own doors, Joan heard a high voice: "Joe! Joe!" (Who's that!) (Could be anybody, Joe has lots of friends.)
The door opened, she saw Joe Branca standing in it. He was dressed in much-worn shorts which had been used repeatedly for wiping paint brushes. His face showed nothing. A girl, a wrapper pulled sketchily around her, looked out from behind him. "See? It's her!"