Ed Wissle whipped off his glasses, quickly buffed them with his hankie and, remounting them on his nose, he looked across the aisle to where young Jenny was perched behind her desk. She pulled her keyboard close and began typing a letter for Bullnose Bullard, the head of the department.

She had removed her blouse and bra, hung them across the back of her office chair and now Ed was enjoying the sight of her vanilla-cupcake boobs, bobbing in time to her fingers. Jenny had long nipples peaked in the center of surprisingly large strawberry-colored cookies and Ed dreamed of taking one of those nipples between his lips and sucking on it until she wildly cried out for his cock.

Jenny glanced up, saw what had attracted his attention and giggled sweetly. She stopped working, long enough to lift a breast in two hands, point the nipple and squeeze, milking herself in front of him. He sighed loud enough for her to hear and she smiled her approval.

“Ed? You got those sales figures ready yet?”

Ed jolted. “Yes sir, Mr Bullard.” He scrambled to place his hands on the correct file-folder. “Everything’s in order. Like always,” he said, pushing the papers into Bullard’s fat fingers.

Without acknowledging him, Bullard flipped open the file and, with his head down, began reading as he made his way across the room. Ed silently prayed he’d trip over a chair and bust open his head, but it didn’t happen and Bullard disappeared, unscathed, into his office at the end of the room. As a Department Head, Bullard was afforded the luxury of a private office, one with a large window so he could keep an eye on the comings and goings of his shiftless staff.

Ed exhaled through his mouth, as he always did after an encounter with his boss. It isn’t a matter of if I’ll be fired, he thought, but when...

He was attracted to the sound of Jenny’s long, lacquered fingernails on the keyboard. Of course she was fully dressed now, and when she saw him turn his head, she shot him a pathetic look of disgust. Ed shrugged and wondered where Jenny and the other women would spend their lunch hour.

He was never invited to join them and instead carried a sandwich in a paper sack each day. He watched as they gathered like a gaggle of colorful birds to head down in the elevator while he unwrapped the waxed paper that held his lunch: one slice of baloney between two slices of white bread. The same, every lunch-hour for the past five years.

That was a lot of baloney and he looked for his calculator. Dismissing a week of vacation time, weekends and statutory holidays, it came to 248 slices a year. He tossed his calculator across the desk and watched young Jenny sort out her jacket and handbag. She got up and followed the others out.

He took a bite of his sandwich and opened a folder marked Department Overhead. Ed worked through his lunch-hour everyday, not because he was a keener, but because there was nothing else to do. He secretly hoped that someone would eventually notice and mark it up to due diligence and perhaps there’d be a small increase in his pay-packet, or even a bonus at Christmas, but there never was.

He looked over the department expense sheets and, like every month, looked for the commissions paid out to the sales staff first. So much money they made, compared to his meager thirty-one thousand. The top producer took home sixteen thousand for the month, putting his yearly salary in the range of two-hundred thousand dollars ... for selling friggin’ photocopy machines. And a couple of other salesmen were in the same league.

If he had that kind of money, he’d buy back the house his wife sold to put Debbie into college. It wasn’t a great house, but he loved coming home to it in the evenings, but now his sanctuary was gone.

His daughter was about the only thing Ed had ever got right– in his entire life.

Ed had puzzled over Debbie’s pleasing features. He saw none of himself in her face and neither he nor Wifey were tall. He could only assume the girl had been lucky enough to skip a generation and thereby hit a generic jackpot that produced a lovely child who thankfully hadn’t inherited her mother’s sallowness nor bitter disposition. Debbie had been a happy child, tall for her age, smart and, possessing an unyielding curiosity for anything creepy-crawly, deserved the advantage of a higher education. But the money...

What had been the germ of an idea at the breakfast table quickly manifested. When Ed arrived home after work, there was a sign on his lawn and Wifey and Debbie were busily sorting through items for the yard-sale. Ed managed to rescue his old Heathkit radio before retreating to the backyard.

So Debbie, flush with cash, left for college dressed in the homespun dress Wifey had run up on her machine. And he and Wifey were relegated to a crappy duplex rental on a noisy downtown street in a neighborhood where you avoided going out in the evenings.

When Ed saw his daughter six months later, her long bare legs were splayed wide over the rear seat of some guy’s humongous motorcycle. Her frayed cutoffs were so short, the cheeks of her ass hung out and her breasts roamed unrestricted in her unbuttoned shirt. Ed, feeling blindsided, figured Debbie had given up the luxury of clean underwear.

