"Each week, Cleopatra Facial Soap extends a helping hand to men and women everywhere. Submit your story to us, and if it is judged a winner, you will speak with your loved one over-seas--wherever he is, whatever he's doing--courtesy of Cleopatra." _Soon, across the distances that defied imagination, she would hear his voice--_ "Your master of ceremonies, Laird Larsen. Here he is, ladies and gentlemen, the man whose voice all lovers know--Laird Larsen!" "Hello, everybody, hello! Here we go again, in another Cleopatra attempt to make young lovers happy." Larsen, an unprepossessing man who spoke like Clem McCarthy, smiled mechanically. "This time, though, 'Hands Across the Ocean' makes an unprecedented leap. The Pacific Ocean is a goldfish bowl compared to the empty space between us and the moon. But Cleopatra Soap, in conjunction with the Amalgamated Broadcasting Network and the United States Air Force, will attempt to reach the moon tonight--by radio. Here with us is the lovely Jeanne Peterson, who...." On and on he rambled. _There was so much she wanted to tell Tom--_ "... and on the moon, on the unthinkably remote moon, Captain Tom Bentley, alone on a wild, utterly unexplored frontier. More alone than any man has ever been before him. Lonely, perhaps a little terrified, although we feel our Captain Tom is made of sterner stuff...." _Our Captain Tom._ All at once, it was sickening. "Are you ready, Amalgamated? Very well."--appropriate tremble of the voice--"This is Cleopatra Soap, the planet Earth, calling Captain Tom Bentley on the moon. Cleopatra Soap and all its millions of listeners, calling the moon." Laird Larsen had picked up an unnecessarily complex microphone and was talking into it. "Earth and Cleopatra calling Moon. Do you hear me, Moon?" _But what could she tell him?_ "Just imagine what it will be like when Tom gets back here and speaks to the Women's League," said Aunt Anna. That? "They're liable to keep Tom on the moon a long time," said Pop. "Hm-hmm," said Jeanne, "some guy trying to make time because Tom's too far away to protest." That? "I wouldn't prostitute my emotional relationship with Tom for all the Women's Leagues in the country," Jeanne said. Very funny. Tell him that? Tell him about Dan Lubrano? "Cleopatra calling the Moon. Come in, Moon. Do you hear me?" Laird Larsen mopped his brow. "By now the radio waves have reached the moon and returned, ladies and gentlemen. But still, no contact with Captain Bentley." _Why hadn't she agreed to use the prepared speech?_ If she talked to Tom now, everything would be a lie. Nothing real. Nothing. And, she told herself, this would be one more step toward cheapening whatever they had. Twenty million people would gawk while they spoke. _Darling, I love you, I love you! Hooray!_ "Hello, Captain Bentley." "This is Bentley." Tom's voice, faint, from far, far away--but unmistakably Tom's. It made Jeanne feel weak all over.