Blackmail by Pepper

 Blackmail by Pepper

From a novella
by J.C. Marcellus



Chapter I


I have to write this down while I still have time.  As you will learn,
there's already been one attempt on my life, so I have to get this down
now, just to be sure the truth will come out.

If I knew exactly when this mess began, or how it got started, I'd simply
begin there and spare you the rest.  But the truth is, I don't know.  Was
it when I first discovered Dr. Gillman's error?  Or was it when Babs had
her accident?  Maybe it was when I was born, or sometime during my
childhood.

Whenever it was, I know that I was powerless to do anything other than what
I did.  So I'll have to tell you the whole story, and let you decide for
yourself how it happened.

I was born Patricia Milliken in St. Louis, Missouri on February 3rd, 1950.
Somehow I acquired the nickname Pepper, just as my older sister was known
as Skipper and my brother as Chief.  We were a normal, moderately affluent
family.  My dad had just started his own small company, providing some sort
of electronic testing service which I still don't understand.  We had our
own house in the southwest part of St. Louis, and everything was so normal
you couldn't believe it.  Everything except me, that is.

I knew at a very early age that I had a more than normal interest in
persons who had a limb amputated.  How I knew my interest was not normal
was rather simple.  Most kids would stare a moment at the amputee, and
immediately dismiss the sight with "glad that's not me", or some such
thing.  But my curiosity was different.  I actually wanted to know what
that person felt like, having only one leg and a pair of crutches to move
about with, or just one hand to dress and feed himself.  I also knew I had
to hide this curiosity from my friends, and my parents and my brother and
sister.  The few times I tried to talk about the subject, I met with total
lack of interest or, if I persisted, with raised eyebrows.  It seemed that
nobody in the world was interested except me, and that made it abnormal.
So I cooled it, and made no further attempt to talk to anyone about it.

Actually, this preoccupation consumed very little of my time in those
childhood years.  I did, however, search newspapers and magazines for
stories about amputees, and wherever I went I kept a constant lookout for
a person on crutches.  Without fail, it seemed, once I spotted and tracked
someone through the crowd, the crutch walker would be wearing a cast, to my
total disappointment.  Only once did I find a real amputee.

It was in the middle of the summer at a nearby shopping mall.  She was
maybe 15, barefoot and wearing a halter top and shorts.  The left leg of
the shorts was sewn shut, and fitted her hip tightly.  There was no stump
at all that I could see.  I followed her for an hour as she swung in and
out of the stores, looking at clothes and things, ignoring the stares of
the other shoppers.  She finally met an older woman and they left together
in a car.

Right then it occurred to me that it would be preferable to have a left leg
missing instead of the right, since it would be easier to drive a car.  I
went back to the shopping center frequently, but never saw her again.

Then, one day during Christmas vacation, the thought struck me that I could
experience something like being an amputee by simply tying my leg up with
a belt or something, and using Chief's crutches.  He had broken his ankle
a year before, and the crutches were still in his closet.  I remember that
I was absolutely astounded that I hadn't thought of it before.  It all
seemed so easy.  Why was I so stupid not to think of it?

Of course, I couldn't let my parents or my brother or sister catch me at
this, so I waited until a day when they would be gone for several hours.
I found an old belt, and made some new holes in it with an icepick.  Then
I strapped it around my ankle and thigh, and pulled it as tight as I could.
Taking the crutches, I went swinging around the room and the upstairs hall
for an hour, imagining that I was grown up and married, and had to do all
the housework on one leg and crutches.  I had to release the belt several
times during that first hour, because this unnatural position for my left
leg made it hurt.  But I nevertheless knew that I would do it again every
chance I got.  The sensation sent shivers down my spine as I concentrated
on going through the next maneuver without falling flat on my face.

Well, in a house with four other people there isn't much chance to have a
lot of time alone, and although I practiced at being an amputee whenever I
could, the opportunities were few, and I almost discarded the game
entirely.
Chapter II


By the time I was fourteen I had breasts and wide hips, and had grown to
five feet six inches.  I was on the swimming team in the ninth grade, and
was on my way to becoming a fair gymnast.  I was not the best in these
endeavors, but by the end of the season I was placing a strong second to
Babs Parker, who was to become a very good friend.

Babs failed to show one night at the conference swimming finals, and I
walked off with the all-meet medal, sort of an MVP.  I knew that I would
never have won it if Babs had been there, and several times tried to find
out what had happened.  After we were home, my parents told me.

There was an accident on the way to the finals.  Babs' mother was dead, and
both she and her father were in the hospital.  All I could get from them
was that Babs was seriously hurt.  My father knew Mr. Parker well, and went
to the hospital just to see if there was anything he could do.  He didn't
come home until three in the morning, and as I sneaked down the stairs, I
heard him tell my mother that they had just amputated Babs' left leg.

You can't imagine the chill it sent through me.  I suddenly felt guilty, as
if I has secretly been wishing it, which I hadn't.  Back upstairs I cried
for Babs and for myself all at the same time.  The truth is, I had wished
it in a way.  Not for Babs in particular, but I'd wished it could happen to
someone I could be close to.  You can believe I was a pretty confused child
for the next few days.  But I survived, and with a plan.  I decided to give
my medal to Babs.  That should be enough to start a friendship, and maybe
I'd become a good buddy, who could just go over to her house and walk in,
that kind of friendship.

In a few days I was allowed to visit Babs in the hospital.  I was scared
stiff that she'd be able to see right through my plan and know, just know,
that the only reason I came was because she had only one leg.  It didn't
turn out that way.  She was really glad to see me.  Apparently not many
other school friends had come.

We talked about school and boys and almost everything except the real
thing, and pretty soon it became strained.  Silence fell for a moment, and
I reached into the purse I was carrying and pulled out the medal, and
pressed it into her hand.

"This is yours, Babs," I said.  "You won it all year long.  You just forgot
to come and pick it up this time."

She looked at it only briefly before clasping it between her breasts.  She
closed her eyes and started sobbing softly.  I put my hand on her arm and
pressed hard.  Finally she looked up with tear filled eyes and said,
"Pepper, will you be my friend?  I need a good friend very much right now."

Wow!  I couldn't believe it.  My little scheme had worked, and I was free
of suspicion that my motives were not what they seemed.  We did become
friends, great friends, and still are today.  I went to see her every day
at the hospital, and was her constant companion for the next few months,
until she got back into the swing of things.

One day at the hospital, when her spirits were better and she had grown
just a little less touchy about the death of her mother, she was joking
openly about her one leggedness.

"I'm going to invent a new swimming stroke, called the Babs Parker
Monopedal Kick.  What do you think of that?"

"Sounds great," I said.  "When do you start?"

"As soon as they take these silly stitches out.  Do you know they itch like
mad?"

"Really?" I exclaimed.  "Geez, Babs, what does it feel like?  I mean, does
it feel like it's really gone?"

"I don't know," she answered.  "Sometimes it does.  But sometimes I wiggle
my toes, and it feels just like I'm wiggling my toes.  I can feel the
covers and everything.  It surprises me so much I look down to see if it's
grown back.  But when I get up for my exercises, there's no question about
it being gone.  It's gone.  It's gone for good."

"Oh, Babs," I said, "don't get all sobby.  You'll get an artificial leg and
be as good as new.  They say they really work great, you know."

"I know," she said, "but what'll it look like?  I'll have to wear jeans all
the time, I guess.  What'll I do when the boys see a big hinge where my
knee's supposed to be?  Man, that'll turn 'em off, I bet."

I hadn't really thought of that.  I said, "they'll go for your boobs.  You
could win a few prizes there, you know."

She giggled and looked down at her unbrassiered chest.  She did have a real
pair, bigger than mine, which were not at all small.  Babs was not a real
beauty, but she had super all-American healthy blonde good looks, and that
would seem to be enough for anybody.

Babs was out of the hospital a week later.  She had to go to physical
therapy sessions for an hour each day, and I had to go to school.  There
was just a month left, and Babs was going to do her studying at home.  Her
father was still in the hospital, and an aunt came to stay with her and her
younger brother until her dad was able to come home and take charge of
things again.

I would stop at her house every afternoon after school, and bring her
assignments and pick up her homework to take back to school the next day.
Babs progressed rapidly.  Her crutch walking became expert quickly, and as
she gained strength hopping became a preferred method of locomotion.  Her
leg had been amputated just above mid-thigh, so this left her with a stump
of about six inches I guess.  Summer was coming, so she cut off all her old
jeans and made shorts that just covered her stump.  These became her
favorite clothes for that summer.  On a couple of pairs she cut them just
a little short, and the end of her stump would be exposed when she sat
down.  Most of the time she wore a stump sock or an elastic bandage, but as
she grew less sensitive about herself, she would leave it bare more often.

Of course, we were both interested in boys, and this was where the
difficult times came for Babs.  They always seemed to be a little uneasy
about being around her.  I'm sure for the most part it was because they
just didn't know what to say to her.  It was so obvious that she had only
one leg you couldn't ignore it; still, what do you say?  Do you ask her, or
make a joke, or what?  Most of the time I would break the ice and start
things rolling.  "You freaks," I'd say, "she's only had a leg cut off.  She
can't help that, and it doesn't make her weird or anything. Quit acting so
dumb."

Most of the time it worked just fine and one of the would ask her how it
happened, and Babs would tell them, and with that out of the way we could
get on to more serious boy-girl things as they applied to 14 year olds.

Once, however, we were being followed by two real good looking boys, one of
whom I knew.  He was from Creve Core, and he was really rich.  But when
they had worked their way through the shopping center crowd close enough to
see us clearly, his buddy said "Jesus Christ, she's only got one leg!
Let's get out of here!"

I spun around and put my hands on my hips, but they were already running.
I chased them, yelling "I know you, Tommy Burlington!  You're a creep,
nothing but a creep!"

When I returned to where Babs was standing on her crutches I had tears
running down my face.  But Babs was cool and calm.  She really didn't see
what all the fuss was about.

"Pepper," she said, "don't try to protect me all the time."  She shifted a
crutch and put her right arm around my waist.  "I've got to start handling
creeps like that myself.  You don't even give me a chance."

After that I lightened up a bit, and things went at least as well, if not
better.
Chapter III


Babs was a relentless winner, and life was still a freestyle event to her.
Just as she had always taken every advantage possible in a race, she took
every advantage of her handicap.  We went swimming several times a week
during the summer, and Babs really did develop her own style.  Toward the
end of summer she could beat most untrained swimmers in a length of pool
race, so she started a little game.

Every day or so, a new boy would come along, and Babs, safely in the pool,
would goad him into a race.  No fourteen year old boy can turn down a
challenge from a girl, so the race would be on.  Not only would she beat
him, she'd be sitting on the edge of the pool when he finished.  You can
imagine his embarrassment when he saw the one-legged girl sitting there
smiling.  He just wouldn't believe it.  More often than not, though, this
would just lead to more challenges and more games, and a new boyfriend.

The successes at the swimming pool were not quite matched by her struggle
with the artificial limb.  She worked hard at it at first, and actually got
good with it.  But she still limped noticeably, and that depressed her more
than anything.  In spite of warnings, she'd actually believed she'd be able
to walk without a trace of her handicap.  Once she realized that she
couldn't, and also realized that the limb slowed her down and made her less
mobile than with crutches, she wanted to give it up forever.  She didn't
quite do that, but the limb became sort of a church, weddings and funerals
appendage, and got very little use otherwise.

During these months I made a thorough study of all Babs' new habits as they
developed.  As you know, people cross their legs quite naturally.  Babs
could no longer do this, of course, so she substituted by crossing her
right leg under her stump.  Or, as a brief change, she would sit straight
and rest her hand on the end of her stump, sometimes scratching it or
rubbing it lightly.  While standing, she didn't hesitate to rest the back
of her stump on a hip-high object, like a chest of drawers or a low
counter.  The kitchen counter was too high for her, so she often pulled out
a drawer and rested her stump there when she needed two hands and a little
extra balance.  Occasionally she'd stick her stump through the staves of
her crutch and rest it on the crossbar.  Or, holding the crutch under her
arm, push it along with her stump while she used her left hand to hold
something.  All these little habits went unnoticed by Babs, and by almost
everybody else, once they were used to being around her.

But to me, they were the most interesting physical habits I'd ever seen.
I yearned to somehow duplicate them, but it was impossible with my little
game of strapping up a leg.  Nothing, however, sent the chills up my spine
like seeing her when she had no choice but to hop.  Often at home she'd hop
around for convenience, a short distance where picking up the crutches
seemed unnecessary.  But one thing would lead to another, and she'd stray
farther and farther away from her crutches.  Then, realizing they were in
another part of the house, she'd just continue on to the patio, garage, or
wherever she was going, and pick up the crutches the next time she went by
them.  More than once I actually contrived to get her into this situation,
not to be mean or anything, just to see how she'd react to being without
any aid at all.  It never seemed to bother her.  She never asked anyone to
go get her crutches.  Only when she was without a bra and her breasts were
bouncing wildly would she give any indication that what she was doing was
not perfectly normal.  She would giggle and grab her breasts with her
hands.

