No one bothered to inform the members of the Harem that Flip was only a hallway away. A couple of times Flip considered walking down and confronting them all, but a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and fear stopped him. The news of his presence leaked out by accident. It was Bridgette who saw him as she returned from one of her checkups.
As she passed the hallway adjacent to her own, she glanced down it and noticed a tall man with a deep tan waiting for the elevator. It took a moment for her to realize who it was. She walked down the hall for a better look. As she did, she heard the ping, signaling the arrival of the elevator.
"Flip. Flip MacDougal," she called out, smiling. She was surprised to realize how excited she was to see him.
Flip looked down the hall in her direction. For a moment their eyes met, and a look of recognition spread across Flip's face only to be replaced a second later with one of fear. The doors to the elevator opened. Flip glanced at the elevator and back at Bridgette, then jumped through the doors and pushed the button.
"Well, I'll be damned," Bridgette said as she watched the doors close.
She related the incident to the group over dinner that evening in the cafeteria. Dinnertime was the only occasion that the former Harem, now renamed the Preggies, were allowed to meet. What had started out as a time to air complaints and compare notes from their lawyers had, more recently, developed into a time to compare belly sizes and guess who would deliver first. All the women sat around a large table and took part in these daily discussions, except Liz, who had, over the past weeks, become more reclusive and withdrawn. Bio-Vita had assigned a psychotherapist to her case, but she showed no improvement.
She now sat at the end of the table, picking at her food one minute and her cuticles the next. She had developed this habit since being at Bio-Vita and by now, both her hands showed bloody scabs and cracked skin from the abuse.
"You won't believe who I saw in the hall today," Bridgette said between mouthfuls.
"Don't tell us, the Baby Diaper Man?" Rachael said as she dished more mashed potatoes onto her plate.
"Please, Bridgette, let's not start a guessing game. My patience can't stand it." Ingrid took the potatoes from Rachael, placed a small dollop on her plate and passed them on.
"Okay, okay. I probably shouldn't say anything, but I saw Flip."
"What? Where?" Liz had stood up at the end of the table and all but shouted the questions at Bridgette.
Rachael placed a hand on Liz's shoulder. "Calm down, honey. You don't want the nice ladies in the white uniforms to come and put you in one of those funny jackets. They're very much out of fashion this year."
Slowly, Liz sat down but continued to stare at Bridgette. "Where did you see him?"
"I told you, in the hall on the east side of the building."
"Are you sure?" Rachael asked between mouthfuls of potatoes.
"No question of it. I walked down the hall and called his name. He jumped right into the elevator, like a scared rabbit. Zipped away before I could speak to him, but I'm sure it was him."
Rachael glanced over to Liz. "Honey quit chewing at your fingers. You're going to make them bleed again."
Liz removed the finger from her mouth. "He ruined me. The bastard destroyed my life, and he's got to pay."
"Honey, if you'll recall, you were the one that initiated it. Besides, Flip had no idea that he was Mr. Super Sperm. Give him a break."
Liz's hand wandered back to her mouth. "He's got to pay, she repeated, “and he will." She removed her hand from her mouth long enough to put a fork full of potatoes in its place. She stabbed at the rubbery piece of meat that sat on her plate next to the potatoes, and then, stabbed it again and again until Rachael took the fork away from her.
Chickowski huddled on the bar stool nursing his second gin and tonic. Randomly, he glanced around to see if anyone was approaching, but for the most part, he concentrated on the melting ice cubes in his drink. I must be crazy to be doing this, he thought. This guy probably won't even show up. He glanced at his watch and noticed that it was already five minutes after the scheduled meeting time.
He still remembered how nervous he'd been when he'd finally gotten up the nerve to call the number, but the lady on the other end acted like she'd been expecting his call all along.
"Mr. Brown is out right now, but he'll be glad you called. If I can have your number, I'm sure he'll be back shortly." After hesitating for a moment, Chickowski consented but gave only his home number. No way did he want such a strange duck calling him at work.
Mr. Brown's name was an obvious alias and not a very good one at that, Chickowski thought. Anyone that ever spoke to the man could figure from the subtle yet distinctive foreign accent, Mr. Brown was not his real name. By evening, Mr. Brown had called him back to set up the meeting with him at the Raleigh-Durham Airport, only a few minutes from Bio-Vita Tech.
Maybe he won't show, Chickowski thought again. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to meet the strange little man again or not.
"Good afternoon, Doctor." Brown's accent hadn't improved in the ten years since their last meeting.
Chickowski turned in his seat and gave Brown a half smile. Extending his hand, he replied, "Good afternoon, Mr. Brown. I was beginning to wonder..."
"Ah yes, I do apologize for my tardiness. The airlines are not what they used to be. There appears to be a casualness about their schedules since the deregulation. But I am here now, and I understand you may have a project that meets the parameters we discussed at our last meeting." He spoke as if it had only been a few days ago.
Chickowski slid the yellow envelope towards him. "There's enough information in there to convince you this is the type of project your constituents will be interested in. By the way, who do you represent?"
