"You suppose so!" "Yes, I'm happily married. Naturally, Jane isn't exactly the same girl she was twenty years ago, when we were married. She's put on some weight and she's got wrinkles and she's not exactly a sweater girl--" "I see. Any children?" "No, we were never blessed--" "Blessed, is it? Well, that's good. No children. I think you'll do, Mr. Horner." * * * * * "Do? Do for what?" "Congratulations, sir," the rub-down man said, smacking some oil on Horner's abdomen and squashing the flesh around to show Horner how soft he'd become. Horner said, "Say, what happened to George, anyway." George was Horner's usual attendant at the Gotham Baths. "George wised up. He's out getting a body job." "Oh, something happen to George's car?" "Not his car." "I'm afraid I don't understand." "He's getting a body job," said the attendant. "He's getting a new body." The hands went slap-slap against Horner's abdomen. He could hear the attendant's heavy, regular breathing. "Ha-ha," he said. "You're pulling my leg." "I just now explained--" "You said George was out getting a new body. That's a joke, isn't it?" "It's no joke to George. It's costing him four thousand dollars, all the money he has. But he thinks it's worth it. Wouldn't you?" "A new, er, body, you mean?" "Yes. To start life at age twenty-five again, aware of all your mistakes, your short-comings, your--" "All right," Horner said finally, "that's enough. I've been lying here and listening because I've had no choice, understand? But you've worn that joke out, fellow. I wish you'd stop." * * * * * The masseur mumbled something under his breath, then said, "Well, that does it on the front side. Care to roll over?" "Yes," said Horner dutifully, and did so. He thought: funny, the way this bird delivered that new body pitch. Such a straight face. So utterly serious, almost as if he were interviewing me. The silence stretched. Horner regretted having asked the attendant to stop his yarn about new bodies. He finally said, in defeat, "Er, about what you were saying--" "You want an appointment? That's what I'm here for." "An appointment? With whom?" The attendant wiped his hands on a large towel and tossed its twin to Horner. From somewhere, he plucked a neat white business card and gave it to Horner. The card said: BODIES, INC. _By appointment only._ There was a telephone number and an address out on Long Island. There was nothing else. "Three thousand is what it will cost you," the attendant said. "You're lucky it's a joint account you have." "Three thousand dollars!" gasped Horner. "For what?" "For a new body, naturally. Twenty-five years old and in sound health. Fit as a pin, you're guaranteed that. I think it's a bargain." "But three thousand dollars--" "What kind of car you drive?" Horner told him. "Buy it brand new?" "I never buy second-hand cars," Horner told him haughtily.