The Ultimate Egoist by Theodore Sturgeon Page A

were instructed to let no one see Mr. Roupe without beingannounced and made to wait. Sandra was usually within shouting distance, and when she wasn’t she left a phone number. By the time the visitor saw Steve, Steve was well primed on all available essentials. He could call the visitor by name, gloss lightly over “memories” they shared, and cut the visit short. He learned a bushel of tricks. “About that business proposition, Mr. Roupe; could you give me an answer today?” Steve would say, “I’d like the details again, Smith; you see, since my accident I’ve been able to do nothing, and I’m way behind the times.” This with a charming smile quite new to the traditionally solemn Mr. Roupe. And when he had the details, “All right, I’ll think it over and let you know.” Then he’d talk it over with Sandra.
    Some things that they ran up against were astonishing and unaccountable. When Steve tried on some of his clothes, they fitted him perfectly; except shoes. The shoes that he bought now were a half-size smaller than those he had. And many of his tastes differed. Sandra found out one evening that he could dance, and remarkably well; he had never, as far as she knew, danced before. Most amazing of all was that he had forgotten how to play the piano but had mysteriously learned the guitar.
    For seven of those months Steve was covered to the eyes by bandages, and during the eighth he had strips of adhesive on his cheekbones and across the bridge of his nose. He used to stand before the cheval glass in his room, staring at the outlines of this new face, memorizing it even as he had memorized his old habits and acquaintances. It was a dark face with a pointed chin and deepset, luminous eyes. He liked it.
    Sandra had become his life, even as he was hers. In more ways than one, his life had begun that day he opened his eyes and saw her by the white bed.
    She came on him in the garden one day, strumming on his guitar and singing, most mournfully, the “St. James Infirmary Blues.” She knew by this that he was happy.
    “Steve,” she said softly.
    He looked up at her and smiled, tossing the melody about with his long fingers, ending it with a bewildering arpeggio. She took theguitar from him and laid it on the grass and sat on his lap, putting her head on his shoulder. “Funny egg. I’d still like to know who taught you to play like that.”
    “King Neptune,” he grinned
    “He’s been a wonderful teacher. You have no idea how different you are, Steve. Nicer. I’ve learned things about you … Tell you something, I never suspected that you’d have the strength to pull through this. You always were so wishy-washy. But you’ve worked like a Trojan on the biggest job any man was ever given to do, and you’ve won. No one knows about your memory but me; and the only difference anyone has seen in you is that you’re ten times the person you were. I think you’re wonderful, don’t we?”
    “All I’ve been is a good boy, darling, who has done what he’s told. Anyone could do what I’ve done if he had you to lead him around by the hand.” He pressed his shapely new nose into her little ear, catching the fragrance of her red-gold hair. She laughed.
    “I didn’t come out here to join the mutual admiration society. I came out here to tell you that Babs Fresner is throwing a party for you. How on earth she found out that you would be unveiled next week is beyond me, but she did. Her idea of a lark. Everybody is going to be dressed like Frankenstein’s monster, in your honor.”
    “Nice girl. How do we duck this one?”
    “We don’t, beloved. Don’t you think it’s time we moved around a little?”
    “Think we can do it?”
    “We can if you’ll keep out of dark corners with people!”
    “Jealous?” he whispered.
    “Terribly,” she said …
    Babs was the living prototype of the screwball deb of the movies, all sheer silk and studied spontaneity. She was built like a Coca-Cola bottle, Steve