RANSVESTIA

I stood.

"Wait!" he cried and took my hand. "Where will you go?"

"Back vhere I came from. Back eento zhe shadows. My job is done here. I have risked my life for you, Schyler Moxtone. Do not fail me."

He let go of my hand, I turned and walked away without looking back. I'm sure my not looking back added to the mystery. But the real reason was my not wanting Moxtone to see the way I was grinning.

*******

It was about ten the following morning when the news started filter- ing down to my floor. Something had happened up in the executive of- fices. There had been a full-blown screaming match between the new account executive and his private secretary. Reports were far from complete, but the fight was said to include such phrases as "Have you no integrity?" and "Integrity my Aunt Fannie's waffle iron!"

What was the fight about? It seems the new account executive had decided to return to his cubby hole in the accounting department. And that return to safe ground for Moxtone meant the ignominious return of Betty Clapper to the secretarial pool.

Tsk, tsk.

An hour or so later saw a red-faced Betty marching past my draf- ting table. Returning in defeat with her arms loaded down by the same desk top junk she had triumphantly carried upwards. She was back where she had started and I thought it only fair that I be the first to welcome her home.

"Back so soon, Betty?" I said as she passed.

"Ah, go suck on an egg," she snapped.

As she walked on I leaned back and crossed my legs. As I crossed them I felt a unique and reassuring sensation; I was wearing panty hose under my slacks. After all, Bobbie had the right to be at least par- tially present at Betty Clapper's downfall.

That's the ticket. That's my Bobbie the two of us together are in- vincible.

45