But the one time Babs really did get caught without her crutches had an
effect out of all proportion to its seriousness at the time.  One hot
afternoon I was sitting with Babs in the shade of her front lawn.  We were
in out bathing suits because we planned to go to the swimming pool in an
hour or so.  Then my sister Skipper drove up in the little VW convertible
she shared with my brother.  She invited us to go with her to the drive in
for ice cream.  Babs and I jumped in without going to the house for her
crutches; after all, she wouldn't be getting out of the car.  But at the
drive in we ran into three older boys who knew Skipper.  One of them
invited us to go swimming at his parents' house, and the next thing we knew
we were on our way.

Well, to make a long story short, Babs and I were ready to go home long
before Skipper was.  Neither of us was old enough to drive, so two of the
boys offered to take us.  When we were halfway home, the boys tried to make
us take off our bikini tops, so Babs and I insisted they stop and let us
out.  That left us five miles from home, with no way for Babs to walk.  She
couldn't hop that far, so we were forced to hitchhike.  Fortunately it
didn't take long for a car to stop for us.  Unfortunately, the car was
black and white and had red lights on the roof, and the policeman insisted
on driving us right up to Babs' back door, so her aunt saw us get out of
the car.

As you can guess, we both caught holy hell.  We were grounded for two
weeks, and not even allowed to talk to each other on the phone.  But this
was nothing compared to what Skipper got.  She didn't come home until seven
the next morning.  On top of that, nothing my parents could say would erase
the smile from her face.  My dad kept talking about her stupid stunt, but
my mother knew, and was less vocal.  At any rate, if Skipper even looked at
the VW for a month, she got another day of solitary.

It was during these two weeks that my life changed directions.  Or better,
that I gave it a direction.  It seemed only a day or two before I could no
longer remember exactly how Babs looked standing on her one leg, supporting
her all-American blonde body.  I had to know, I just had to know.  I went
back to playing at being an amputee.  I found an old girdle of my mother's
that held my leg tightly to my behind and did something to keep my foot out
of sight.  But still it made a bulge when I tried on a dress or skirt.  The
only way I could hide it was with a very full skirt, and they were out of
style, and very ugly in my eyes.  The whole game was totally
unsatisfactory.  I was disgusted.

Then, I dreamed one night that I was an amputee.  I remember being totally
surprised by it, it was so vivid.  I tried desperately to recall every
detail later, but the only thing that stayed with me was that I was totally
happy.  I wasn't afraid, I wasn't ugly, I wasn't crippled.  I was in the
middle of everything and people loved me, and I was totally delighted with
myself.  I can't remember other things, like what the stump looked like, or
even if I had a stump.  I only know that it was my left leg that was gone.

This experience really worked me up.  I decided then that I would be an
amputee, and my work would be rehabilitation.  I might even be famous.  I
had no idea how I would become an amputee, that was a detail I could work
out later.  But I had decided, and that was a great relief for me.

Now, you may wonder if I hadn't questioned my own sanity when I set this
goal.  You can believe I did.  But when I compared this insanity with the
anguish of not being an amputee, it seemed perfectly sane.  At least I
accepted the fact that it was crazy.  But I believed that otherwise, I was
perfectly healthy in the head.  I knew, of course, that I could never tell
anybody about this goal.  But I could be open about my interest, if my
educational and professional ambitions were in rehabilitation of the
physically handicapped.

What a perfect plan!  I was so proud of myself that I announced at dinner
that I had decided on a profession.  Chief and Skipper both made fun.
Skipper said, "You should start by trying to rehabilitate that Babs.  Teach
her how to use a crutch or something so she doesn't have to hop everyplace
she goes.  Get her to wear a bra, too, it's not even fair with her around."

"That's enough," my mother snapped.  Skipper was still in the doghouse more
than me.  It had only been a week.  My mother thought it was a perfectly
fine idea, and Dad said he thought it very appropriate for a woman.  Chief
simply warned that I shouldn't pass up a chance at the Olympics if it came.

The next day I got a brief leave from prison to join the candystripers.
This was the beginning of my education in the ways of the medical
profession.  I knew I had to have all the information possible if I were to
become an amputee myself.  I could imagine, or thought I could, what it
would be like for my friendship with Babs.  But getting there would be a
real problem.

I spent two four hour periods each week at the hospital, doing the menial
chores normally assigned to untrained volunteers.  Amputation cases were
few, and when there was one, it was most often an elderly person with
circulatory problems.  No more than two dozen cases a year involved young
people.  Trauma was the greatest cause here, and ninety percent were boys.
They were always screwing around with machinery and getting a hand or foot
caught in a moving part.  The next largest cause was bone cancer.  Here,
most of the victims were girls my age, and even after the amputation of a
leg, most died within a year.

After working for six months, I made my interest in physical rehabilitation
known to my supervisor.  Within a month I was assigned permanently as an
aide to the P.T. people in the rehab section.  I quickly became known as a
reliable aide, and I did everything I could to learn the reasons for all
the different treatments.  I took books home, but it became obvious that I
first had to learn physiology before I could read them with understanding.
I therefore started reading physiology textbooks.  I also signed up for the
only course taught in high school.  By the time I was a senior I was
allowed to perform most tasks with only cursory supervision by the
therapist.  Of course, less than five percent of the cases involved an
amputation.

What bugged me most about the whole profession, from doctor to therapist to
limb maker to counsellor, was their unified insistence that a limb had to
be worn successfully, despite discomfort, pain, or general lack of interest
on the part of the patient, or the relative uselessness of the limb itself.
They considered an artificial limb the ultimate goal of the program, and
the rehabilitation incomplete without it.  I didn't argue with them, of
course, but it was obvious to me that they ignored much evidence that
showed a patient could be happy, adjusted and successful without a limb.
Babs was a good example.  She did wear her limb, but only when she wanted,
when it was expedient for her, not for the general comfort of the public.
She had become an expert single crutch user, and this was the way she went
to school.  It caused some raised eyebrows on the staff, and some polite
requests that she wear her leg, but she steadfastly refused, saying it was
too slow and the school was too big.  She'd always be late for class.  So
it appeared to me that the wishes of the patient, and the patient's comfort
and happiness, were secondary to the goals of the rehab team.  The patient
was only the subject which allowed the team to reach its goals.

It had now been two years since I'd made my decision on my future, but I
seemed to be no closer to my private goal, only to my stated one in rehab.
There was no way I could invent an accident that would result in the
amputation of my left leg at the site I had chosen, high up on the thigh.
Bones could almost always be repaired.  There had to be damage to
substantial amounts of flesh to require amputation.  Circulatory problems
could be caused alright, but not without risk of blood clots, which could
kill in an instant if they reached my heart.  I wanted to be an amputee,
not dead.

My determination didn't waver, however, and I continued my search for the
way to reach my goal.
Chapter IV


I graduated from high school with honors, and was accepted at the
University of Colorado in Boulder to study for a degree in physical
therapy.  I got a part-time job in a Boulder hospital, and had my own
little apartment over the garage of some friends of my parents.  If I
hadn't accepted this arrangement my parents would have made me live in a
dormitory, a fate I considered worse than death.

Boulder was beautiful, the mountains were beautiful.  There was snow and
skiing in the winter, and long hikes in the summer.  I worked hard at
school, and learned to get by on about five hours of sleep a night.  The
job at the hospital was also rewarding, and at the end of my first year of
school I got a full time job for the summer.  If I hadn't, I would have had
to go home.

During that first year in Boulder I nearly forgot my private ambition.  I
was so busy with so many things that there was very little time to think
about it.  I became very fond of skiing and was still an excellent swimmer,
although I was no longer involved in competition.  And I had
boyfriends--boy, did I.  I had more invitations for dates than I could
accept.  I had to turn down guys I actually wanted to go out with.

I was now five feet eight, and a very trim 120 pounds.  My hair was long,
full, and nearly black, and I had that unusual good fortune of having blue
eyes, the result of the unknown Irishman in one of my parents' family
trees, as we used to joke.  And I had a fine figure; my breasts were full
and wide but not overly large, my shoulders and back were more muscular
than usual as a result of my swimming.  But I tapered to a narrow waist and
nicely rounded but still trim hips.  My legs were also an asset, being long
and nicely shaped, with the single exception that when I put on a pound or
two it went directly to my upper thighs, making them appear wider than my
hips and creating a bulge just below the bottom of my swimsuit.

My second year of school was uneventful, except that I settled on a steady
boyfriend.  His name was Daniel Christopher, and I called him Danny.  He
was not particularly handsome, but he had a beautiful body and an engaging
smile.  It seemed that he was never very serious about anything, and tended
to hide the fact that he was really quite bright.  He started coming over
in the evenings to study with me, which we did dutifully until about eleven
o' clock each night.  Then we would make love for an hour, and Danny would
go back to his dorm--happy, I hoped.  I immediately advised my parents and
the Blairs, my landlords and protectors, that Danny was my boyfriend, and
there was nothing to worry about.  This seemed to satisfy them, and they
never questioned me about his presence.  Also, I was on the pill, so there
was nothing to worry about there.

Things started changing during my third year.  While skiing with Danny one
Sunday west of Boulder, we ran across a whole bunch of amputees who were
learning to ski.  They belonged to a club which specialized in training
amputees to ski.  This really turned me on, and I immediately butted in and
offered my services as an instructor.  After all, by now I was a much
better than average skier.  They were hesitant at first, but only until
they learned that I was a P.T. student at Colorado.  This eventually turned
out to be an every-Sunday skiing trip while the snow lasted.

There were ten in the group, eight men and two women.  I became friends
with most of them, and it was really a stimulating experience.  I looked
forward to it every Sunday, much to Danny's chagrin.  He went along,
though, and even helped when it was needed.  They guys really surprised me.
They were all clowns, almost to the man.  It seemed they didn't give a shit
about anything.  A spill, even a bad one, was all the more reason to do it
again.  The only thing they did better than fall was drink.  And in the
middle of the afternoon, that's exactly what they did.

The girls were a bit different.  One was a below knee amputee who simply
wanted to learn to ski so she could enjoy it with her husband and children.
She was a no-nonsense person who had a practical objective, and as soon as
she was good enough to handle herself we saw no more of her.

The other girl, however, was really searching for a victory over her fear
of facing the world.  She had lost both her right leg and hand in an
accident that had killed some other members of her family.  She had a
terrible time at first, not because she was weak or unathletic, but because
of fear.  She couldn't bear the thought of falling.  Danny took a special
interest in her,  So much so, in fact, that I began to wonder if I wasn't
losing out to this double-amp chick.  She was petite, five feet and ninety
pounds wringing wet, if she was all there.  And pretty.  But Danny taught
her to fall, and after a whole morning of nothing but falling and getting
up, Karen began trying to ski, with one ski and one outrigger.  She quickly
came out of her fear and depression and started skiing with the rest of us.
Danny's attention to her lessened, but his interest did not.  I wondered
where I stood with him.

At work the next week, I was assigned a new amputee case.  It was a girl
with a right leg hip disarticulation from cancer, who had been fitted with
a Canadian limb--a bucket strapped to her hip, with a limb attached which
worked very much by itself on even ground.  All she had to do was lift her
hip a little and the limb would just move right out there ready to take her
weight.  Very clever, but also very slow.  I was to give her training on
uneven ground.  Her name was Carol DeCapelo.  She was sixteen, very pretty,
and also very scared.  We started work immediately, and I found her to be
a cheerful and surprisingly adept learner.  Just before going home that
first day, I sat down for a moment to look at her record, just to see if
there was any mention of interest in athletics.  I found nothing regarding
Carol's past physical activities, but I did find something which absolutely
froze me to my chair.  The very last document was a pathology report on a
biopsy performed on Carol's knee.  The result was very clearly typed
"NEGATIVE".  At first I thought it obvious that the report itself had to be
in error.  But then I realized that that was very unlikely, in the absence
of any confirmation of the error.  Amputation is never taken lightly, and
people just don't make mistakes here.  I went through the record again.
Carol's physician was Dr. Gillman, a staff orthopedic surgeon, and her
cancer specialist was Dr. Hendrikson.  Both were top-notch as far as I
knew.  Unbelievable, but there it was.  It took me several minutes to
realize what I had found, but when I did, I went to the copy machine and
copied the whole record, against all the regulations regarding medical
records.  It was easy.  Nobody asked what I was doing.

That night, I called Danny and asked him not to come over.  I said I was
tired and intended to go to bed early.  He believed me, and we agreed to
have dinner together the next night.  I sat there and went through the
record at least a dozen times.  It was all there.  Carol DeCapelo's leg had
been amputated by mistake.  I knew exactly what I was going to do.  I was
going to get my own wish by using this information, and in effect
blackmailing one or both of the doctors into amputating my own leg.  The
thought scared hell out of me, but I knew I would do it.  The problem was,
how?

During the next few days I thought up scheme after complicated scheme for
approaching the doctors, but discarded them as fast as they came.  Finally,
I decided the only thing to do was show them the evidence, name my price,
and go from there.

