"That's right, honey. Through the courtesy of 'Hands Across the Ocean,' sponsored by Cleopatra Complexion Soap. A radio broadcast across a quarter of a million miles of space to re-unite you and Tommy boy. At least, for three minutes." "Oh, Dan, Dan--that's wonderful." Jeanne stood up, removed the napkin from her lap. "If I hurry home and pack I can make a night plane and be in New Mexico by--" "Whoa. Relax, honey, there's no rush. The show is tomorrow night, 11 P.M. our time. I've booked your reservation for the morning." "I'm too excited to eat, Dan. Really. But thanks for everything." Jeanne bent down as Lubrano prepared to attack his tenderloin again. She kissed his forehead playfully, turned to leave. Someone snickered, "That's the moon girl, I think. I thought her boyfriend was way up there. Another cheap publicity stunt." "Careful," Dan frowned. "So you're happy. Don't go around ruining everything." Still smiling, Jeanne left. * * * * * "Sit down, Miss Peterson." The general waved Jeanne to a chair, half rose as she seated herself. "Frankly, these publicity things always make me nervous." "_You're_ nervous! Look who's talking!" Jeanne waited while the general lit a cigarette. "Only three minutes! I can hardly think what to say." "Is that bothering you, Miss? Don't worry. They showed me a copy of the script." "Script?" "Script, yes. For tonight's program. Your part is all there, word for word." "But I thought--" "That it would be extemporaneous? I guess we're both new at this, Miss Peterson. I would have thought the same thing. But not with an audience of twenty million. That's what Mr. Pate said. Pate, he's the director of the show." "But--but they can't do that. I want to talk to Tom. I want to tell him--things. I won't recite any prepared speech." How ridiculous could the whole situation become? Jeanne thought. She'd made a farce of their love these months. Now she wanted to forget that, make up for it at least in part by speaking to Tom, by pouring her heart out to him (as if she could even start to do that, in three minutes). If that fell through too. "You'd better send for Mr. Pate." "You don't understand. Mr. Pate's in charge, not me." "Then--then I won't speak at all. Let him tell their audience that." "What? Why, Miss, you can't do that. They expect you on the show and--" "Send for Mr. Pate." Suddenly, she was glad Lubrano hadn't come out here with her. He naturally would have agreed with Mr. Pate. The general picked up a phone on his desk, dialed. "Afternoon, Captain. Have you seen Pate? What? Splendid. Of course I'll wait." He cupped a well-manicured hand over the receiver. "They're looking for him, Miss ... Eh? Hello? Mr. Pate? I'm sorry to bother you, but--yes, important. I wish you could come to my office, whenever you ... Splendid. Splendid." The general hung up. "Be right here." * * * * *