When he took up the point with Wifey, she dismissed him. “She’s an attractive young lady experiencing life out of the nest for the first time. Leave her alone.”

But even Wifey gave pause when Debbie declared she was dropping out of Biology. She had made good money modeling for Pussy-Proud Magazine and she had been offered a contract to perform in a video. When Ed asked what kind of video, Debbie had just laughed and turned away leaving Ed to assume his little girl wasn’t a virgin anymore.

Man, I loved that house, he thought as he flipped through expense sheets.

Out of curiosity, he turned the page to the numbers for the support staff and looked for Jenny’s name. His eyes came up. Young Jenny made more money than he did. He snapped the folder closed. How could that be? He was a trained bookkeeper. A graduate of the Acme Business School. Had more experience. Was her senior, by at least twenty years. And she was paid more?

He shook his head in disbelief. Then he remembered coming in early one morning and finding Jenny and Bullard having coffee together. Something struck him as strange and it took him an hour to figure it out. Jenny was wearing the same skirt and blouse as she had on the previous day. She hadn’t been home to change. And Bullard had a sofa in his office.

He tried to put the disgusting image of Jenny squirming under Bullard’s fat, white belly out of his mind.

He picked up the next file-folder from his in-box. It was an Expense Docket from one of the salesmen. Bob Hamilton had been on the road and was now applying for reimbursement for the money he had doled-out for accommodation and meals.

Ed looked down the column of figures, found them in order and then looked for Bob’s receipts. They were missing from the folder. Ed sighed and picked up his phone.

“Are you in the building?” he asked when Bob answered. “I got your Expense Docket here but you failed to include your receipts.”

“Oh crap,” came the reply. “I’m down in the Tech Department being briefed on the new Razor X380. The receipts are in my car. Give me a couple of minutes to run down for them.”

“Good enough,” Ed said and hung up.

There was the burst of bright laughter as the office girls spilled from the elevator. And by the sound of the chatter, Ed figured lunch had been helped along with a bottle or two of wine. He ignored the intrusion and reached for another folder but before he could open it, a movement at the front of his desk caused him to glance up.

Pam and Marcy stood there, arm in arm, with goofy expressions on their faces. “What?” he asked.

He didn’t understand why the question should be funny but the two started giggling.

“It’s just that we girls are planning a get-together after work and...”

Marcy cut Pam off “ ... and we were wondering about a man to come share in the fun.”

Ed felt his chest flush. Finally, was he to be accepted?

“And we were wondering if you knew of one?” Pam giggled.

“A man,” Marcy added in a fit of laughter.

Ed felt the heat rise in his collar and he knew his cheeks had turned a blistering red as the girls doubled over. Turning away, Marcy lifted the corner of her dress and cocked a cheeky hip at him, exposing a length of leg clear up to where her pantyhose turned shady.

Damn, he thought, watching the girls return to their desks so stricken with laughter they could barely walk and had to cling to each other in an effort to remain upright. He hung his head a moment and when he looked back, the girls were still laughing, arms draped loosely about shoulders and hips.

Marcy suddenly went silent, and leaning in, she stifled Pam with her lips. Ed watched Pam’s mouth open and Marcy’s tongue slithered into the opening. He gawked as he watched slippery tongues writhing like snakes in a bag.

Marcy backed Pam onto a desk and ran her hands up the front of the girl’s blouse. She twisted open buttons and when the blouse hung loose, Marcy slipped the silk from Pam’s shoulders. She pushed off the bra straps and, dragging them down, Marcy turned Pam’s bra inside-out.

Two pear-shaped breasts dropped and rebounded– bobbing like ducks on a pond. Pam groaned as Marcy shifted a breast into her hands and brought the pale orb to her lips. Marcy sucked on the pretty nipple until it curled hard– upward and out.

Pam, delirious with need, leaned back across the desk, her hands swiping pens and papers to the floor. Her caramel-colored pumps dangled in midair as Marcy got her hands under Pam’s ass and pushed her skirt up. Ed watched the crotch of a pair white lace panties being forced aside.

Pam was a bushy bitch and Marcy buried her face into it, the hair pressed about her cheeks. Pam’s back arched and her hips came up as Marcy found the moist groove. Marcy licked then moved up, tugging at the swollen clit with her lips. A hand disappeared between Pam’s thighs and she shrieked in delight as fingers penetrated, one between pink lips, the other into the darker anus.

