Two To The Fifth by Piers Anthony Page A

he wasn't sure how to fix it.
    She spread her arms, wrapped in the cloak. It drew away from her torso, showing it bare. It was stunning.
    “Well now, doubled,” Melete said appreciatively.
    Cyrus jammed his eyes closed before he freaked out, “I didn't mean nude. I thought you were—well, clothed.”
    “It's hard to put on clothing over these.”
    He opened his eyes cautiously. She had covered up her body and revealed her arms. They were ordinary to the elbows, but then became giant greenish pincers. Indeed, it would be difficult to don any ordinary shirt or dress with those in the way. So she was being practical. He simply hadn't expected it, “Can you act?”
    “I could if anyone let me.”
    “Put her in a scene,” Melete said. “A romantic one.”
    “Pretend you're my girlfriend, angry with me but willing to be persuaded.”
    “Come in.”
    He left Don and Weslee outside and joined her inside the house. She closed the door behind him.
    “And where have you been, you rascal?” she demanded. “I have been waiting these three weeks for news of you, but there was nothing.”
    “I was—busy,” he said, already impressed by her delivery.
    “Busy! Busy! Whatever could keep you so busy you couldn't at least send me word? Were you with some village hussy? Answer me!”
    “Demur,” Melete said, “Proffer her a mock gift.”
    “No, no,” he said, hastily improvising. “I was—making this gift for you. I couldn't tell you, because that would ruin the surprise.”
    “Gift?” she asked suspiciously.
    “Here.” He held out an empty hand.
    She took the invisible object. “Oh, it's lovely. Thank you so much! I'm so sorry I was suspicious. It's only because I love you.”
    “And I love you. I—”
    She stepped into his arms, keeping her own arms clear, and kissed him firmly on the mouth.
    His arms closed automatically about her marvelously slender yet shapely body. Then he realized that it was still bare. He freaked out.
    “Bleep,” Melete muttered helplessly.
    He recovered, uncertain how much time had passed. Crabapple had sat him in a chair and covered up again, “I'm so sorry, I got carried away. For an instant it seemed almost real. I get that way when I'm reciting lines. It's as though I really am the part I'm playing in my fancy, I apologize for putting you through that.”
    “She will certainly do,” Melete said.
    “You'll do,” he said. “You can act. It felt real to me too. Then when I realized that you were—I don't have much experience with women.”
    She smiled. “I don't have much experience with men. Only in my fancy.”
    “Tell her of the role,” Melete said.
    “Let me tell you about the play I'm writing. A young man can see feelings, so he knows how women feel about him. But the pretty ones have ugly personalities. They conceal these, so as to seem nice, but really they hold him in contempt. So he knows they are no good for him to marry. So he searches for a woman with perfect feelings, not even looking at her body. Until he finds her—and she looks like you. Because you will be the lead actress.”
    “The lead!”
    “It's all about how he comes to terms with you. Because you are the best, if he could only get over your—you know.”
    “I know.”
    “Something will happen—I haven't figured it out yet—that makes him come to truly appreciate your—your—”
    “Pincers.”
    “Yes. You use them in some way that saves him from danger, or something, and then he comes to like them as an aspect of you. So it will be a happy ending, after considerable doubt. Can you accept that story line?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “Oh, yes,” Melete echoed, “She's perfect. Caution her and sign her up.”
    “You will need to emote, to make the audience truly feel your pain, and to come to love you, pincers and all. You have the face and features, and the acting ability. I simply need to write a play that will bring out those qualities. Will you join my troupe?”
    “Who is the lead