Brown smiled. "At this point, I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge that information. However, rest assured, if what you say is true about this project, you'll have ample funding and flexibility to do whatever is necessary to produce the breakthrough."
Brown opened the envelope and leafed through the typed pages which described in details everything that Chickowski knew about Lionel's Template experiments, including the episode with Flip and the Preggies.
"There is one thing I think you should know," Chickowski started. He figured he should let Brown know it wasn't his experiment. But the little man ignored him, concentrating on the papers instead. Brown whistled softly when he read about the abnormal pregnancies.
"Is this true?" He asked as he pointed to the page. "All the women are pregnant and are close to delivery already?"
"Yes. It's true. They're only a short distance from here at Bio-Vita."
Brown whistled again. "We will need more documentation. Something that will leave no doubt what you say is true, but I can assure you if what you say here is even ten percent true, you can write your own check."
The two men stared hard at each other, sizing the other one up.
"Now what was it you needed to tell me?"
"Oh nothing—nothing of importance," Chickowski answered as he drained his drink.
After going to Lionel's lab and finding no one there, Flip returned to Denise's room. As the elevator door opened, he peered cautiously from around the corner, half expecting to see Bridgette still waiting for him. He groaned slightly as he recalled the last time he had sneaked around Bio-Vita. One day he'd learn practical jokes can backfire. Not seeing anyone, he breathed a sigh of relief and rushed to the security of Denise's room.
"I feel bad about running," he said after telling Denise about the incident. "But I didn't know what else to do. She caught me by surprise."
Denise patted his hand lying on the bed next to her. She had been lying down after her meal, one of the few positions she could be comfortable in these days. "I think you know what you have to do, Flip."
He studied their two hands. "What?"
"Flip, those women are also carrying a part of you, as I am. I appreciate that I'm the one you love, but don't yo
u think you owe them something, too?"
"You mean you wouldn't object to me talking with them? You won't get jealous?"
"Whether I get jealous or not doesn't change what's right. But to answer your question, no, I won't get jealous—as long as you just talk with them. You need to clear the air."
Flip looked into Denise's eyes and grasped her hand in his. "You're more than I deserve."
"I suspect you're right," she answered with a twitch of her nose.
After dinner, Liz returned to her room. She walked into the small bathroom and ran cold water over her aching fingers. She really did have to get a hold of herself and quit chewing her fingernails. It had been a habit in childhood; one which had taken years of discipline, while in college, to break. Now it was back, worse than ever. She looked at herself in the mirror and was amazed at how much her face had aged in the last few weeks. She had to get it together. Her clients and co-workers would never put up with a haggard old lady.
She turned off the water and gently patted her hands dry with a towel. She walked into her bedroom and noticed they had finally delivered the mail. It seemed to come later each day. She'd have to mention it to the nurse next time she saw her.
On top of the stack was an official-looking brown envelope. The familiar logo of Interdigital told her it was from her company. Let's see, she thought, do I get a paycheck this week or is it next? She opened the letter with difficulty; the long nail that she normally used as a letter opener having been chewed into tiny pieces weeks ago.
As she read the letter, her face began to crumble. The only thing that had kept her sane for the past few weeks had been the hope her company would grant her a leave of absence. The letter read:
Dear Ms. Young,
We have carefully considered your recent request for a leave of absence. Unfortunately, due to a corporate restructuring, one which has been in process for many months, we regret to inform you your current position has been phased out.
Consistent with our policy, we have approved three months of severance pay for you while you locate another position. We're sorry to lose such a valuable employee but know our loss will be another's gain.
Sincerely,
Ronald L. Jacobs
"The bastards! They can't do this to me. I'll sue their balls off!" But even as she screamed the threat, she knew they probably could get away with it. The letter was true. There had been a major reorganization taking place. Her superior had informed her that her position might disappear, but such action was supposed to open the door to a VP position for her. Unfortunately, that conversation had been off the record.
Liz slumped to her knees beside the bed, the muscles of her jaw twitching in spasms as she fought back the tears. A small voice in her mind tried to calm her, tried to convince her everything would be all right. But the voice was too weak, too soft to be heard over the cries of anger, of hate, of jealousy at the men who had done this to her.
And then the voice found the one man who had done it to her. It was all Flip's fault. He'd been the cause of her pregnancy. He'd taken the vice president's position away from her—all to satisfy his simple male drive. He'd pay, and pay dearly. He'd ruined her life; had taken the one thing she valued away from her.
Slowly as a plan developed, she began to relax. Jake, the security guard, would help her. Yeah, that was it. Oh, he'd not help her intentionally. He was like all the other men in the world who had to wear a gun on their side to make them feel like a man. But as the security guard assigned to her hall, he'd certainly been eyeing her with hunger, even though she was due to give birth any day. Men were such animals, driven by the little mind between their legs. Well, that little mind could be used very effectively by a smart woman.
Liz smiled and blotted the corners of her eyes. No time like the present to put her plan into effect. Bridgette had said she'd seen Flip on the east hall. It seemed likely that Flip might be using one of the private rooms in that wing. After all, he was a strange wonder to these eggheads.