Pam screamed again, rearing up as Marcy sucked and battered in and out with her fingers. Ed, startled by the sound of the girls fucking, looked to Bullard’s window. He was there, alright, returning Ed’s stare with a quizzical expression about his eyes.

Bob Hamilton stepped to the side of Ed’s desk and held out an envelope. “Here are the receipts, Ed. Sorry for the mix-up.”

Ed swallowed hard. “Ah-h, sure. No problem. I’ll process this and Accounting will cut you a check.” Ed took the envelope and cocked his head around. Marcy was studying her fingernails while chatting on the phone. Pam was busy at her keyboard. “I’ll get Bullard’s signature on this right away.”

Bob gave Ed a concerned look.

“What?” Ed asked.

“Dunno. You look distracted, somehow. Everything okay?”

Ed waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Just up to my keister in paperwork. You know how it is...”

“Sure, sure.” Bob paused a moment and looked behind. “We’ve been friends a long time,” he said, “and I feel I should warn you.”

That took Ed by surprise. He had never considered Bob Hamilton as anything more than a business associate. “Warn me?” he asked.

Bob leaned in close. “Yeah, it’s Jenny. She’s been complaining about you staring at her during office hours. Been quite vocal about it.”

Ed’s eyes bugged. “Me?”

“Yeah, and I understand.” Bob took a sidelong look at Jenny who was inspecting her eyeliner in the mirror of a compact. “I mean, that’s a nice piece of tail. Look at those titties and you could crack an egg on that ass of hers. But you know Bullard has a soft spot for her.”

“He d-does...”

“Yeah. And I know it’s not fair but one word from her and you’ll be looking for a new job. Get it?”

“Jesus.” Ed slumped.

“I’m just saying,” Bob continued. “Might be a good time to inquire about a transfer, yah know? Maybe the Marketing Department, or Research and Development. Anywhere outta sight of Bullard.

Ed looked across at Jenny. She looked back with a scowl, like she understood everything that was being said about her. Ed pulled his eyes away. “Thanks, Bob. I really appreciate the heads-up.” Then, desperate to change the subject, he asked: “How’s things at home? How’s Missus Hamilton?”

Bob rounded up. “Missus Hamilton? We separated over a year ago. Where’ve you been?”

Ed felt the heat in his cheeks again. “Geez. No one told me. I’m really sorry to hear that, Bob. I feel terrible, not knowing– us being friends and all.”

“Ah don’t sweat it. It was mutual. And besides, I’ve found something better,” he said with a wink.

Ed cocked his head. “Something better? You mean someone...”

Bob grinned. I’ve been meaning to show her off. She’s a knock-out. Quiet and never argues with me. Doesn’t squander my pay on clothes or cosmetics. And never thinks to waste a weekend at a spa. She’s pretty much perfect.”

“Wow...”

“Yeah. In fact, why don’t you drop ‘round the house tonight, say around seven-thirty? New York is at Philadelphia. We’ll have a couple of beers and you can meet the Missus. What’dyah say?”

“Sure,” Ed said, figuring he could get Bob’s address from the Personnel Department. “Seven-thirty.”

As was his custom, Ed was dead on time. Having never developed a taste for beer, he walked up the drive with a bottle of white Chardonnay under his arm while wondering what the new Missus Hamilton might look like. Bob said she was a knock-out and Ed really hoped so. He liked to look at pretty girls.

He caught a brief glimpse of her as Bob opened the front door.

“Come in, come in,” Bob said, holding out a hand. “Got the big screen all heated-up and they just sang the National Anthem.”

“So glad you invited me,” Ed replied, trying to get another look at the big blonde who sat at the end of the sofa in the adjoining room. His first impression was she looked nice, sitting straight, her hands in her lap and wearing a bib-style kitchen apron. “Does your new wife like hockey?”

“She’s into sport,” Bob laughed a little too brightly, “just not that type.”

“So she won’t be joining in?”

Bob was still laughing. “That depends on whether or not you like her.”

Ed’s forehead crumpled up into a frown. “I’m sure I’ll like her, Bob. Maybe Missus Hamilton would enjoy some wine.” He handed the bottle across.

