Larry said, “It was information we needed, and Foster gave me the go ahead on locating Frol Eivazov. Maybe I’d better see the Boss.” LaVerne said, “I don’t think he wants to see you, Larry. They’re up to their ears in this Movement thing. It’s in the papers _now_ and nobody knows what to do next. The President is going to make a speech on TriD, and the Boss has to supply the information. His orders are for you to resume your vacation. To take a month off and then see him when you get back.” Larry sank down into a chair. “I see,” he said, “And at that time he’ll probably transfer me to janitor service.” “Larry,” LaVerne said, almost impatiently, “why in the world didn’t you take that job Walt Foster has now when the Boss offered it to you?” “Because I’m stupid, I suppose,” Larry said bitterly. “I thought I could do more working alone than at an administrative post tangled in red tape and bureaucratic routine.” She said, “Sorry, Larry.” She sounded as though she meant it. Larry stood up. “Well, tonight I’m going to hang one on, and tomorrow it’s back to Florida.” He said in a rush, “Look LaVerne, how about that date we’ve been talking about for six months or more?” She looked up at him. “I can’t stand vodka martinis.” “Neither can I,” he said glumly. “And I don’t get a kick out of prancing around, a stuffed shirt among fellow stuffed shirts, at some goings-on that supposedly improves my culture status.” Larry said “At the house I have every known brand of drinkable, and a stack of ... what did you call it? ... corny music. We can mix our own drinks and dance all by ourselves.” She tucked her head to one side and looked at him suspiciously. “Are your intentions honorable?” “We can even discuss that later,” he said sourly. She laughed. “It’s a date, Larry.” ------------------------------------- He picked her up after work, and they drove to his Brandywine auto-bungalow, largely quiet the whole way. At one point she touched his hand with hers and said, “It’ll work out, Larry.” “Yeah,” he said sourly. “I’ve put ten years into ingratiating myself with the Boss. Now, overnight, he’s got a new boy. I suppose there’s some moral involved.” When they pulled up before his auto-bungalow, LaVerne whistled appreciatively. “Quite a neighborhood you’re in.” He grunted. “A good address. What our friend Professor Voss would call one more status symbol, one more social-label. For it I pay about fifty per cent more rent than my budget can afford.”