The first thing I had to do was make sure there were no more pathology
reports to negate the one I had.  I went to the records section the next
day, and checked a month before and a month after the date of Carol's
surgery, but found nothing.  What was strange, though, was there should
have been a post-operative pathology report, but there was none.  There
was, however, a post-op on Jennifer Carter, and I didn't remember seeing a
previous report.  I searched back, and there it was: positive.  It was
confusing.  Several possibilities existed.  There were only two amputations
that required pre- and post-operative pathology reports.  They were Carol
DeCapelo and Jennifer Carter.  There was a negative pre-op on Carol
DeCapelo, and no post-op.  There were both a pre- and post-op on Jennifer
Carter.  I had forgotten to look at the results on the post-op for
Jennifer.  I went back and there it was, negative.     What had happened
was obvious.  Only one leg had been amputated, and it was Carol's, who was
free of cancer.  Jennifer Carter, if my guess was right, was running around
happy as a lark, believing she was free of cancer.  That there was no
post-operative report in Carol's folder was simply because the name was
wrong, probably changed by a lab technician when he saw the name DeCapelo
instead of Carter.  He must have known that Carter was positive and
DeCapelo negative.

There was only one thing to do.  I went to the Carter home on the pretext
of fund raising for the local hospital auxiliary, for which I had the
current literature.  Jennifer Carter was there, and she had two legs.  What
had happened was cruel.  All the details of how it happened were still
beyond me.  I hadn't believed it possible.

I waited two weeks before doing anything.  Then I went to a lawyer, and
told him that by accident I had discovered a gross medical error, and I
intended to expose the whole thing.  I simply wanted to be sure that if
anything happened to me, the story would be known anyway.  I gave him six
stamped and sealed envelopes to mail in case of my death for any reason,
natural or otherwise, until I came to retrieve them.  A check for $150
cooled his questions.  I knew he was bound by law to execute my wishes if
he took any money at all.  It was risky to go to him, but I had to take
that chance in the absence of anybody to tell the real reasons for any of
my actions.  I assured him that I expected to return within three months
for the envelopes.  I just wanted this thing to be exposed in case I
couldn't do it myself.

He couldn't have failed to notice that the envelopes were addressed to the
district attorney, the local medical society, the DeCapelos, the local
newspaper, the state's attorney, and the state medical certification board.
That seemed to be sufficient to me.  He was curious and I knew it.

Danny knew something was going on, but I assured him that nothing was
different.  I gave myself two more weeks to settle down and appear more
like my old self.  This satisfied Danny, and things came back to normal.

At the end of the two weeks, I postponed my visit to Dr. Gillman for a day
so I could go back to the lawyer and retrieve my envelopes.  I decided I
didn't trust him.  I simply told the lawyer that the whole thing was a
mistake, and I was glad I found out before I caused trouble.  He returned
the envelopes without comment.

That night I sat down and went through my evidence again.  I was reassured.
I had also sneaked copies of the pathology reports on the Carter girl, and
they confirmed the sequence of events as I imagined they had happened.
Both girls' biopsies were ordered by Dr. Hendrikson the same day, and both
were performed by a resident physician on the same day.  He probably got
the results verbally from the pathologist the next day.  Maybe Hendrikson
got the names confused, or maybe the pathologist did.  At any rate, both
reports were delivered and received by Hendrikson the day before Carol's
leg was amputated.  He probably didn't even look at them, going on his
verbal information, which he thought was correct.  Gillman should at least
have looked at the record before he concurred with Hendrikson's findings,
but obviously he hadn't.  What was not so likely was that a lab technician
or a typist had altered the record to agree with what they thought was
true.  Only a doctor does this, or orders it done.  The only other way it
could happen was that the person who filled out the request for a
post-operative pathology report intentionally changed the name.  Even so,
wouldn't the pathologist think it strange that the original findings had
been wrong?  Somebody already knew about the goof.  They had to.  But that
altered nothing as far as I was concerned.  I had the evidence.  I could
damage the careers of at least two respected doctors and maybe a
pathologist.

My next problem was the security of the evidence.  Going to that lawyer had
been a mistake.  Why should I trust him, just because he was a lawyer?  I
couldn't leave the envelopes with Danny, or with any friend for that
matter, without causing a whole world of questions.  A numbered Swiss
account?  I didn't even know how to get one.  A bank box--that was it!  I
would give the key to the Blairs and tell them it contained some things I
wanted my parents to have in case anything happened to me, like an accident
or something.  I'd leave the instructions in the bank box; that way, I
wouldn't have to explain anything about the envelopes, and just in case Dr.
Gillman or one of his colleagues decided I had to go, they could be assured
that their goof would be known to the whole world.  Dr. Gillman was
probably the least guilty in this whole business.  He simply performed the
surgery, but he was going to have to take most of the heat.  There was no
reason for me to confront Hendrikson, when Gillman was the man who would
operate on me.

The next day, I put the envelopes in a bank box, and left the key with the
Blairs.  They were happy to keep it for me.  I called Dr. Gillman's office
and made an appointment, saying he had been recommended by my physician in
St. Louis.  I had to wait four days for the appointment.  They were the
longest in my life.  But I tried to relax, and Danny and I went skiing on
Sunday and worked with our adopted club of one-legged skiers.  I told Danny
that I was going to the doctor on Tuesday because an old swimming injury
was bothering my left knee a little.  I told him it sometimes hurt a little
in the winter, and a shot of cortisone usually made it stop.

"Just the price of being a jock," he remarked.

Finally the time came for my appointment.  Fortunately, I was the last
patient of the day.  Dr. Gillman examined my knee very carefully, and
ordered X-rays taken, which could be done right there.  After the pictures
were taken he told me to dress and come to his office.  I was so scared, it
was all I could do to keep from peeing my pants.  I actually wanted to run
out right then, but I had come this far, and it was the only chance I had
ever had with even a remote possibility of working.  I felt giddy as I sat
down by his desk.

"Well, Miss Milliken," he started, "I've looked at the X-rays, and I don't
find anything unusual about your knee.  When did the pain start?"

"There are no pains," I said.  "As far as I know there's nothing wrong with
my leg.  But I want you to amputate it anyway, all the way up to here."  I
marked the site on my upper thigh with the edge of my hand.

"What?" he nearly yelled.  "I can't do that!  But of course, you aren't
serious.  I should have known."  He started to smile, as if he were
suddenly enjoying an unexpected challenge.

"I'm dead serious," I replied calmly.  "And I don't see why you can't.  You
amputated Carol DeCapelo's leg."

"She had cancer," he snapped.

"No, she didn't," I answered.  "Read your own records."  I pulled a copy of
the file from my bag and tossed them on his desk.

"I don't know what you're up to, young lady," he said as he started looking
through the papers in front of him, "but whatever it is..."  He knew
exactly where to look for the damning evidence, and had already found it.
He sat there in stony silence for several seconds.

"Well, I'll be damned," he breathed.  Then, as the pieces started to fall
together for him, he got up angrily and marched to the window.  "Goddamn
that Hendrikson!" he said.

"In case you're interested," I said to him, "I can show you the pathology
reports on a girl who really does have cancer.  you'll probably want to do
something about that."

I put the reports on Jennifer Carter on his desk.  He looked at them
briefly.  Then he spent a full two minutes in silence, no doubt looking for
alternative explanations for the obvious facts.

Finally he sighed and said, "Miss Milliken, I want to thank you for
bringing this to my attention.  I can assure you that everything will be
done to correct this situation."

That really burned me.  "Correct it?  What are you going to do, sew her leg
back on?"

"Of course not," he replied.  "I just meant that means could be installed
to assure such a thing never happens again."

"The means are already there, if you'd just read the charts on the person
you operate on," I snapped.  "You've already made a mistake that could ruin
you, and Dr. Hendrikson, and maybe another person or two.  There are six
copies of these records, already stamped and ready to mail.  If anything
happens to me, the whole world will know about your little goof.  Now,
let's talk business."

He was caught, and he knew it.  "How much do you want?" he asked.

"I already told you what I want," I reminded him.  "Right here."  I
gestured again with my hand.

He looked at me without believing.  "You have to be kidding.  Nobody in his
right mind wants a perfectly good leg amputated."  He hesitated, then added
"it's impossible anyway.  You have to have a concurring physician and a
mountain of records to justify it."

"Doctor, I don't pretend to be sane.  I've wanted to be an amputee since I
was a child.  I have no intention of trying to justify it to you or
anybody.  What I do know is that you have one week to come up with a plan,
and a disease that will satisfy the hospital when you schedule the
amputation.  As far as a concurring physician is concerned, why don't you
ask Dr. Hendrikson?  He should be more than happy.  And remember, Dr.
Gillman, if anything happens to me today, next week, on the operating
table, or for a long time after, the evidence will get mailed to everybody
from the attorney general to the local newspaper, and that includes the
DeCapelos.  I'll expect to hear from you within a week."

With that, I got up and marched out.  All I heard him say was "Well, I'll
be damned."
Chapter V


I realized I wouldn't hear back from Gillman for a while, so I did my best
not to think about it, and went right back to my normal routines, trying to
be as normal as possible.  Danny, however, knew something wasn't right.

"What happened?" he asked.  "Did the doctor tell you something was wrong?"

"No," I assured him, "but he did take some X-rays.  He said he'd call me in
a week."

That seemed to satisfy Danny, but he asked every day if the doctor had
called.  I dug into school and worked as hard as I could.  Then, Monday
night, the call came.

"Miss Milliken?"  Gillman started.

"Just call me Pepper," I interrupted.  "I feel the formal approach isn't
going to help from now on."

"Maybe you're right," he said.  "At any rate, I want to report that there
may be a way you can have your wish.  It will just take a little time to
work out."

"How much time?" I asked.

"Maybe two or three more weeks," he answered.

"That doesn't sound too unreasonable," I said.  "What'll it be?"

"Cancer," he replied.  "I know a way to create a lesion on your knee that
will appear on an X-ray so that a biopsy will be justified.  We have to
wait until I can personally do a biopsy on somebody else that we're already
pretty sure about.  I'll schedule you for a biopsy the same day.  That way,
I can take part of the other person's sample and put your name on it.  We
still have to work out a way to get around the post-op report, but I think
we can do it."

He was working with somebody else, probably Hendrikson.  "Then two or three
weeks is just a guess," I offered.

"That's right," he said.  "But you shouldn't have to wait any longer.  It
could, of course, be tomorrow or the next day.  Are you prepared?"

"Yes, but don't forget to treat me like you would any other patient.  I at
least want to know what to expect, how I'm going to feel and what's going
to happen and when.  Is there anything else?"

"Yes, come to my office tomorrow afternoon at six.  I have to fix you up
for the pictures."

"I'll be there," I assured him, and we hung up.

Wow!  They were really going to do it.  I can't describe how I felt.  I was
a winner in a very chancy game.  Yet, if everything progressed as it seemed
to be progressing, I would have only one leg within a few weeks, or maybe
days.  I was frightened of the idea, but it was the sort of fear that I
knew by now I relished.  I was petrified, but I knew I wouldn't turn back.
I had lots of plans and arrangements to make.  But wait, I had to be
careful not to let anybody know that I knew what was going to happen.

I called Danny to tell him that I had to go back to the doctor the next
afternoon, just for some more X-rays.  The first ones didn't turn out quite
right.  That planted just the right amount of concern in him.  He asked me
all kinds of questions about exactly what the doctor had said, as if I were
unqualified to understand.  I explained that the pictures themselves were
bad, and the doctor had no opinion at all until he could get some good
ones.  That was why I had to go back.  He accepted this, and we agreed to
study together the next evening.

Dr. Gillman tried everything he could think of to talk me out of my scheme.
When he said I was obviously a very disturbed girl, I readily agreed that
I was totally insane, but only about one thing.  I wanted to live the rest
of my life as an amputee with one leg.  Then he tried to tell me how
horrible and limiting it was to have only one leg.  That approach didn't
impress me.  Then he went into moral arguments, like two wrongs don't make
a right, and that I was more a criminal than he, since my participation was
active and his was passive--that is, blackmail is worse than negligence.
I told him I didn't see any such distinction.  As far as I was concerned,
he was my only chance to fulfill a lifelong dream, and the results would
affect me alone, not him or anybody else.  It was just too bad that I had
to use the means I was using, but there were no others.

Finally, he seemed convinced that I wasn't going to waver.  But he tried
one final time to extricate himself.  He wanted insurance that as soon as
my recovery was complete I'd turn over all copies of the evidence.  I was
astounded at how little he really understood.  Of course I could promise
him all the copies, but if he thought he had them all, wouldn't he be just
a little more tempted to eliminate me, just to avoid any charges I might
make in the future?  I reminded him that regardless of the number of copies
I gave him, he could never know how many more I might have.  And further
reminded him that the evidence was thoroughly secure, and any threat on my
life would result in exposure.  I then pointed out that somebody else must
know of the mistake, since the name tag on the amputated leg and the
request for a post-operative pathology report had been changed.  I figured
this might give him something else to worry about.  It did.

An hour had passed and he finally decided he had to get down to details.
He said he would inject a small amount of substance into my knee which
would show on X-rays.  He would take the X-rays himself that evening.  He
would hold them and wait until another biopsy was being performed for the
same reason.  He would then call me to come in.  I had to be able to get to
the hospital within an hour of the time he called me.  He would manipulate
the samples so I came out positive.  In case the original judgement on the
real cancer victim was wrong, we would just have to wait for another
opportunity.  At any rate, when the pathology report came back positive I
had to be in the hospital that evening, scheduled for surgery the next
morning.  My parents' consent would be obtained by wire.