“Ah, I’m afraid not. She doesn’t drink,” Bob grinned, “but come along and I’ll introduce you.”

Bob led the way into a spacious living room. “Say hi to Liz,” he said.

Ed thought it a bit odd that Liz didn’t look up when they entered the room but he plastered a big smile across his face, stepped around Bob and held out his hand. “I’m Ed Wissle,” he said. “A close friend of your husband’s.”

Ed froze mid step. Liz still hadn’t moved. The blonde sat staring into the middle distance, her eyes an unbelievable crystalline blue, her skin soft and flawless, and her lips, slightly parted, were lush and full.

Ed, feeling a bit baffled, took in the length of the woman, her apron and high-heel shoes. And with a start, he realized that was all she wore: A frilly, bib-style apron and a pair of electric-blue heels. His eyes traveled up the outside of a nude leg to her hip, across evenly spaced ribs to where the outside curve of a full breast lolled outside of the confines of the apron.

“Jesus...” he stepped back. “She’s almost naked.”

Liz Hamilton finally moved, at least her lips did. “Do you like my body?” she asked in a husky voice.

“She’s not real,” Ed blurted out and turned.

“Yeah. And except for the fact she can’t cook, she’s perfect. Like I said: She’s a knock-out. Quiet and never argues. Who could ask for more.”

“But...”

“Okay, maybe she’s not real but everything works. Go ahead. Touch her.”

“But, but she’s your wife.”

“Don’t be a nerd. Touch her. She won’t mind, trust me.”

It took a physical effort for Ed to step forward and lay a hand on her shoulder. He thought it would be icky but his eyes rose in amazement. “She’s warm.”

“Yeah. A perfect ninety-eight point six degrees fahrenheit. She’s got some sort of hot water circulatory system. She was great to have in bed last winter. Better than an electric blanket.”

“You sleep with her?”

“Well that’s kinda the point, Ed. But like I said. She’s perfect, in and outta the bedroom.”

“She’s one of those sex dolls,” Ed stammered. “But I though you had to blow them up.”

“Times change, buddy. There haven’t been blow-up dolls since the fifties. Liz here is built on a plastic frame and can pretty much move like any normal woman.”

Bob lifted what looked like a TV remote and pressed a button. Liz slid to the edge of the sofa and crossed her knees. “You want me?” she asked, sitting up and pushing her breasts forward.

“Liz can’t stand or walk,” Bob shrugged, “But she’s pretty good at crawling across the floor.”

“Son of a bitch,” Ed remembered his hand and pulled away from her shoulder.

“And I got her programmed with thirty-four phrases. All controlled here, from the palm of my hand.” He held out the remote and pressed another button.

Liz blinked. “You can do me in my mouth if you want. I like the taste.”

“Geez,” Ed shuddered. “It’s like she said it right to me...”

“She did say it to you. Liz wants to fuck for you, Ed. And after you’re finished, I’ll be downstairs watching the game.”

“Damn. I can’t. I mean, she’s your wife.”

“My wife left a year ago. And Liz here, has been very understanding, haven’t you Liz?”

Liz turned her head. “I love pleasing you, sir.”

“Okay,” Bob placed the remote into Ed’s hand. “I’m going down to watch the first period. If you don’t want her, it’s okay. But just sit with her awhile. Get to know her. You’ll find Liz can be a lot of fun.”

Ed couldn’t help but be curious. “Well, okay. Sure. But just for a minute or two.”

Bob waved him off. “Take as much time as you need.” And with a chuckle, he disappeared down the stairs.

Ed studied Liz’s features a moment, then sat on the sofa beside her. “You’re very realistic,” he said and looking at the remote in his hand, he pressed a button.

Her lips moved and Ed saw a tongue between rows of straight teeth. “I suck cock,” she said and Liz opened her mouth wide. Ed watched her tongue undulate like a magic carpet and the way her lips were clutching reminded him of baby Debbie, tugging at her soother. Ed hadn’t had much experience with oral sex but it didn’t take a visit to the sexologist to know this was unusual, unnatural, and probably unhealthy, but that Liz’s extended lips would feel so good wrapped around his cock.

“I’ve done anal before. Would you like to try me out?”

“Jesus,” Ed hissed and lowered his eyes to study the closest tit. The mound looked delightful, cuddled unrestricted in the bib of Liz’s apron. Ed looked around to be sure he was truly alone then cupped the healthy hummock. It felt full and firm in the palm of his hand and he looked over his shoulder again, before slipping his hand beneath the fabric. He repositioned his fingers with her nipple poking between.

