I Will Fear No Evil by Robert Heinlein Read Free Book Online Page A

all over your shirt ruffles.”
    “Fair enough, I mussed your hair.”
    “My hair I can comb. But what will your wife say when she sees that shirt?”
    “She’ll ask why I didn’t take it off. Eunice dear, I have no wife. Years ago she turned me in on a newer model.”
    “A woman of poor taste. You’re a classic, Jake—and classics improve with age. Does my hair look better now?”
    “Lovely. Perfect.”
    “I’m almost tempted to ask to have us driven back into that bad zone so you can muss it again.”
    “I’m more than ‘almost tempted.’ But I had better take you home—unless you want to go with me over into Canada? Back by midnight, probably.”
    “I want to and I can’t, really I can’t. So take me home. But let me sit close, and put your arm around me but don’t muss my hair this time.”
    “I shall be careful.” He gave his driver the coordinates of Mrs. Branca’s flat, then added, “And get there without going through any more Abandoned Areas, you trigger-happy bandits!”
    “Very good, Mr. Salomon.”
    They rode in silence; then Mrs. Branca said, “Jake . . . you were feeling quite young, just before we were interrupted.”
    “I’m sure you know it.”
    “Yes. I was ready to let you, and you know that, too. Jake? Would you like a skin pic of me? A good one, not one taken by that snoopy character who charges so much.”
    “Will your husband take one? Can you sneak me a copy?”
    “No huhu, Jake dear, I have dozens of skin pix—I was once a beauty contestant, remember? You are welcome to one . . . if you’ll keep your mouth shut about it.”
    “Privileged communication. Your secrets are always safe with your attorney.”
    “What do you like? Artistic? Or sexy?”
    “Uh . . . what a choice to have to make!”
    “Mmm, a pic can be both. I’m thinking of one of me in a shower, hair soaked, wet all over, not a speck of body paint, not even face makeup, not even—well, you’ll see. Is that on your wave length?”
    “I’ll howl like a wolf!”
    “You shall have it. Quick change of subject; we’re almost there. Jake? Does Boss stand any chance with this brain transplant thing?”
    “I’m not a medical man. In my lay opinion—none.”
    “So I thought. Then he doesn’t have long to live whether he has the operation or not. Jake, I’m going to make still greater effort to dress even naughtier for him, as long as he lasts.”
    “Eunice, you are a sweet girl. There is nothing nicer you could do for him. Much better than saying thanks for this trust fund.”
    “I wasn’t thinking about that ridiculous million dollars, Jake; I was thinking about Boss . Feeling sorry for him. I’ll go shopping tonight for something really exotic—or if I can’t find a novel exotic, then a simple skintight see-through . . . passé but always effective with the right paint job underneath—Joe is good at that. And—well, if I’m going to have guards now, some days I may wear nothing but paint—stilt heels to make my legs look even better—yes, I know they’re pretty!—heels, a nylon minimum-gee, and paint.”
    “And perfume.”
    “Boss can’t smell, Jake. All gone.”
    “I still have my sense of smell.”
    “Oh. All right. I’ll wear perfume for you. And paint for Boss. I’ve never tried anything that extreme at work . . . but now that we no longer work at his offices—no longer see many people—and I can keep a semi-see-through smock around, just in case—I might as well see if Boss likes it. Joe will enjoy thinking up provocative designs, likes to paint me, and is not jealous of Boss, feels sorry for the poor old man just as I do. And it is so hard to find novelty in exotic clothes. Even though I shop at least one night a week.”
    “Eunice.”
    “Yes, sir. Yes, Jake.”
    “Don’t shop tonight. That’s an order—from your boss by virtue of the power of attorney I hold.”
    “Yes, Jake. May one ask why?”
    “You can wear a paint-only job tomorrow if you wish—this car and