He then became a mixture of professional and fatherly advisor.  He warned
of the almost universal depression that occurred after the loss of a limb
or other equally important body part.  He reminded me that most likely I
would be pretty sick for at least a day and have a considerable amount of
pain for several days.  He then went into all the aspects of rehabilitation
and learning to wear a limb.  Actually, he was telling me nothing I didn't
already know, but I let him go on.  We finally got back to the limb thing,
and I told him flatly that I had no intention of wearing a limb if I could
possibly avoid it.  What I wanted, I said, was a short stump, enough to aid
in holding up my bikini bottom, but not enough to control a limb
effectively.  He just sat, shaking his head.  He still couldn't believe it.
I assured him that I fully intended to become an effective rehabilitation
expert, and if he would like to make a bet on my chances for success I
could give him good odds.  He laughed at that, and we got down to the
business of the X-rays.

It was eight o' clock when I left.  I stopped at a phone booth and called
Danny.  He was worried as hell.  I told him there was nothing to worry
about, and I'd be home in twenty minutes.  I rode a bus, and the chance to
do nothing for a few minutes was more than welcome.  The enormity of what
I was doing...what possessed me?  They were the same questions I'd asked
myself a million times.  Now that I was so close, they came back more
strongly than ever.     What I was doing had probably never been done
before, I thought.  Not by anybody at any time.  I was unique among all
people.  Why couldn't I have just been normal, like everybody else?  But
was there even one chance that I'd give up this opportunity to be somebody
so different, or to do something so different?  I wished there were, so I
could demonstrate to myself that the thing which obsessed me did not really
rule me.  But why should I deny what I really wanted?  The absurdity of
this conflict had never before been as clear.

I realized it really made very little difference whether I was crazy or
not.  All people want from you is that you appear sane.  So long as I
maintained the appearance, I had nothing to worry about.  I didn't even
have to work at it.  It was so lonely, though.  There was nobody, there was
not one person with whom the secret could be shared.  To tell Danny would
ruin everything.  My parents would just shuffle me off to a shrink, and
wonder why or where they'd gone wrong.  They'd have enough anguish in the
next few weeks without worrying about that.

Dr. Gillman knew, of course, but he hardly counted.  He understood nothing.
He hardly understood his own predicament.  So, alone is alone, and there I
was.  I was convinced I could stand all the results of what I did.  If I
could stand it alone, I would truly have accomplished my goal.

The bus stop was only half a block from home.  I ran all the way to the
apartment, right into Danny's arms.  For the first time I used him in my
scheme.  I wanted to cling to him just to escape the loneliness.  I told
him the doctor had assure me that nothing was wrong, but the waiting to
know for certain had finally gotten to me.  Would he forgive me?  Of course
he would.  He did more than forgive me.  We did no studying that night.
Chapter VI


The next few days were sheer agony for me.  Every time the phone rang I
nearly jumped out of my pants.  I was touchy, and would cry if anything at
all went wrong.  Danny put up with it, believing I was just upset because
of the lack of information from Dr. Gillman.

But on Thursday morning, just as I was leaving for school, the phone rang,
and I knew this was it.  Dr. Gillman said quickly that I had to be checked
into the hospital by nine o' clock.  I was scheduled for a biopsy at
eleven.  I told him I'd be there.  I put down my books and put a nightgown
and robe, toothbrush and toothpaste into a bag and left.  I suddenly
realized that had no idea what to take with me.  I just assumed that I
would leave the hospital sometime in the afternoon to pick up anything else
I needed.

Everything went as I had expected until about three in the afternoon.  Just
before then, they'd come into the room and wheeled out the girl in the
other bed for some kind of treatment.  I expected the nurse to come in at
any moment to tell me to get dressed and go home.  Instead, Dr. Gillman
appeared.

"Look," he started, "I want you to stay in the hospital tonight.  I'm sure
your twin will turn out to be positive.  It would be very unlikely that I
would let you go, having seen the specimen.  As far as I'm concerned,
you're scheduled for surgery at seven A.M.  I'll have the biopsy report by
nine tonight.  The hospital will start procedures for getting your parents'
permission now, so call whoever you have to and get ready for a stay.  In
case you contact your parents before I do, give them this number and have
them call me."  He wrote a phone number on a prescription pad.

"Now listen, and listed carefully.  I've traced this mess from top to
bottom, and I know exactly what happened.  The post-operative pathology
report will be positive for you.  That makes three people who know about
your little stunt.  You must realize that your chances of pulling this off
are the same as ours.  You have to keep a cool head these next few days."

"I plan to, Doctor," I answered.  "I've been planning for years."

"Fine," he said.  "I'll see you later this evening, after nine.  Please cry
a little or something when I tell you.  Act a little sad at least when you
get the word."

"Don't worry," I assured him.  "I'm as good at crying as I am at
blackmail."  He left without another comment.

It took only a few moments for me to push the panic button.  It was going
to happen...it was really going to happen!  I was scared stiff.  I called
Danny, but got his roommate, so I told him to have Danny call me.  I was in
the hospital.  I called home, but nobody was there.  So I called my
father's office.  He wasn't there either, but I left a message for him to
call me immediately.  Suddenly, I wasn't the cool and collected blackmailer
I'd been the past few weeks.  I started to cry.  My knee actually hurt now.
The local anesthetic was wearing off, and it felt like a truck had hit my
leg.  A nurse heard me crying, and came in to ask if she could get me
something.  I told her no.  She must been aware of the reason for my being
there, because she told me there was no reason to worry yet.  Statistics
were on my side more than a hundred to one, she said.  If she'd only known
the truth.

Finally, my dad called.  He already knew.  The hospital had reached him.
He and Mother would be there that evening, he said.  Right after that,
Danny called.  I told him I had just had a biopsy, and that I had to stay
in the hospital overnight, because if the report came back positive my leg
would be amputated in the morning.  I started crying again and asked him to
go by the apartment and pick up a few things I'd forgotten.  He said he'd
be there shortly.

So they came.  They all came.  They gave me speeches of encouragement, and
tried to convince me it was not the worst that could happen.  Mother cried,
and even Danny had tears in his eyes when he kissed me goodnight.  Somehow
I didn't have to act at all during these hours.  I was really afraid.  I
simply had to guard against any hint that I actually knew for sure what was
going to happen.

Right after Dr. Gillman came in with the final word at about nine-thirty,
they gave me a shot, and I quit trying to exercise any control over my
fate.  I just let it go, and let everybody else make the decisions.

I remember almost nothing until the next afternoon, when I awoke with
cramps in my hip.  I was sure my leg was gone, but somehow I couldn't
actually tell.  I had pain, but it felt like it was still there.  I know I
thought all kinds of silly things, none of which I can remember clearly
now.  I was really out of it for more than a day.  But on the second
evening I started coming around, and on the third day I was up in a walker.
My parents and Danny were there continually, and I hardly had a moment
alone.  The stitches were out in eight days, and I went home on the tenth.
Chapter VII


Dr. Gillman really did a job on me.  He amputated my leg immediately below
the hip, but he cut it on an angle, leaving the flesh of my inner thigh
longer by a couple of inches than the outside, and he sewed it up right
across the end.  Wearing a limb with this type of amputation is not
impossible, but almost.  The next step up is a total hip disarticulation,
but this completely destroys the hip shape, and I'd made it clear to Dr.
Gillman that I wanted a stump.  It is not impossible to wear a limb with a
disarticulation, but my experience told me that most patients buy one, go
through the training, and then forget it.  As it was, I had about five or
six inches of thighbone left.  Measured in front from the groin to the end
as I eyeball it, it's only four and a half inches long.  In back, it barely
shows below my buttock.  I wasn't displeased with Gillman's handiwork, but
I had expected a little neater appearing stump.  When I asked the reason
for the longer chunk of flesh on the inside, he said it makes lovemaking a
little more comfortable.  I'm sure it does--for the male lovemaker.  You
see how men are?  They think about their comfort, not the woman's.  I don't
want to imply that it wasn't also good for me, but apparently the male's
comfort while he was making love to me was far more important than my
having a funny looking stump.

My dad went home before I got out of the hospital.  He had to run his
business, but my mother stayed for a week.  She spent every day with me,
trying to do things for me that didn't need to be done at all.  Every day,
she begged me to come home and stay until the end of the summer, and every
day I refused saying I had to get back to work and school.  It was the best
therapy, I said.  She knew all that, of course, but she was taking care of
her baby daughter.  I knew this, so I didn't interfere.

Danny was there every minute he could spare, and everybody else I knew in
Boulder stopped in at least once.  I had also made the newspapers.  One
headline read, "Ski Instructor For Amputees Loses Leg, Vows To Continue".
Now, I did not talk to anybody from a news media, and the story made me
angry.  But Danny explained that I was in fact news, and they could print
anything that was true.  And if their little ploy at sensationalism
offended me, I was the one who had to prove I had been damaged by it.  I
just had to grin and bear it.

Mother went home, my twentieth birthday passed with a party conceived by
Danny and paid for by my father, and I finally got down to the business of
being a one legged woman.  On the larger scale, the social level, I was far
better prepared than even I had expected.  I had thought and planned on
that level for some time.  It was easy to handle peoples' sympathies, and
their attempts to tell me that everything was the same as before, as far as
they were concerned, even when it wasn't so.  I helped them feel at ease by
making jokes.  I said, "I wanted to lose weight anyway."  This was always
good for a laugh.  I remembered Babs' remarks, and used them all.

No, what threw me were the little things.  The bother of grabbing the
crutches before going to the next room, or changing the T.V., or getting
something from the refrigerator.  All the things I did without thinking
before.  I resented sitting on the edge of the tub to swing my leg into the
shower.  It seemed such a needless bother.  It was so easy a month earlier.

Sleeping was so uncomfortable at first that I had to take pills to get any
rest at all.  I'd always slept on one side or the other, never on my
stomach, and only occasionally on my back.  At first, there was no way I
could sleep on my left side, since my stump was still sensitive and a
little painful.  On my right it was almost equally disturbing.  The
familiar feel of my legs and feet touching each other was gone, and gone
forever.  I got used to sleeping on my stomach, as it was more comfortable
than other positions.  Finally, my missing left leg played a smaller and
smaller role, and I adopted sleeping on my left side, with my leg pulled up
so that my right thigh rested firmly on my stump.  This was my favorite
position for relaxing and going to sleep.

What got me about this whole thing was this:  I'd been helping and teaching
others how to do things for five years, people often more handicapped than
I was myself now, without realizing that it's the little things that cause
the trouble.  I was learning that people simply need some help and
encouragement handling the bothersome things of day to day living.  From
there, they'll build their self confidence and take their place, whatever
that may be.

Now as I think back, I remember that I had expected a sensuous experience
in learning to cope with life as a one legger.  But that wasn't the case.
I was constantly preoccupied with "how do I get there from here?"  As I
mentioned before, the crutches bugged me.  They were necessary, of course,
but such a bother around the apartment.  As soon as the soreness was gone
from my stump I started hopping the short distances around my apartment,
and before I knew it, I was using this form of ambulation almost
exclusively.  The crutches were necessary only for carrying something that
might spill.  Then I discovered that in many cases, one crutch was more
handy than two.  I always had at least one hand free.  These not so little
facts of life made me see why a limb was so desirable, and I wondered if my
secret vow never to wear one had been a mistake.  I had, of course,
promised everyone that I would try one as soon as I could get back to
school and work.  Everybody knew it would be difficult, since my stump was
so short.  But they were all convinced I would be happier with a limb.

I had promised everyone I'd be back to classes and work within a month.
Even Dr. Gillman thought this was a little soon.  I had to go see Gillman
at least once a week, so he could monitor the healing of my stump.  Now
that my leg was actually off, he was less antagonistic, and gave the
appearance of genuine concern for my well-being, and I appreciated his
advice to take it easy, even if I didn't follow it.
Chapter VIII


On the Friday before I planned to start back to school, Danny came over
after his last class at four o' clock.  He'd been horny for the last two
weeks, and I was too, but sex was something I sort of postponed, blaming my
still-tender stump.  I suppose I feared that my new shape would turn him
off, but then, I'd already decided that whatever happened in that regard
would just have to happen.  I actually doubted that I would repel him,
though.  He'd been attracted enough to that little one armed, one legged
skier.  Anyway, he came in all smiles, and with horns a mile long.

"Guess what?" he announced.  "I'm taking you to dinner, and then to
Pedro's, where we can get totally smashed and then we're coming back here,
and I'm going to proceed to ravish you like you've never been ravished
before.  What do you think of that?"

"I think I'd love it," I laughed.  "But where did you come across the big
bucks all of a sudden?"

"Don't worry about the bucks, lady, just concentrate on making yourself the
most beautiful chick in town.  I don't want people saying that Danny
Christopher dates dogs.  And since you have a good head start on most of
the chicks around here, it should be easy for you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," I said.  "Do the big bucks include cab
fare, or do we take the bus?"