Amazing, he thought, struggling to keep his senses in check. The skin of her breast was buttery soft but beneath the surface, the flesh was resilient, pushing back against the thrust of his fingertips. And her nipple was as hard and insistent as a dog’s snout.

“I’ll just have a peek” he muttered to himself and pushed the top of her apron aside. Her breast sat high on her chest, was slightly dished and the pink nipple had an agreeable upward lift. He looked closer. The rubbery nipple had a slight indent, a milk duct, and when he rolled the nub between his fingers a droplet of moisture filled the cavity.

His eyes circled in surprise and he jerked his hand away. The droplet shimmered a moment, lost its battle with gravity and dribbled down the underside of her breast. Ed’s mouth watered-up and forcing away the feelings of shock and embarrassment, he pushed Liz’s tit back into her apron.

Ed jumped to his feet. Her mouth was still open and her tongue still rolling, as he turned away to make his way down to the safety of Bob’s den. He wasn’t about to look for the switch to turn her off.

The game passed in blur of blue uniforms and the sounds of a roaring crowd. Ed couldn’t get past the sight of that droplet of milk tracing a path along the underside of Liz’s bulbous breast and now in the safety of Bob’s den, Ed’s tongue practically ached for a taste.

The game ended and the home-team won. Bob walked Ed to the front door. “What did you think of Liz?

Ed grinned like a moron with a hard-on. “Amazing,” he gushed. “I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Bob grinned back. “Well just a sec, then,” and he pulled out his wallet, “here’s a business card. Go check out the girls for yourself. I’m sure you’ll find something you like.”

Ed propped the card up on his desk and read the gold embossed script for the umpteenth time.

Miss Chang’s Emporium. By appointment only. The address was in Brooklyn.

He dialed the number and a woman answered, soft spoken with an unusual accent. “Yes?” He stalled, then disconnected. A woman running a sex shop? He shook his head. This can’t be right.

And she had just said Yes? ... that was all. Not Chang’s Emporium, or Chang’s Sex Shop or Chang’s Lactating Doll Factory. Just a simple Yes?– like she was expecting the call, from a girlfriend maybe. He checked the number, decided to wait a bit and try again.

An hour later, same woman, same result. He dropped the phone into the cradle and considered calling Bob. But did he really want Bob to know he was trying to follow up on the suggestion of getting in touch with a sex shop? What if it got around ... what he was up to? Bob could laugh it off. He wasn’t married and had nothing to lose. Ed humped and decided he’d try again in the morning.

“Is t-there someone I can talk to?” he asked when the same woman picked up the following morning.

He was feeling a little more courageous, mainly because Marcy had leaned over his desk earlier and given him a shot down the front of her blouse. She had wiggled her shoulders, sending her tits swinging– a gay-old merry-go-round, practically in his face. Seeing his eyes widen, she smirked and said, “I know what you want. Are you man enough to make a grab for them?”

She gave him a moment to think it over. “Thought not,” Marcy said when his hands remained on the desk top. She had pissed him off. I’ll show you, he thought and now he felt he could handle the woman on the phone, but as soon as he heard the softness in her voice, he turned to jello. “Is t-there someone I can talk to?”

He could almost see the woman smiling down the phone-line. “You can talk to me,” she replied in a sing-song voice. “I am here to answer all of your questions. Let me start, shall I? Miss Chang sells dolls. Special dolls. Dolls who are as close to the real thing as we can make them. They move, speak, secrete and make love. We distribute from coast to coast and your privacy is assured.

“Se-secrete?” he asked.

“Oh yes. From eyes, and the breasts. But especially from the vagina. Now, how do you want to proceed?”

Ed looked at the business card. “Make an appointment, I g-guess.”

“That would be best. May I inquire as to your name?”

“Ed. I’m Ed Wissle.”

“Thank you, Ed. You can stop by and visit with Miss Chang in the morning. Will ten be okay?”

“Yes, of course. That will be fine.”

“Good. Miss Chang will explain better than I. And you can meet some of the girls, Ed. Very nice girls, indeed. Girls who will make you happy. And don’t be frightened. I sense that about you Ed, and it is not necessary. We are nice people, friendly even. You will see.” Her voice softened to an almost whisper.” And my name is Rose. You will see me in the morning. Promise me.”