She pushed herself up from the floor and slowly waddled to the night table she'd been using for a make-up stand. Time to go courting, but first she had some work to do. She wouldn't want Jake to see her like this. No, tonight, pregnant or not, she needed to look very seductive, at least for a little while.
Relief
Madame Sarrah slowly returned from her deep meditation to hear the low mooing of a cow. They need milking, she thought. Damn, how I hate that chore lately. I should have taken my own advice and hired someone to help me around the place while I had these babies. But she didn't want anyone to know she was pregnant. God, how they would talk. Sarrah grunted her way out of the overstuffed chair, where she'd been trying to find relief from her aching back, and put on the rain parka.
Rain for the last three days. It's enough to get a body down, she thought. Holding the small of her back, Sarrah opened the door and trudged toward the barn. She could hear old Bossy mooing her complaint at the late hour. She gets really ornery when she doesn't get milked on time—a creature of habit, but then, aren't we all?
How much longer before the little ones would burst forth into her world? Sarrah had no way of knowing, but her instincts said it wouldn't be very long. It had been a remarkable pregnancy. Less than nine weeks since the conception and already, she was bursting at the seams. Had it been the results of the strange power coming from Flip or from the incantations she'd been practicing on herself every night? There'd been no mention in the old scrolls of such an effect, but then again, many of the spells had not been intended for use on a pregnant woman. She was skirting dangerous territory. Many of the ancient sorcerers considered a pregnant woman to be holy and off-limits to the powers of such magic. What might be the result?
Sarrah pulled the three-legged stool from the corner of the barn and placed it next to Bossy. The sad brown eyes looked at her with a sigh of relief. "Soon, Bossy—relief for you now and soon for me. Please, let it be soon."
Liz studied herself in the mirror. This time, the Liz of old stared back at her. She was thankful the mirror was not full length. She had no desire to see her distorted figure. She smiled at herself and blotted her lipstick. All set, she thought. Time to go hunting some Jake-bear. As she had often done in the past, she'd used the time making herself up to develop a plan. Now, with the plan outlined in her mind, she could present to the outside world a cool composure.
She pulled the small plastic laundry hamper from the foot of her closet and threw a couple of pieces of clothes in it. She picked it up and walked toward the door. She stopped for a moment and played her plan out in her mind once more. Yes, she was ready. She wouldn't need much—just the laundry hamper to give her a cover and some camouflage.
She opened the door and walked down the hall towards the security guard's station. She prayed as she walked that Jake would be the one on duty. She'd have a tougher time with the other guard. She didn't even know his name, and he'd certainly not shown nearly the interest Jake had. She was relieved to see Jake's leering face as she approached.
"Good evening, Ms. Liz. My, don't we look scrumptious this evening?"
Liz smiled sweetly at his comment. "Jake, you say the sweetest things. Here I am as big as a house, feeling so very ugly, and you come along and make me feel like a real woman." She rested the basket on her hip with one arm and reached out with the other and touched the butt of his revolver.
"What a big gun you have there.”
“Not so big, but it’ll get the job done. It was my service revolver when I was on the police force. I know they’re not that popular these days. Most cops prefer a Beretta; sixteen rounds versus six, but well, this one got me out of a lot of jams.”
“Well, you know what they say about men with big guns strapped to their hips?"
"No ma’am, I don't. Why don't you tell me?" Jake's chest pushed out as he pulled in his gut a little further.
"I don't know if I have it exactly right, but I've always heard it's a sign of the size of the male weap
on they have between their legs." Her hand slowly traced a pattern from the gun up Jake's side and arm.
"Well, Ms. Liz, if you weren't in such a motherly condition, we'd just have to test your theory out."
Liz moved in a little closer. As she did, she caught a whiff of cheap aftershave and liquor. She brushed her lips against his ear and said, "There's more than one way for a woman to give pleasure to a man. That is if you wouldn't be embarrassed to test my theory."
Jake looked around to see if anyone else was around. Seeing the hall was quiet, he started to reach out for Liz, but she stepped deftly away. "Not here, silly boy. Isn't there somewhere we won't be disturbed?"
"Sure," Jake said. "Come with me."
Liz allowed him to take her hand and lead her to a storage room down the hall. Still carrying the clothes baskets, she waited for Jake to unlock the door and then, walked in. The room was small and dark and smelled of medical supplies. I wonder how often nurses and doctors have used the room for their own quickies, Liz thought. She turned to Jake as he groped along the wall for a light switch.
"No light, Jake. Just leave the door cracked a few inches. No one will notice. Besides, it's more romantic."
"You sure you'll be able to see well enough to test your theory?"
Liz pushed herself against him. "I won't have to see. I'll let my lips do the judging."
She reached down to his waist and undid the two belt buckles. Jake helped her remove the holster and laid it on the floor. As he did so, Liz stooped to her knees and unzipped his pants, feeling the hard swelling on the other side of the fabric growing larger.
Interesting, she thought. My theory might have some credence after all. If he wasn't so damn ugly and didn't smell so bad, I might enjoy this. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could make out the outline of Jake's leering face as he undid the clasp of his pants and pushed them over the love handles of his waist. Liz pulled his underpants down and studied Jake's manhood.
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