"We take the bus there, but I plan to be too drunk to ride a bus home.  So
we ride home in style.  You will be personally chauffeured by Mr. Yellow
Checker."

"Why don't I throw in my three bucks and we can get chauffeured both ways?"

"You know that hurts my pride," he said, "but if you insist, it's a deal."

"And what does a one legged lady do to make herself the most beautiful
chick in town?" I asked.  This was one question I'd asked myself.  So far,
I'd cut the leg off two pairs of jeans which I wore around the house, but
somehow I couldn't bring myself to permanently alter my good pants.  There
was nothing to do to my skirts and dresses, of course; they were short like
everybody else's.  If anything, they needed to be lengthened slightly just
to cover my odd-looking stump when I sat down.

"Let's see," Danny started, "you're already a damn good looking chick, so
there isn't much you can do there.  What you need are some spiffy looking
crutches.  Those wooden jobs don't go with anything except the wall.  How
about some paint?  You name the color, and I'll walk down to the hardware
store and get a can.  It'll dry in an hour."

"That's great, Danny!" I exclaimed.  "Let's start with white.  That
will go with everything until I can get another pair or two.  What do you
want me to wear?"

"Wear that little red party dress, and your white coat."

I jumped up from the couch and planted a big kiss on him.  His horns grew
two feet in five seconds.

"Do we have to wait?" he asked.

"Yes," I told him, "you have to paint the crutches, and I have to take a
shower and wash and dry my hair.  What time is dinner?"     "Eight," he
said, and locked his arms around me.

"Go to the hardware store," I ordered, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Danny went to the store, and I hopped to the bathroom and turned on the
shower.  I always went barefoot in the house.  Shoes were no good for
hopping unless they laced on tightly, and a pair of tennies were all I had
that did that.  I hopped to the bedroom and got out the things that I was
going to wear.  The pair of stretch pantyhose still had two legs, so I
snipped the left leg off at an angle I thought would fit my stump, and
sewed it up.

Danny came back just as I was getting into the shower.  He went to work
painting the crutches.  Another thing that bugged me.  Sit on the edge of
the tub, pull the shower curtain back, and swing my leg into the tub.  I
had to be careful.  The bottom of the tub was slick.  I made another mental
note to get rubber mat for the tub.  The warm water felt so good that time,
and I stayed in the shower until my hands and foot were wrinkled.

I'd developed little habits that I'd noticed in Babs and in other amputees.
In the shower, I held my stump up as if it were helping me balance or
something.  I knew it made no difference, but I felt more balanced anyway.
I rinsed my hair until it was squeaky and turned off the shower.

Oops, no clean towel.  "Danny!" I called.  "Bring me a big towel from the
linen closet, please."

I heard him coming, and then realized this was going to be a first for him.
He had of course seen me naked many times before, but he hadn't seen me
since the surgery.  I suddenly wanted to run, but then I thought, why?  Now
was as good a time as any.

He marched right in just as I expected.  He handed me the towel without
even a good glance, until I wrapped it around my hips.  He turned toward
the door, but turned back with his little-boy smile and came over and
lifted me right out of the tub so easily I might as well have been a child.
I still clung to the towel around my hips, but my breasts were bare, and he
tweaked my left nipple.

"Don't worry, Pepper," he said, "you're as beautiful as ever, and you have
lovely rosy cheeks right now and the most gorgeous blue eyes I've ever
seen, and in the titty department, you're perfect.  Not just gorgeous, or
lovely, but perfect.

"And in the leg department?"  I let the towel fall away, and held it in my
right hand.

He looked down only briefly, and then said, with a simulated Western drawl,
"I reckon that's about the cutest lil' ol' leg stump I ever seen."

I was still dripping wet, but he wrapped his arms around me and gave me a
big hug.  Then he said, in his most serious tone, "Don't hide from me,
Pepper.  I loved you before, and I love you now.  You're very precious to
me.  If you hide from me, then I won't be able to find you so I can love
you."

That was a moment I'll never forget.  I started sobbing and dug my wet head
into his shoulder.  I cried something about being afraid he wouldn't like
me.  He just held me tight, and rubbed my shoulders until I put it back
together.  Then he held me back at arm's length and looked me over, top to
bottom.

"Why did he cut it off at such an angle?" he asked.

"To make it more comfortable for you when you're in the saddle, cowboy.
Now get out and let me dry off."

"Smartass," he remarked, and went back to the kitchen.

It was after six when I went to the bedroom to dress.  Danny went to his
room to change--he lived only three blocks away.  As I went through the
motions of dressing and applying a little make-up, I began to feel that
there was something strange about this whole business of going out to
dinner.  Danny never had extra money, and he knew I would be just as happy
to make dinner at the apartment.  I started worrying that maybe he was
spending his rent money or something.  I decided that one way or another,
I would find out.

The pantyhose didn't fit right.  I should have cut them off higher.  But I
decided they would do for the evening, and put them on.  The red dress was
long enough to cover them, anyway.  Clumpy shoes were in, so I put one on
and stood up.  It would be alright with two crutches.  One thing was for
sure, I couldn't hop with the shoe.  So I sat down and took it off, and
carried it to the living room with me.

I rarely wore a bra while at home, but always did at work, and since I
usually went there directly from school, I wore one to school also.  This
hopping bit made my breasts bounce, of course, and the sensation was a new
one.  If I paid attention to what I felt when my nipples streaked up and
down the fabric of my shirt, they would harden and stick straight out,
definitely sexual.  But I learned to ignore this, unless I was feeling
horny.  My breasts were wide and solid, and the fatty tissue seemed to be
mostly to the outside.  They were bigger than most, but really didn't stick
out so much.  I felt the tug when I hopped, and wondered if this were
distracting to others.

Danny came in at seven, with suit, white shirt, tie, and polished shoes.
I'd seen him in a suit before, but never with his shoes shined.

"Alright, big spender," I said, "put my crutches back together, and let's
get started.  Make them three notches longer.  I'm wearing a heel tonight."
I sat down on the couch to wait for him to get the crutches back together.

They were a flat white now, and would look great with the blue pads I had
made to fit over the arm and hand rests.  As I sat there waiting, I
realized another habit that I'd developed.  I could no longer rest my elbow
on my left thigh.  This had disturbed me quite a bit.  It was one of those
minor irritations like the shower.  Probably I had started the left elbow
on left thigh business while reading.  Since I'm right handed, I turn pages
with my right hand, and I remember clearly sitting in a chair with my legs
folded under me, my left elbow on my thigh, and my cheek on my fist as I
leafed through the book which rested in my lap.  I now folded my leg in
front of me, and pulled my ankle against the end of my stump.  It seemed to
fit there quite naturally, and this arrangement made a respectable lap for
holding a book.  But there was no place to rest my elbow.

Danny was ready.  He helped me with my coat and crutches.  He had the most
pleased smile on his face I'd ever seen.  Something was up.  I knew it.

Going down the stairs was something of a problem in my heel.  I had to put
both crutches under my right arm and hold the rail with my left hand while
I sort of hopped down the stairs.  I had Danny go in front, just in case.
At the foot of the stairs I looked up and there, in the driveway, a huge
blue ribbon from side to side and front to back, was a little red
Volkswagen.

"Danny!" I cried.  "Is it mine?"

"It's yours," he answered.

"But who?" I asked.

"Your father," he said.  "I just picked it up and tied the ribbon on."

"Oh, I can't believe it!  It has ski racks and everything."

"Yep, and an automatic shift."

"Oh, I have to call Daddy right now," I said.

"They aren't home, I already talked to them.  They'll be in about eleven.
You can call them then.  Don't you want to drive it?"

"Of course!"  I drove it around the block once just to get the feel of the
brakes, then we went to the restaurant.

The whole evening was a dream.  I got plenty of attention from the
management at both the restaurant and Pedro's, where we went afterwards.
They went out of their way to see that I was comfortable, as if my missing
a leg would somehow cause discomfort.  I wasn't old enough to drink but
they brought what I ordered without question.

Danny was perfect.  He anticipated every situation where I might have
difficulty.  He went before me when we had to move between the closely
placed tables, to sort of clear a path.  In spite of that, at Pedro's where
it was dark and I couldn't see the floor, I put my crutch tip on a man's
foot.  I apologized profusely, but he assured me there was no need.  No
damage done.

Danny did not get drunk as he promised, so I insisted that he drive the car
home.  We stopped for a bottle of wine.  My apprehension about the coming
lovemaking had eased slightly.  I knew, however, that my happiness and the
success of my life as an amputee rested on the outcome of this evening.
I'd already had doubts about what I had done.  The vision of instant
excitement and happiness that I had held a month ago was gone.  But tonight
had been a dream so far.  If it could just continue that way, I might feel
a little more confident about the future.

We locked the car up and left it in the drive.  Going up the stairs was a
snap.  I had Danny carry one of my crutches, and made it up with one
crutch, and my right hand on the rail.  Inside, I removed my coat and shoe
and hopped straight to the telephone to call my father.  I talked to him
and Mother for fifteen minutes.  They'd saved me from the struggle of books
and crutches on the busses.  I still couldn't believe it.  I assured them
that Danny had kept the secret completely, and I'd never before been so
thoroughly surprised.

When I hung up, Danny had a glass of wine for me, and we sat on the couch.
He put his arm around me, and I drew my leg up on the couch and snuggled a
little closer.

"Did you like the dinner?" he asked absently.

"Of course I did," I told him.  "It was delicious.  I told you that.  I'm
still worried about you, though.  Come clean, Danny.  Where'd you get the
bread?  You're not spending your rent money or something, are you?"

He laughed.  "No, Princess.  I wrote my dad and told him about you.  I told
him everything, that you had cancer and lost your leg, everything.  I told
him I loved you.

"Before, you were just a pleasant, pretty chick.  Nice to be with, and
bright and loveable and all that, but still very much like a lot of other
girls.  Now, you're not really different, I guess, but qualities I didn't
know you had are so obvious now.  You could have let this thing absolutely
destroy you, but you didn't.  You got right to work learning to use the
crutches, taking care of the apartment, and planning to go back to school.
Now you're worrying that I spent my rent money on you.  Well, the truth is,
Dad sent me fifty bucks and said that I had to spend it all on you.  He
said that regardless of what the future holds for us, he was certain that
I'd be a better person for having known you."

I suddenly felt very guilty.  I hadn't planned to deceive Danny so
completely.  I pulled his head down and kissed him, hard.  He responded,
and a marathon I hadn't quite expected was on.  Within a minute my dress
was undone in back and down over my arms, leaving me bare to the waist.  He
fondled my breasts gently, and ran his tongue over my nipples.  They were
erect in a flash, and I could feel my breasts swelling.  I cradled his head
in my arms and flicked my tongue in and out of his ear.

"Pepper, I'm going to do my best to drive you right out of your mind," he
said.

He wanted my dress off, so I pulled it over my head while he ripped off his
shirt and pants.  He pushed me over on the couch, and I lifted my hips
while he pulled off my pantyhose.  He buried his head in my breasts and
worked down slowly, caressing me with his tongue and kissing every little
indentation he could find, while working my breasts with his hands.  I
rubbed his back and shoulders.  I was already on the verge of an orgasm
when he reached the inside of my thigh.  Then he smothered my stump with
kisses and caressed it with his tongue, and finally took the blunt flesh on
the inside of the stump in his mouth and gave it a very gentle bite.  The
next thing I knew, his tongue entered me, and I squealed with delight as I
experienced the most delicious orgasm I could remember.

I was still panting when he gathered me up and carried me to the bedroom.
He dropped his shorts before getting in beside me, and I could feel him
hard against me as we kissed before he rolled over on top.  I spread my
thighs wide and guided him in.  I gripped gently with my stump, just to
test, but found it useless.  It was too short, and the flesh folded over
under his hip.  So I spread it out wide and dug in with my heel, trying to
complement his slow and powerful stroke.  It seemed to help at first, but
as he increased the frequency, it was obvious that my efforts threw him
off.  So I just wrapped my leg around him and held tight.  He reached his
climax first and kept up for my benefit, and I came again soon after.

We lay quietly for several minutes while he slowly went soft inside me.
Finally, when that emptiness was complete I said, "not so good, huh?  I
guess I'm pretty lopsided."

He slid over to my left side, pinning my stump to the bed.  "Don't worry,
Princess Pepper," he said.  "We'll get this act together.  And don't say it
wasn't so good.  We started excellent, and get better from there."

"You're too sweet," I said.  I suddenly became acutely aware of a common
criticism of American women in lovemaking, that they lay there passively,
like a log.  I didn't want to be like that.  I truly enjoy sex.  Maybe
there was another way.

"Let me try it on top the next time," I said.  "Somehow I think I could
balance better there."

"Whatever you want," he said.  "If you can make me more happy than I am
already, you'll really be doing something."