“What the fuck did I just do?” Ed scolded himself after Rose disconnected.

After a lot of discussion with himself, Ed flagged down an early morning cab and crossed the bridge to Bedford Avenue, in the heart of the Williamsburg shopping district. Ed had the cabbie drop him off a block away. He had decided to walk, not wanting the driver to know where he was headed.

Ed was surprised. It looked like a nice neighborhood but figured he’d turn a corner onto some tawdry back alley to find a slummy storefront with peeling paint and windows masked in fading brown paper. But with a vision of Rose leading him on, he stoically marched along until, glancing up at the street numbers, he realized he’d gone too far.

“Damn. I’ve passed it,” he muttered under his breath and he looked back. He saw the flowing script, same as on the business card but this time above a tidy storefront. He did a double take. The shop looked very much like a fashionable woman’s clothing outlet. He saw a large display window with two posed mannequins, smiling and stylishly dressed in business suits. He walked back for a closer look.

The mannequins were amazingly lifelike with liquid eyes gazing, natural hair and, what appeared to be soft textured skin. He had to wonder how many women, passing the display, had mistakenly pushed through the front door expecting to be met by a sales clerk with a measuring tape hanging about her neck. His suspicions were verified by the brass plaque mounted on the door frame: Thank you for your interest but we deal in store fixtures, not women’s apparel.

Ed found the door locked and he had to face a security camera and announce his intentions before the door was opened from within.

The woman was oriental, stood very tall and she was as slim as a willow. Ed had always thought of oriental women as being quite small but he barely came up to this woman’s shoulder. “I’m Rose,” she said with a delicious smile. “Hang up your jacket. Miss Chang is expecting you.”

Miss Chang bounded up from behind her desk. “Ha-row!” she exclaimed and waved excitedly, bobbing from foot to foot. “Company– how rovely.” And she clasped her hands and bowed.

More true to his notion of oriental women, Miss Chang stood a mere four and a half feet. Her cheery face was framed in long black hair and was emboldened with heavy-framed eye glasses below China-doll bangs. She wore bright red lipstick.

Miss Chang turned to Rose who stood waiting in the doorway. “Rose. The tea peeze. And bring sugar cookies.”

Rose held a coy smile. “The tea is brewed. It will be but a moment.”

Tea and cookies? Ed thought. Interesting sales technique. I wonder if our guys have tried it?

Ed opened his mouth to speak but Miss Chang raised a hand. “Tea to be served first,” she said with a broad smile.

Rose returned with a tray a moment later, opening the door with her behind and backing in. A nice curvy behind, Ed noticed, held tight in a mid-thigh, business skirt. Rose had nice legs and was pleased to celibate the fact.

Miss Chang waited patiently for Rose to pour fragrant tea into cups. She popped a sugar cookie into her mouth, took a sip of tea and sat back, savoring the tastes that mingled in her mouth.

She opened her eyes. “Now, how might I assist?”

“I understand you sell blow-up dolls, the kind used...”

“No, no. Not blow-up,” Miss Chang interrupted, her thick hair flowing seductively as she shook her head. “No one sell blow-up dolls.”

Ed realized his mistake immediately. “Of course. I didn’t mean...”

“Many advancements made since the nineteen-fifties: Blended plastics, glass eyes, and hair weaves ... here, and there.” Miss Chang smiled shyly. “Our girls have skeletal support with joints and can be positioned as like a real woman. The latest models are heated so they are warm to the touch, they move and have limited speech. And sensors inside.”

“Sensors?”

“Mmm, in the vagina, mouth and rectum. The sensors trigger an automatic response.”

Ed felt his confidence grow. “I’d be very interested in seeing one.”

“Every girl custom-made,” Miss Chang explained, “to customer’s requirements. But a new model has been introduced. The most up-to-date ever. And I have received an advance issue. You would be pleased to meet with her?”

“Oh yes, very much so,” Ed replied. “I’d love to see her.”

Miss Chang set her tea cup aside and stood. “Come along, then. The girl is in the Maternity Ward.”

Ed followed Miss Chang down a hall, through an adjacent doorway and into an area that reminded Ed of his doctor’s examination room. A stainless steel table dominated the space, surrounded by various metal cabinets, and a counter with sinks was located along the opposite wall. Overhead, the lights shone brightly.