and serene.
'Hel-lo, Mama,' he said warmly, luxuriously. 'Mama's got a new Poppa.'
Five minutes later he decided that either the femmequin must be triggered by Cullingham's voice alone (in which case he'd have to find a recording of it) or if there were a key word he hadn't hit on it yet.
Or else-tragedy-the femmequin was simply run down. No, that could hardly be the case, for her magnificent chest was lifting regularly in simulated breathing, her violet eyes blinked every fifteen seconds (he timed it), while once every minute she wet her lips.
He bent over her. Even this close it was hard to believe she wasn't a real woman, her skin was simulated so perfectly, even to the tiny silver hairs on her forearms. He caught a whiff of the perfume Black Galaxy. He hesitated, then started to unzip her trim black coat.
Deep down in her chest Miss Willow growled, like a large and dangerous watchdog giving a preliminary warning.
Gaspard's heel kicked a file folder as he stepped back hastily. It skittered a few feet. On it, in bold letters, was 'Miss T. Willow.' He picked it up. Any papers it had held must be scattered among the others on the floor, for the folder was empty except for a small sheet with a few lines on it pasted to the inside back.
The message was so odd that Gaspard read it aloud:
Miss Willow had swayed to her feet and was moving straight toward him.
'Hello, darling,' she said in a sweet, sweet voice. 'What can Mama do for Dicky-bird today?'
Gaspard told her.
And, as the wild wonderful flurries of imagination began to come, continued to tell her.
Twenty very interesting but purely preliminary minutes later they were standing by Cullingham's desk locked together among the strewings of their clothes. That is, they had their arms around each other and Miss Willow had her right leg twined around his left, heel against heel, and they had just been kissing passionately, but that was exactly as far as the embrace went, because some ten seconds ago Gaspard had become completely impotent.
Gaspard knew exactly why, too. It was very simply the oldest and most powerful of male fears: fear of castration. He could not forget that one deadly growl he'd heard. And, although Miss Willow's flesh simulated the real thing in a wizardly way as to texture, temperature and resiliency, not all the structural members he could feel through it corresponded in shape and position to the bones of a human skeleton. Finally, coming very faintly through the Black Galaxy, was just the tiniest reek of machine-oil.
He knew he could no more take the next crucial step than he could voluntarily thrust his right hand into a sharp-toothed cluster of grinding cog-wheels. Cullingham might be able to, perhaps because of some perfect faith in machinery or else an hypertrophied off-trail death wish, but Gaspard certainly could not.
'Dicky-bird's lost interest,' Miss Willow drawled sensuously, investigating with her fingers. 'Mama will fix.'
'No!' Gaspard said sharply. 'Don't do that!' Miss Willow's soft cool fingers had abruptly become nothing but steel claws in his imagination.
'All right,' Miss Willow said lightly. 'Anything Dicky-bird wants.'
Gaspard almost sighed with relief. 'Let's pause for a bit,' he suggested, 'And you do a dance for me.'
Miss Willow lightly locked her arms around him, tipped back her head and shook it a little as she smiled.
'Come on, Mama,' Gaspard cajoled. 'Mama do pretty dance. Dicky-bird watch. Pretty, oh pretty!'
Miss Willow just shook her head again.
Gaspard drew back slightly and brought up his hands inside her arms, lightly pressing them apart, as a polite indication that they break, but Miss Wifiow did not respond to the suggestion.
'Let me go,' Gaspard said flatly.
Continuing to smile, Miss Willow said playfully, 'No, no, no. Dicky-bird's not going to get away now.'
Without warning, Gaspard jerked back and simultaneously slammed his wrists sideways. But Miss Willow's arms did not fly apart. Instead they resisted the shock and then with lightning speed tightened around him, not exactly painfully, but very snugly. Lissome evokers of delight a moment ago, they were now like cushioned bands of steel. His left arm was pinioned, his right arm free.
'Naughty, naughty,' Miss Willow cooed. Then pressing her chin in his shoulder she growled horribly in his ear and said in the tone of the growl, 'You damage Mama and Mama'll damage you.' Then she leaned back and cooed, 'Let's play. Don't be scared, Dicky-bird. Mama will be gentle.'
Gaspard's almost involuntary response to that was another convulsive effort to escape. When it was over, Miss Willow's arms were still locked around him and now her right leg too. They teetered precariously but didn't fall over, due to the femmequin's fine sense of balance.
'Mama will hug you,' Miss Willow growled in his ear. 'Mama will keep on hugging you. Every five minutes Mama will hug you a little tighter-until you feed a hundred dollars into Mama you know where.'
Miss Willow's arms tightened. Gaspard heard something inside him creak.
THIRTY-FIVE
Someone was pounding on the doubly electrolocked door.
Gaspard did not know how long the pounding had been going on, he had been scrabbling so intently for money through such drawers of Cullingham's desk as he could reach with his free arm. He hadn't found any.
'Look,' he pleaded, 'let me bend over so I can reach my pants. I don't think I've a hundred dollars but I have some money and I can write you a check for the rest. And let me feel through the bottom desk drawers-there still may be money there. Where
But such questions and contingency-based suggestions seemed quite beyond Miss Willow's capacities. She said only, 'One hundred bucks cash, Dinky-bird. Mama's hungry.'
The pounding continued. Through it he could hear faintly a woman caffing, 'Let me in, Gaspard! Something terrible's happened.'
Gaspard heartily agreed as Miss Willow's grip tightened another notch.
'You'll kill me,' he said, talking in short bursts because there wasn't too much room for air left in his chest. 'That won't help. Please. My pants. Or Cullingham's drawers.'
'One hundred bucks,' Miss Willow repeated implacably. 'No checks.'
Gaspard's free hand found the door buttons. The door to the hall gave slightly under the pounding it was getting, then was pushed open. Miss Jackson lunged in, her blonde hair in disorder and her blouse pulled off one shoulder, as if she'd been through some sort of struggle herself. Gaspard wondered wildly if the whole world were being attacked individually and intimately by femmequins and manikins.
'Gaspard!' the nurse cried. 'They've kidnapped-'
She saw the tableau beside Cullighain's desk. She froze. Rather slowly, her mouth fell open a little. Then her eyes narrowed as she began to study. After about five seconds she said critically, 'Well, really!'
'I need. . one hundred dollars. . cash,' Gaspard got out. 'Don't ask. . explain.'
Disregarding these statements, Miss Jackson continued to study them. Finally she asked, 'Aren't you ever going to spring apart?'
'I. . can't,' Gaspard explained breathlessly.