I had him roll over on my right side, and I moved on top of him, covering
his genitals with my stump.  I slowly massaged him with it, and he became
erect in no time at all.  Wow!  It was good for something, I thought.  Then
came the problem.  I couldn't figure out how to get him into me.  I
couldn't put my knee between his legs, that obviously wouldn't work.  With
my knee on the outside, the only possibility was to support my left side
with my hand, but I doubted that I could get up high enough to slide onto
him.     Danny somehow knew what the problem was, and quickly rolled me
over and entered me, and then rolled me back on top.  I drew my knee up
close to his side under his arm and placed my left hand on his thigh for
balance as I worked up and down on him in the most steady rhythm I could
maintain.  It wasn't too bad, I guess, since I worked him to an orgasm, but
he knew I hadn't made it.  So he rolled me over without ceremony and
brought me to a climax before he went too soft.

He got out of bed briefly to get a towel.  I dried both of us, and before
I was finished he was asleep.  I found a comfortable position half-lying on
his left with my stump in his crotch.
Chapter IX


The clock said 6:09 when I awoke.  Danny hadn't moved, but he was hard as
a rock.  I thought back to the night before.  I couldn't tell if Danny had
declared his enjoyment because it was real, or because of my performance
difficulties.  But regardless of how it had been for him, it could have
been a lot better for me.  Before, we'd always made love in a
straightforward manner, seeking to satisfy ourselves individually, and it
worked well for both of us.  Now it was different.  I wanted to make him
happy with my action, and I guess he now felt an obligation to do the same.
It was strained.

I shook him awake.  "Hey," I whispered, "you've got a hardon that won't
quit.  Don't waste it.  Just screw me like you used to.  Don't worry about
me."

He did, without saying a word, and I didn't try to help unless I knew it
was going to work just right.  We climaxed together this time, and I
thought that was a perfect way to start the day.

He didn't move for several minutes.  Finally Danny said, "You were trying
too hard last night, and maybe I was too.  I just wanted to be sure you
enjoyed it, that you didn't get discouraged."

"You're probably right," I agreed.  "I did try.  I didn't want to just lie
there like a log.  But believe me, it's not like before.  I can't make my
hips work right."

"Was it all that bad?" he asked.

"Oh, no, it was great.  I have no intention of giving it up.  I was just
looking for supergreat, I guess."

"Supergreat comes a little later.  Maybe we have to have a little time to
learn.  We did beautifully this morning, didn't we?"

"Oh, we sure did," I said, planting a kiss under his ear.  "We may learn
how to do it yet."

He jumped up and went to the bathroom, so I pulled out a pair of cutoff
jeans and hopped to the kitchen.  I started making coffee, and he came in
and put his arms around me from behind, cupping my breasts in his hands and
kissing me on the neck.

"Guess what?" he said, "I only spent twenty four dollars last night.  For
twenty five we can go to Razorback Mountain and stay all night and ski all
day tomorrow."

"You've forgotten something," I said.  "This jock has only one leg, and she
hasn't learned to ski yet."

"Bullshit," he retorted.  "I read about you in the paper.  You teach
amputees how to ski.  Now you mean to tell me you can't teach yourself?
And if you can't, I'll teach you."

"Only if you promise to pay as much attention to me as you did Karen
Petersen," I said.

"I didn't pay that much attention," he countered.  "She was scared, I felt
sorry for her."

I decided not to pursue the issue.  The thought of trying to ski scared me,
but I wanted to try and I knew I would.  Doing these things in spite of a
missing leg was one of the things I'd imagined would be so exciting.  Just
to defy the odds would be thrill enough, I thought, but to also turn in a
good performance, that would be super.  So here was the perfect
opportunity, but I wasn't properly psyched up.

He kissed me again on the neck and gave my breasts a gentle squeeze.

"I guess maybe I can handle it," I said.  "But none of the other group will
be there.  I'll need a pair of outriggers."

"I suppose there wouldn't be any problem borrowing some," he answered.
"Unless the champ figured she could handle it with a regular pair of
poles."

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed.  "We'll borrow a pair of outriggers, and only if I
feel real solid will I try it with poles.  I don't give a damn if I do
disappoint the news media."

"Then call the amputee ski club, and ask who has a pair your size.  In the
meantime I have to go to work.  Why don't you put something on that lovely
chest of yours, and drive me to the campus as soon as we have some coffee?"

"My car!" I squealed, "I have a car!  I almost forgot.  Of course I'll
drive you!"

We had our coffee and I drove Danny to his part-time job at the campus book
store.  Back at the apartment, I decided I had to get ready for the trip.
I made arrangements to borrow a pair of outriggers, and then hopped to the
bedroom and pulled out the clothes I needed.  I stared at the expensive ski
pants several minutes before I had the courage to take the scissors and
whack off a leg.  What was I thinking, anyway?  Did I think that one day my
leg would grow back?  I seemed to be unconsciously refusing to do the
things I knew I must.  Indeed, the things I'd planned less than two months
before.  It was damned well time I got ready to live my life as I was, I
resolved.

With the ski pants fixed I went to work on the rest of my pants wardrobe.
The job was done by noon.  If I ever decided to wear a limb, there'd be
only one useable pair of pants.

I put on a pair of prefaded jeans and my denim jacket and went to get the
outriggers.  On the way back I stopped at the grocery store.  This was my
first shopping experience since my amputation, and I wondered how it would
work, pushing the cart while handling my crutches.  I considered doing it
with only one crutch, but decided that maybe I wasn't all that good with
one crutch yet.  It all went off very smoothly, though.  I had no trouble
at all, and the grocery boy insisted on pushing my cart to the car.

Back at the apartment, however, I did have a problem.  I had only one sack,
but it was large and heavy.  I was sure I could make it by gripping both
crutches with my upper arms against my body and carrying the sack with both
hands, but that seemed a needless bother.  So I left one crutch in the car
and carried the sack in my right arm.  I had no problem at all.

We left Boulder at four o' clock.  Danny drove.  I wondered what people
thought when they saw three skis strapped to the top, along with four ski
poles and a pair of funny looking little skis attached to poles.  With only
two people in the car it must have seemed strange.

The drive would be just over an hour.  Razorback was not our usual
mountain, but it was less crowded there, and the accommodations would be
better than the economical hostel type that we usually had to take.

The snow was deep, and Razorback had a good base with new powder.  I
wondered how I would do.  In my mind I knew exactly what to expect.  I
would be learning to ski all over again.  My balance would be poor, and I
would have to find an out of the way place to practice turns.  It would be
boring at first, but I was still in good shape, and could expect to pick it
up rapidly, I thought.  I'd been swimming twice.  Swimming was easy.  With
a little adjustment in my stroke to compensate for my one-cylinder kick,
I'd be outstanding.

We checked in at the Razorback Inn just before five-thirty.  Danny signed
us in as Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Christopher.  That was a first for us.  The
desk man took an immediate interest in me.  He assured me that other
amputees had been there to ski, and that there was an excellent practice
slope just behind the inn.  He was trying to get the National Amputee
Skier's Association to have their winter championships there, but it seemed
everybody wanted to go to Veil.  I told him that I knew some of the
members.

The room was small but charming, with a look of being carved out of some
huge tree, with heavy exposed beams, massive wooden furniture, and a double
bed which took most of the space.  A picture window looked over the back
slope the deskman had mentioned.

We ate dinner early and sat in the lounge for a while, sipping on hot wine
heavy with cinnamon.  I attracted some attention, and for the first time
began to feel that the doubts were unfounded.  I'd worn a white ski sweater
with a red design, and a pair of red pants I'd altered earlier that day,
and with a white boot and white crutches, I was quite noticeable.  Danny
was so smug and unconcerned when people stopped at our table to ask if I
was going to ski, that I wanted to kick him to make sure he was awake.
They of course asked how I lost my leg, and for the first time I lied,
saying it was an automobile accident.  Somehow I felt that cancer would be
a turn-off.  A man and his wife asked us to have a drink with them.  They
were in their early thirties, I guess, and it turned out that the woman's
younger sister had just lost both her legs in an accident with a glider.
When the woman learned I was a rehab student, and that my own amputation
had been recent, she insisted that I take her sister's address and write to
her.  I agreed, of course, but really couldn't imagine what good it would
do.  Surely the girl had good counsellors and friends at home.

We told them goodnight just after nine, and went to the room.  Danny had
been so smug and content I decided to give him something to occupy his mind
while we prepared for bed.

"Danny," I started, "don't you think my stump looks funny?  I'm going to
ask Dr. Gillman if there's somebody who can do a little plastic surgery to
even it up and make it a little neater looking.  What do you think?"

"No!" he said sharply.  "You don't have to do that.  It isn't funny
looking.  It just looks like it was pinched off by a big pair of scissors."

"That's what I mean!" I said.  I was down to my briefs then, so I stood up
and lifted my stump, holding it straight out in front.  "It sort of slopes
down in front and back and down to the end, and the end is wider than my
thigh.  I don't like that."

"I like it the way it is," he said flatly.  "I have to admit it doesn't
look like I imagined it would, but that doesn't make it funny looking.
You're lucky.  One more inch and he would have been into your fanny, and
your fanny is at least as outrageously sexy as your breasts."

That was just like Danny, changing the subject.  He was expert at that
little game, and it had taken me a while to learn.  "Thanks for the
compliment," I said, "but that's not what we were talking about.  We were
talking about this stupid stump of my left leg that follows me around
everyplace I go.  If I gain one ounce of weight, just one ounce, I know
exactly where it will go.  It will go up to the sides of this stump and
make it look even wider, and a big ugly crease will develop right across
the end where the scar tissue is."

"You silly broad," he scolded.  "Why don't you wait until you gain all this
weight to see what it does before you go correcting things?"

He'd never called me a broad before, and the word stung.

"That's funny," he mused, "I hadn't thought about it.  How much do you
weigh now?"

"About a hundred and three," I told him.

"Your leg weighed twenty pounds?" he asked.

"I don't think so.  I probably lost a little weight in the hospital," I
said.

"We're going to the first circus we can find, and put all our money on the
weight guessing game," he said.  "If you can't fool them, nobody can."

I had to laugh, and I gave up getting him to worry about the aesthetics of
my stump.  He was in bed already, and when he held out his arms I hopped to
the bed and crawled in beside him.     Making love was so much easier that
night.  The tension of the night before was gone, and we worked slowly at
getting every ounce of sensual pleasure from the experience that we could
extract.  Later, he entered me and rolled me over on top.  This time he
grabbed my left buttock firmly with his right hand, and dug his elbow into
the mattress so that his forearm gave me something to push against with my
nub.  It worked beautifully.  I didn't have to go through the silly
contortions I'd tried the night before, and if I didn't get too wild he was
able to support me easily.  He was good at anticipating my changes in
rhythm, and gave me the little boost I needed at just the right time.  We
didn't talk, because we knew it had been good, and we went to sleep in the
big double bed, not clinging to each other like the night before, but just
touching.
Chapter X





The next morning was crisp and clear.  A few inches of snow had fallen

during the night, leaving the slopes with a powder surface.  We hurried

through breakfast and went out to the shop, where we'd checked our skis and

poles the night before.  Waiting there for us was a whole crew of news

people.  It pissed me off at first.  I knew the innkeeper had called them,

no doubt for the free advertising he'd get at my expense.  There was a T.V.

newsman with his cameraman and another helper, and a reporter from the

Boulder Sun.  The reporter was the same one who'd written the earlier story

about me, but I didn't find that out until later.  The usually

imperturbable Danny got upset with them as they crowded around while we

were putting our skis on.



"Why don't you guys cool it, and let the girl practice a little first?" he

said.  "Learning to ski with only one leg is not exactly a picnic, you

know."



I told him not to worry about it.  If they wanted pictures of me falling

flat on my face, I could probably accommodate them.  Pictures of me skiing

might be harder to get.



I had, of course, anticipated some of the problems I'd have.  I had all

kinds of experience helping amputees, and teaching them how to get around

the practical difficulties of having only one leg while skiing, but I

lacked personal experience.  All the knowledge of amputees in the world

means very little when you become one yourself.



The first problem was with the outriggers.  Since I couldn't walk myself to

the lift, I had to push myself along on my ski with the outriggers, and

they don't work worth a damn unless you hold them at precisely the right

angle to get the desired bite in the snow.  It took me a few minutes to get

going.



The ski lift was another problem.  It was the kind that you hold onto while

it pulls you up the slope.  No problem at all, until my ski started to go

off at an angle.  Two legged people simply put their weight on the other

leg while they straighten the wayward ski.  The only way I could do it was

with little hops that allowed me to take enough weight off the ski that I

could straighten it.  I had breakaway clamps, and more than once I almost

lost the entire ski.



This slope was the short one behind the inn.  At the top, Danny and I went

to the far side so as not to interfere with the other skiers.  As it turned

out, this move was totally unnecessary, since most of the skiers on that

slope were beginners, and I did as well or better than they did.



I knew I was strong enough, and I knew I could handle the straight shots,

so turns were the things I had to work on.  Balance and timing are the key

to good turns, so I started slowly and made a couple of wide sweeps before

the slope steeped slightly, and I picked up a little speed.  Danny followed

closely.  With just a little more speed the sweeps could be shortened to

turns, and I absolutely delighted myself with how well I did.  The

outriggers worked beautifully.  They gave just the extra stability that I

needed, and I made it all the way to the bottom without falling.



