I Will Fear No Evil by Robert Heinlein

too.”
    “That’s why I love you, dear. Anyhow a longish job and Mr. Salomon had his guards take me home—and they drove through Bird’s Nest turf and we got fired on. Chopped all down one side.”
    “ Huh ? Doom?”
    “Not even grief. Fun.”
    “Like what inside?”
    “Teribly noisy. But exciting. Made me horny.”
    “Everything makes you horny, Tits.” He grinned and mussed her hair. “You’re home and no aches, what counts. So peel. Inspiration eating me, whole day. Walking the ceiling!”
    “Which sort of inspiration, dearest?” she asked while sliding the half-sweater off her right shoulder and peeling it down her arm. “And have you eaten? If you start painting, you won’t stop to eat.”
    “Ate some. Too high on inspiration. Big, big! I’ll flash a pack for you. Chicken? Spaghetti? Pizza?”
    “Anything. I’d better eat if it’s that sort of inspiration.” She kicked off her sandals, pushed down the panty-ruffle, sat on the floor to slide off the single tight attached to it. “Am I going to pose for a painting or are you going to paint on me and mug it?”
    “Both. Tha’s the grabber. A Nova.”
    She laid her dress carefully aside, rocked forward into Lotus seat. “I don’t roz it. ‘Both?’ ”
    “Both. You’ll see.” He looked down, ran his eyes over her, smiled. “And both sorts inspiration.”
    “Well! Happy-making!”
    “Not too hungry? Can wait.”
    “Beloved man, when was I ever that hungry? Never mind the bed; just grab a pillow and come here!”
    Shortly Mrs. Branca was thinking happily how lucky it was that she had not let dear Jake go ahead—the sweet thing would have been a disappointment compared with what she had at home . . . yet he had got her wonderfully primed for this . Really, it was best to be a faithful wife. Usually. What a wonderful, extraordinary day! Should she tell Joe about her big pay raise? No hurry. Couldn’t tell him anything else. Too bad. Then she quit thinking coherently.
    Sometime later she opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Beloved.”
    “Good vibes?”
    “Just what Eunice needed. At times like this I’m convinced that you’re Michelangelo.”
    He shook his head. “Not old Mike. Boys his jolly. Picasso maybe.”
    She hugged him. “Anyone you want to be, darling, as long as you go on being mine. All right. I’ll pose now, and eat at the breaks.”
    “Forgot. Letter from Mama. Read?”
    “Certainly, darling. Let me up and find it.”
    He fetched it, still unopened. She sat up and glanced through it to see how much editing it would require. Uh huh, just as you expected, dearie, the periodic threat to come pay us “a nice long visit.” Well, she knew how to deal with that . Out! Because Joe did not know how to refuse his mother anything. That one visit had been one too many—yet that had been when they had had two rooms, before she had found this wonderful one-big-everything studio room for Joe. Let that clinging old bag move in? No more jolly romps on the floor? No, Mama Branca, I will not let you ruin our happy nest with your smothering presence. You stay where you are and live on Welfare . . . and I’ll send you a check from time to time and let you think it’s a present from Joe. But that’s all !
    “Anything?”
    “The usual, dearest. Her stomach still bothers her but the priest sent her to another doctor and she’s doing better, she says. But let me start at the beginning. ‘My darling Baby Boy, Not much news since last time Mama wrote but if I don’t write I don’t never get a letter back. Tell Eunice to write a longer letter this time and tell me everything that’s happened to you; a mother worries so. Eunice is a very nice girl even though I do think you would be better off with a nice girl of your own religion—’”
    “Enough.”
    “Be tolerant, Joe. She’s your mother. I don’t mind and I will take time—tomorrow—to write her a long letter. I’ll send it by Mercury in the company pouch so