The newspeople were there waiting.  They'd been cheering me on all the way

down.  I was elated.  Danny and I went right back up, and this time I went

right down the middle of the run, using my turns to brake the speed.  Once,

I felt I was losing it, and had a horrible moment of fright when I pushed

with my left leg and nothing happened.  But the outrigger was there, and I

used it in time to save the turn.



The third run, I really turned it on.  It isn't quite possible to describe

the thrill it gave me to feel the speed through the one ski as the brisk

air rushed past me.  It was far more exciting than before, knowing that I

had to be even better to properly balance and shift my weight so one leg

could do all the work of getting me down the slope.  As I approached the

bottom I could see the cameraman grinding away, so I hammed it up just a

little, making a couple of sharp turns and intentionally going over a

little bump, so that I had a short jump to complete right before the end of

the run.



Everything went fine, until I tried a sideways slide to stop.  My ski went

straight out to the right, and I continued headfirst into the snow in the

direction I'd been going, coming to a sliding stop right at the feet of my

cheering section.  They had me on my feet--excuse me, my foot--in a moment,

and as soon as I assured them I was alright, they started asking questions.



"Do you recommend skiing for all amputees, Miss Milliken?" the T.V.

reporter asked.



"I certainly do," I laughed.  "I don't recommend that you go get a leg cut

off so you can do it, but I guarantee a thrill that no two legged skier has

ever had."



"How long ago did you lose you leg?" he went on.



"Just four weeks," I told him.



"Isn't this sort of a remarkable recovery?"



"Not really," I answered.  "I was a decent skier before, and since I wasn't

sick or hurt or anything, I decided now was the time to try."



"What was the cause of your amputation?"



"Cancer in my knee," I said, after a moment of hesitation.  "But I was

lucky.  It hasn't spread, and my chances are good that it won't reappear."



The questions went on, and not until Danny handed me the outriggers did I

realize I'd been standing there nonchalantly on one leg while they took

pictures and I talked.  He had my ski, so I started to hop to a bench where

I could sit down and put it on.



The newsboys wanted to help me, and I had to insist that I was a better

hopper than skier before they let me alone.  I heard the reporter from the

newspaper asking Danny about his relationship to me, and finally Danny told

them, "She has no modesty at all.  I could hardly keep up with her on that

last run.  I love her for it."



I put my ski on, and the newspeople apparently decided they had enough and

left.  We made two more runs down the short slope before going up the big

mountain, and there we made three long runs, side by side.  On the last

one, I talked Danny into getting my ski poles instead of outriggers.  I

wanted to make at least a try.  I fell twice on that run, and had an awful

time getting one of my poles back once, since it was stuck uphill from

where I stopped.



But despite the falls, I knew I would practice with the poles from then on,

and when we reached the bottom I was so exhilarated, so completely

satisfied with myself, and so high on the mountain air, I had tears of

sheer happiness.  Danny kissed them away, and held me tightly for a few

moments while I came back to Earth.  I wanted to do it once more, but knew

we had too little time.  There is no high like the one I experienced there,

and I knew I would be in the mountains every weekend until the season

ended.



In Boulder that night, the films were on the local news.  I was so

embarrassed I cried.  Coming down the slope, my stump jerked like the

bobbin on a sewing machine, and while I was standing in front of the

newsmen, it moved up and down at random.  I resolved right then to exercise

more control over my little appendage.

Chapter XI





The next day I went back to school and work.  School was a snap.  I

immediately became every teacher's pet.  I could have done no work at all

and still received decent grades.  But I did work, and I got straight As.

In my rehab classes I was suddenly an expert on the amputee.  The fact is

that the literature deals very little with the problems of the amputee, and

when the professor was on the subject, he always wanted verification from

me that what he was saying was true.



I enjoyed this status, and never missed a chance to participate in the

discussions.  Once, when the subject was the psycho-social aspect of

adjustment to a prosthesis, a professor asked me bluntly if I planned to

use one.  I said, "Yes.  It's obvious that a limb would be useful in many

situations, but unfortunately, there are more situations where it's

absolutely useless.  I like to swim and ski, and a limb is impossible

there.  At home, where you have to do the daily cleaning and such, and

perhaps at a job where the work is sedentary, a limb would be an obvious

asset.  But if you ever have the need to get from one place to another in

a hurry, forget it."



"But wouldn't it be easier getting your books and things around the campus

if you wore a limb?" he asked.



"Absolutely not.  I'd probably be late for every class I have."



He didn't have a ready argument for that, so he changed the subject.  "I

realize this may be a little too personal, Miss Milliken, so if you don't

want to answer just say so.  But don't you find that since you don't

currently wear a limb that people treat you differently?  That you get

excluded instead of accepted in many situations where a more normal

appearance would make the difference?"



I thought about this for just a moment.  The question was loaded with the

notion that all people who don't make an accepted appearance end up being

rejected to some degree.  "No," I answered, "at least, not yet.  If I

thought I was being excluded from something just because I didn't look

right, I'd reject that group before they had a chance to reject me.  I have

to live the way I am.  If they can't accept me that way, then our

relationship is forced to say the least, and probably wouldn't work out

anyway.  I guess the only concession I'd make would be in a job where I

have to meet the general public every day, and my income depended on it."



Dr. Johnson was a little puzzled.  "That's a very interesting point, Miss

Milliken, but sometimes private life and public life are not easily

separated.  Do you consider going to school public or private?"



"It's really in between," I answered.  "Studying and learning what's

important in this world is a fantastic private experience, and I suppose

I've always considered attending classes part of that.  Certainly it's not

like being a bank clerk."



"Yes," he agreed, "that distinction is clear.  But suppose some professor

just thought, for reasons known to him only, that it was somehow immodest

or, shall we say, thoughtless for an amputee to come out in public without

a prosthesis, and he was your professor, and your grade depended on his

being totally fair.  Do you think you'd be discriminated against?"



"Maybe so," I answered, "but I'll face that when it comes.  Or are you

trying to tell me something?  Do you think I'm immodest?"     That brought

a good laugh from the rest of the class, and Dr. Johnson first smiled, then

turned a little red before saying, "of course not.  You're perfectly

charming, and unless I miss my guess, you know it."



This brought a second round of laughter, and he had to wait before

continuing.  "But seriously, this is one of the finest classes I have had

the privilege of teaching.  In my opinion, you're all capable of becoming

creative and productive rehabilitationists.  We have a rare opportunity

here.  Miss Milliken is not only handicapped herself, but she reads the

same texts the rest of us read.  When she disagrees, we should listen--she

speaks from experience."



"I don't like the word 'handicapped', Dr. Johnson," I interrupted.  "We

have all worked directly with people who are severely handicapped.  In

comparison to a person who's blind, or deaf, or to one who's suffered a

major stroke, I'm merely inconvenienced to some degree."



"There's another point, class.  Maybe we should be a little more sensitive

about the labels we put on people.  Some people who fit the traditional

definition of 'handicapped' do not think of themselves that way.  The way

that a person sees himself is very important when it comes to recommending

a rehabilitation program."



From there, he went on to preach his own dogma of rehabilitation, and I was

pleased to see that the individual needs of the patient took precedent over

the goals of the rehab team.



Things at work were not quite the same as at school, however.  I'd expected

to be taken into loving arms and given meaningful challenges, more or less

as I had been given before.  But Dr. Allen, the director of the service,

didn't see things that way.  He assigned me to clerical jobs, and this

effectively cut me off from contact with the patients.  I knew I was in for

a fight, so I let it go for weeks before I made a move.  After all, they

paid me the same money.



I started putting the pieces of this puzzle together more because of my

curiosity than anything else.  I wasn't totally unhappy doing the clerical

work, but there was absolutely nothing that I'd done before that I couldn't

do now, even if I were on crutches.  More than once, regular employees

asked me what was going on, and all I could say was, "I don't know".



Finally I asked Dr. Allen point-blank, and he told me just as bluntly that

I could hardly be effective and encouraging in successful adjustment to a

limb when I was afraid of one myself.  I disputed his contention that I was

afraid, saying that it was my choice whether or not to wear one.  I argued

that very little of my past work was with amputees anyway, but it didn't

impress him, and I stayed at the desk.  This was my first taste of

discrimination in the job market.

Chapter XII





But spring came, and the snow melted, and the weekend skiing trips became

short hikes, and then longer ones, and then backpacking.  Yep, you'd better

believe it.  I became an expert one-crutcher, and could go all day if the

pace were not too demanding.  In June, Danny and I spent three weekends

hiking down a river just West of Boulder.  We took our time while I got

used to handling the rocky terrain on one crutch.  I had to be extra

careful where I put the crutch tip so it wouldn't slip when I shifted my

weight.  But we got along beautifully, without a single mishap.



At first, Danny worried about me on the longer hiking trips.  He wanted me

to bring a spare crutch.  But as my confidence and my ability grew, so did

his.  By the time of the third trip, he no longer mentioned additional

crutches.



We had a very unusual conversation on the last night of that trip.  Danny

and I were sitting side by side, watching the dying embers of our cooking

fire.  He put his arm around me and said, "I want to ask you something."



"Ask away."



"Since you lost your leg, have any men started acting like they're

especially interested in you?"



"No," I said.  "Why?"



"I just wondered," he said.  "I couple of months ago I bought a copy of

Penthouse.  There were two letters in it under the heading of 'Monopede

Mania'.  They were from men who think one-legged women are super sexy.  I'm

curious how many of those freaks are around."



"Freaks?" I asked.  "Does someone have to be a freak to think I'm sexy?"



Even in the dim firelight I could see Danny blush.  "Of course not.  You

are sexy."  He tried to get his foot out of his mouth.  "But you're not

sexy because of your leg.  You've always been sexy.  It's the way you

handle yourself."



I don't read Penthouse, and I didn't know about any letters.  I'd heard of

deformity fetishism because it's occasionally mentioned in abnormal

psychology textbooks.  But it had never occurred to me that amputees might

be the object of a fetish.



Then it struck me that my own actions were totally inexplicable unless I

too had some kind of fetish.  Nobody in his right mind would actually want

to have a leg amputated, let alone go to the lengths I'd taken to achieve

it.  I wondered if I had something in common with the men Danny was talking

about.  I knew I'd found more than one male amputee oddly fascinating, but

I'd always told myself this was nothing more than simple curiosity.  Maybe

I told myself that so I'd feel more normal.



"Okay," I told Danny after a few seconds' pause, "I'm sexy and you're not

a freak.  What did the letters say?"



"Let me tell you the rest of it first.  I checked out the back issues, and

Penthouse has been printing these letters almost every month for a year.

I looked through some other men's magazines too, and a few of them are

carrying the same kind of letters.  The letters are all pretty much the

same, saying how these guys are really turned on by an amputee woman.  Some

of them describe experiences where they supposedly made out with a one

legged chick.  A few letters were from girls who claim to be amputees and

who say their sex life is actually better now."



"That's...uh...weird," I said, hoping he wouldn't notice the flush in my

cheeks.



"But I really don't think many of the letters signed by women were really

written by women," Danny continued.  "They just didn't sound real.  I think

I should know."



"What does that mean?" I asked.  "Is it impossible for a man's sex life to

improve if his girl becomes an amputee?"



"No, that's not what I mean."  Danny seemed irritated with me.  "Of course

it's possible, it's happened with us.  But our sex life is better because

I love you more.  Not because you lost you leg, but because you've

demonstrated qualities I didn't know you had.  You're really super strong,

and I love you for it."



I decided to prod him a little.  "I only demonstrate those qualities

because I lost my leg," I said.  "So, in a way, that's what caused you to

be turned on more, right?"



"Well, yes, I suppose so, but a lot of other things could have brought out

the same strength."



"Like what?"



"Like anything.  A death in the family, sickness, disaster, who knows?

Look, the important thing is, I love you.  I want to marry you, or live

with you, or do anything I have to do, as long as I can be with you."



It took me a long time to fall asleep that night, even though I was tired

from hiking and lovemaking.  Although I'd managed to keep my cool while we

were talking, the conversation had greatly excited me.  Part of it was the

discovery that I wasn't nearly as alone as I'd always imagined myself to

be.  There were other people who found amputation as exciting as I always

had.  Perhaps there were even others who had wangled amputations for

themselves as I had.



One thing I'd learned was that absolutely no one suspects an amputee of

being anything but an innocent victim.  And now I realized that I didn't,

either.  Until that night, it had never occurred to me that anyone else

would try to lose a limb.  But if I was truly not the only one to feel as

I did, there could be any number of voluntary amputees crutching around.



The thought of that excited me, even though I could never know for sure.

But even more than that, I was excited by the idea that Danny might be one

of those men who were turned on by amputees.  Now that I thought about it,

he certainly seemed to enjoy playing with my stump during lovemaking, and

I'd noticed a special sparkle in his eyes as he watched me hop around my

apartment.  His explanation about the magazines seemed inadequate, too.  I

couldn't think why he would have to dig through all those back issues,

because only one or two letters would be enough to show him that at least

a few men were attracted to amputees.  But if he felt that fascination

himself, I could easily understand why he'd want to read all the letters.

He'd want to reassure himself as much as possible that he wasn't alone in

feeling as he did.  And looked at in this light, his denial of being

attracted to my amputation meant nothing.  He would naturally be frightened

of turning me off by showing enthusiasm for my condition.  After all, I'd

been careful to show the dislike of my handicap that would be expected of

any amputee.



As I lay there beside Danny, I nursed the hope that he was turned on by my

stump.  Our enjoyment of each other would increase a hundredfold if we

could openly share delight in my being an amputee.  But I faced the same

dilemma I'd pictured for him.  If I told him how I felt and what I'd done,

and it turned out he wasn't fascinated as I was...well, I couldn't bear to

think of what would happen after that.



The next morning I was still thinking about all this as we trudged back

down the mountain to my car.  I kept going over strategies that might allow

me to discover whether Danny had any special inclination, without revealing

my own.  I've often wondered if our lives would have turned out differently

if I'd ever worked up the nerve to try even one of the strategies that I

concocted and discarded that day.

Chapter XIII





For the most part our lives continued as usual.  Danny and I went back to

school.  We taught amputee skiing the next winter, and I kept in shape

swimming in the college's indoor pool.  We were both in our senior year,

and everyone assumed we'd be getting married after graduation in June.  We

were already living together, although Danny continued to pay rent on his

own room just for appearances' sake.  I still had my job at the rehab

center, and Danny had found part time work running errands for some

businessman he'd met.  Between us we had enough money to live comfortably

and do almost anything we wanted.



My life as a one legged woman had its ups and downs, but by spring it was

mostly ups.  I was thoroughly oriented to crutch walking and no longer had

those little split seconds of trying to use my missing leg.  There were no

longer any times when I wished I had my leg back, and indeed, as I realized

with a start one day, I could no longer remember what it had felt like to

have two legs.



In January I received a citation from the state rehabilitation agency for

my work with amputee skiers.  It stated I had demonstrated conspicuous

courage by cheerfully ignoring my own handicap so others could overcome

theirs.  Those words gave me the greatest sense of personal satisfaction I

had ever experienced.  Don't misunderstand me, I didn't think I was some

kind of great heroine or anything, it was just this was the first time in

my life I had done something truly difficult without expecting anything in

return but the satisfaction of doing it well.  The citation told me that I

had accomplished what I'd set out to do, and that people appreciated me.

The award brought more newspaper stories about me, and even a magazine

article from which I made a little money.  Everything seemed to be going

very well.



Too well, I guess.  When things seem to proceed smoothly there always seems

to be a catch, and this time was no exception.



One morning a few weeks before graduation, Danny came in with the daily

paper.  He handed it to me, saying, "check this out."



I looked at the headline.  "Two Doctors Sued For Malpractice, Cut Off Wrong

Girl's Leg", they read.



The story said that the DeCapelos had learned from an undisclosed source

that their daughter's leg had been amputated by mistake.  They were suing

Gillman and Hendrikson for ten million dollars.  Of course, the first thing

I thought of was that Gillman would assume I was the one who leaked the

story to the DeCapelos.  So as soon as Danny left for class, I picked up

the phone and called Gillman.  He immediately and harshly accused me of

informing in return for a cut of the settlement.  I assured him that wasn't

true.  I said I was calling to tell him I was delighted with what he'd

already done for me, and that I'd never think of repaying him for his help

in this way.  That seemed to mollify him a little, but as he told me, it

wasn't very convincing.  So I pointed out that the last thing I wanted was

to be involved in a court case where my own crime might come to light.  I

said I wanted to keep things quiet even more than he did, because he was

only facing a malpractice suit.  But I was guilty of extortion, and would

go to jail if the whole story came out.  When I said that, Gillman calmed

down and spoke rationally, although his voice was shaky.  He apologized for

his accusation and said that he was very worried about his future.



I truly felt sorry for Gillman.  He'd made an honest mistake, and was

really only guilty of trusting another doctor.  I was the one who'd taken

unscrupulous advantage of the situation.  I said as much, and wished him

well.  He thanked me for my concern, and even remembered to congratulate me

on my award, which he'd read about in the papers.  When I finally hung up

the phone, I had the feeling I'd made a friend.



With the Gillman situation apparently defused, I decided against doing

anything rash, like leaving school before graduation.  The trial wouldn't

take place for months.  I was sure the real informant would be identified

before then, clearing me of any suspicion Gillman and Hendrikson might

still have.  I did such a good job convincing myself that I was completely

unprepared for what happened next.



The following Saturday night Danny and I were leaving a party at about

eleven o' clock.  I was in front of Danny, crutching down the sidewalk

toward my car.  I saw a couple of men in a car across the street, but paid

them no attention.  Just as I was unlocking the door of my car, something

seemed to tug violently at my right arm.  Instantly my arm went to sleep,

and I became very faint and I couldn't prevent myself from sagging to the

sidewalk.  As I fell I thought I heard the echoes of some kind of loud

bang.  I was vaguely aware of landing on something soft, rather than a

concrete sidewalk.  Just before I lost consciousness, I realized that the

soft something was Danny.

Chapter XIV





For what seemed like a long time I seemed to be floating somewhere dark.

I was only aware of disconnected sounds and words.  I wanted to ask what

was going on, but my mouth wouldn't work.



When I woke up, my mother was there, holding my hand.  Tears were running

down her face.  For a moment I couldn't figure out how she could be there,

then I asked her, "where's Danny?"



She broke down into sobs, whirling to face my father, who'd been standing

behind her.  He took her into his arms, then I heard him say, "We're very

sorry, Pepper.  Danny's gone."



"Gone?" I asked.  Then I realized he meant Danny was dead.  I went berserk

for a little while, screaming at God for his unfairness.  When I calmed

down I was wheeled off to the operating room.  I still couldn't feel my

arm, so even though no one told me, I knew they were going to amputate it.

I couldn't seem to make myself care.



Well, I lived, and I kept my arm.  I had merely jumped to conclusions, it

seemed.  The surgeons repaired the damage caused by the two shotgun pellets

which had struck me, and all I have to show for the incident are two small,

puckered scars.  I'm glad I was wrong.  Not only had none of my dreams ever

included the loss of an arm, it would have crippled me terribly.  I'd have

had to give up so many of the things I enjoy doing.  And I would also have

lost my ability to use two crutches.  But the doctors did a superb job, and

in only a few weeks I regained full use of my arm, and was back to getting

around as well as ever.

Chapter XV





I live in Laguna Beach, California now.  I have a small apartment close to

the ocean.  I make my living working as an editor for a rehabilitation

trade magazine.



A man named Larry Nicholson helps me with my work sometimes.  Believe it or

not, he's the reporter who wrote that newspaper story about me back in

Colorado when I first lost my leg.  He works for the Associated Press now.

It turns out he's one of those men who like amputee girls, and he's a

really nice guy.  I like him, and I'm glad he likes me.



Colorado got to be too much for me.  There was a full-blown investigation

of the three doctors involved in the DeCapelo case, and the police worked

overtime trying to get a lead on whoever shot Danny and me.  I was living

in fear that they'd find the connection between the two cases.



Larry worked on both stories.  I'm sure he knows something he's not telling

me, but nothing I do will make him reveal what he knows.  The fact is that

I'm the murderer.  If I hadn't done what I did, Danny would still be alive.

That fact will haunt me forever.  But Gillman and whoever else paid to get

rid of me won't be satisfied by Danny's death.  It's only a matter of time

before they try again.  And sooner or later, they'll succeed.



I've thought of running away.  But where would I hide?  Unless I gave up

all ties to my family, there'd always be mail and phone calls to give my

location away.  Once someone knew what town I lived in, I'd be easy to

find.  There aren't many crutch using one legged women in this world.



I never told my parents that the killer was after me.  They worry about me

too much as it is.  They're convinced it was some crazy with a grudge

against Danny.



When Larry's in town we often go out together.  It's nothing serious.  He's

happy to be with a one-legger, and I enjoy his company.  So we have dinner,

maybe see a movie, then go back to his place or mine and make love.  He

isn't as exciting a lover as Danny, but he's no slouch, either.  What

matters is, we satisfy each other.  And while we're together the world is

a little less lonely.



Larry's been out of town on a story for a couple of weeks now, and isn't

due back for another week.  I miss him.  If it weren't for that anonymous

hitman who's still wandering around out there, I'd be awfully tempted to

take Larry up on his offer of marriage when he gets back.



Well, now you know my story.  Whatever happens to me now, someone will know

Gillman's role.  Perhaps I can't stop him from getting even with me, but at

least I can insure he doesn't get away clean.



Wait a minute.  Somebody's at the door, and I'm not expecting anyone.

Chapter XVI





It was Larry, back early from his trip.  The story he was working on wound

up more quickly than anyone expected, so he thought he'd surprise me.  Some

surprise.



When I opened my front door and saw Larry standing there, I was so relieved

it wasn't some greaseball with a gun that fainted.  Fortunately Larry

caught me, but when I woke up I couldn't pretend there was nothing wrong.

And after keeping everything bottled up for over two years, I found I

couldn't do it anymore.  I found myself pouring out my whole story to

Larry, from top to bottom, just as I've told you.



When I finished, Larry just looked at me for what seemed like five minutes.

My heart sank, and I was thinking, now he knows just what a freak I am, and

he'll never want to see me again.  Then he laughed.  It was a long, low,

rumbling sort of laugh.  For just a second I felt relief, then it hit me

what he was laughing at, and I was instantly upset.  It must have showed in

my face, because he became apologetic at once.



"Oh, I am sorry, Pepper," he said.  "Look, I'm not laughing at you.  If

what you suspected were really true, it wouldn't be even a little bit

funny.  But, Honey, you're wrong about a whole bunch of things.  Gillman

isn't out to get you, and there isn't any hitman."



"What?  Come on, Larry, don't give me that.  I know better."



He shook his head.  "No, Pepper, you don't know better."  He sighed.  "I

wish now I'd told you a year ago, but I thought I was sparing your

feelings.  I didn't have any idea you thought someone was after you."



"What do you mean, sparing my feelings?"



"Pepper, you know I did some digging back in Colorado.  You've pestered me

enough about it.  Well, I learned some stuff that never made it into any of

my stories because I didn't think it was in anyone's best interest to

publicize it."  Larry gazed at me a moment, then continued.



"Honey, that goombah with the shotgun was after your boyfriend, not you.

There was a contract out on Danny."



"I don't believe it," I said.



"It's true.  Danny was involved with some very bad people.  He worked for

them, transporting money and drugs.  I guess you could say he was sort of

a courier.  Well, he was skimming a little off the top.  They found out

about it and decided to make an example of him."



I hated hearing this, most of all because it made sense.  From shortly

after my amputation, Danny had always had plenty of money, with no source

other than that part time job running errands.  "Go on," I said.



"After your operation, Danny wanted to give you things.  He couldn't afford

to, so he went to some people he knew.  People who could use a nice

clean-cut kid that the cops wouldn't suspect.  That's how he paid for that

car of yours."



"My father bought my car."



"Only partly.  He gave Danny enough for a stripped-down model.  Yours is

loaded.  Danny put up almost half the money himself.  I've talked to the

dealer.  He remembers the sale very clearly."  Larry shrugged.  "There were

other things, too."



Oh, my God.  I felt stunned.  "They're not after me, too?  I mean, I helped

spend the money, after all."



"Do you remember a story in the news about a gangster the police found shot

to death on a back road down by Canyon City?"



"Y-yes, I think so."



"That was the hitman."



"Why would he be killed?"



"Because he shot you."



Now I was truly shocked.  "That doesn't make any sense," I stammered.  "My

being shot had to be an accident, if what you say is true."



"It was an accident, but that doesn't matter to these people.  When the

local godfather learned you'd been hit he said, 'We're not in the business

of shooting little crippled girls.'  He saw it as a stain on his family's

honor, you see.  That kind of stain can only be erased in one way."



"I think I understand," I said, "but what about Dr. Gillman?"



"Just a poor schnook, like you once thought he was.  I'm sure he never

considered doing anything to you, in spite of what you thought.  You were

quite right that you'd end up in more trouble than he was in if you came

forward, and I don't doubt he accepted your explanation completely.  And

after all, mistakes like the one he made with the DeCapelo girl are the

reason doctors carry malpractice insurance."  Larry smiled.  "The only real

risk either Gillman or Hendrikson faced was in increase in their premiums.

There would be no permanent damage to their reputations."



"Oh, I'm glad about that," I said.  I hesitated briefly, then asked "Larry,

what about the mistake they made with me?"



"Amputating your leg, you mean?  What about it?"



"How do you feel about it?"



"Turned on, to be honest."



"Really?"



"Absolutely.  The idea that you're not only one legged, but want to be one

legged, is very exciting to me."  He smiled broadly.  "Pepper, you're the

kind of girl I've always dreamed of.  A girl who shares and understands my

fascination with one leggedness.  And I think I'm the kind of guy you need,

too.  Together we have only joy in what you are, without need for guilt or

embarrassment."



I nodded.  There was no need to say anything else, and as I stood to take

Larry's hand and lead him to my bedroom, I recognized the moment.



It was the beginning of the rest of my life.







           -=*< The End >*=-