"Wait a minute, Jettero. You've got me all in a spin."
"They better not spin or we'll court-martial the whole air force. Wear your best smile. Tell you all about it when I see you. Love you. Bye-bye."
"Jettero," wailed the Countess Krak, "do you think your estimate of this situation is safe?"
But he had clicked off and the screen was dead.
An amazed Countess Krak had been saluted on both sides of the world, had been set down to "all runways cleared" at La Guardia, had not even gone through immigration or customs, and had been rushed, sirens screaming, with an escort of six New York motorcycle police, straight to the condo.
She had managed to slip by the beaming Balmor and, despite the tears and sobbings of an overjoyed lady's maid, was able to change her clothes and get neatened up.
Now as she entered the luncheon salon, she was promptly all messed up again by the hugs and kisses of a smartly uniformed Jettero.
The place was crammed with flowers, the tables groaned with food and strains of triumphal music shook the chandeliers.
Izzy, Bang-Bang and Twoey were clutching at her hands, bowing and beaming in adoring welcome.
There was a one-foot stack of something on the table before her chair, and when she tried to sit down, the stack tipped over and cascaded into her lap and all over the floor. Credit cards! Of every possible company and they all said "Heavenly Joy Krackle," and the Bonbucks Teller one was in a blue orchid corsage. She was trying to put the corsage on when Balmor and two footmen came in with an enormous gold frame.
It wasn't for her.
They put it on an easel. It was some kind of parchment apparently printed by special run. It was a banner headline of the New York Grimes and just one story. It said:
NO DECLARATION!
LEADERSHIP OF
PRESIDENT
BRINGS U. S. FROM
BRINK OF WAR!
The four men went into bellows of laughter!
For the life of her she could see nothing funny in it.
Somewhat petulantly, when she could be heard, the Countess Krak said, "You might at least tell me what you're laughing at!"
"It's for the wall of Jet's study," said Bang-Bang. "We had it specially reprinted and framed."
That told her nothing. She turned to Jettero. "And it was mean of you to leave me hanging in midair about Bury and some woman."
Jettero laughed. "Well, it got you aboard that plane, didn't it? And without a word of argument about how you should stay in Turkey."
That made her laugh. "Oh, Jettero!" she said. "Living with you has its moments! Life is certainly never dull. Now please tell me what has been going on."
They were all sitting down eating prawns now and Jettero began to tell her what had happened in New York and Pokantickle but he evidently kept leaving out pieces of it that had to do with how he had accomplished certain things and the others kept stopping him and correcting him and well before he was finished, she was scared half to death at the risks he had taken. She managed to keep herself from going white and finally said, "So Rockecenter is dead."
"No, he's not dead," said Jettero. "He's sitting right there," and he pointed to Twoey. "Between him and Izzy, they own the planet." He turned to him. "So what are you going to do with it, boys?"
"Raise pigs," said Twoey.
"Now there," said Jettero to the Countess Krak, "no problems at all. They've got it all worked out."
"Oh, Jettero, be serious," she said. "I'm sure there's some kind of plan or program."
"Yes, ma'am!" said Jettero. "You've put your lovely finger right on it. There certainly is. At four o'clock this afternoon we're due over at Bayonne. And it's very important that you dress well and look very proper and prim, for if you are acceptable, we can then schedule the engagement party."
"Acceptable to WHOM?" she wailed.
"Well, I can't call her by her title yet because she won't be invested until Saturday. And that's the other thing I've got to take up with her, the coronation party. And we have to decide upon the date of the engagement party, but I should say it should be the following week."
"Jettero, I feel like I am going faintly insane."
"Blame the summer weather, not me," said Jettero.
Balmor came to the door just then and said to Izzy, "Mr. Bury is on the phone, sir. He merely wants to know if Mr. Twoey will be available tomorrow to address the Swillerberger Conference that will now be held at the White House in the afternoon. He says he's sorry to trouble you and he has written the speech. He is just verifying."
"There better be some item on the agenda about pig production," said Twoey.
"Tell Bury he'll be there," said Izzy, "and while he's on the phone tell him to hold up clearing out the Rockecenter offices until I can see to it personally."
The cat had been trying to get her attention and the Countess was very glad of the distraction.
The rest of the luncheon went off in a blur and then, dressed somehow and feeling she looked a fright, she was in the Silver Spirit with Jettero, escorted by two army tanks.
There were things she wanted to say to Jettero, urgent things, but he had the window down and the roar of the huge monsters made it hard to talk. "What are the tanks for?" she said in desperation.
"I haven't had time to separate from service," said Jettero.
"Do they always escort junior officers with tanks?" said the Countess Krak.
"Well, no," said Jettero. "They're probably afraid that I will forget to turn in my sidearms. One signs for them, you know."
"Jettero, for Heavens' sakes, be serious! I'm worried sick about this Voltar situation."
"If you go worrying about everything all the time, all you get done is worrying," said Jettero.
"Some worry is necessary," said the Countess.
"You'll never be a combat engineer," said Jettero.
"I'm not trying to be a combat engineer," she wailed. "I'm trying to become the wife of one."
"Ah, well," said Jettero, "it's a good thing you decided to put your mind on that. Here's your crucial test. We've arrived."
They had pulled up in front of a high-rise which rose grandly beside a park.
Two dark, lean Sicilian men carrying submachine guns were there, looking warily at the tanks. One peered into the Silver Spirit and then relaxed.
"Oh, it's you, kid!" he said. "You better go right up. This place has been in an uproar all day."
The other yelled into a lobby, "Hey! On your toes! It's the kid and his moll!"
They were walking through a mob of men in black suits, and swarthy faces that had appeared from nowhere, apparently specially to get a look at her. She felt she was wearing everything backwards and was missing a slipper, for those eyes were very alert and appraising.
Then a whisper reached her, "Jesus, kid, where did you find HER? Cristo, is she a movie star or something?"
It made her feel a bit better, but at the top of the elevator, a booming voice was heard coming down the hall, "I don't give a (bleep), you (bleepard)! Tell those sons of (bleepches) in Chicago to throw their God (bleeped) drugs in Lake Michigan and begin running rum or I'll put a hundred hit men on their tails. Now get the hell out of here. I think I heard my kid!"
A very old Italian, beautifully dressed, lugging a briefcase, fled out of the room, almost collided with Jettero, looked at him in a cautionary way and said, "Take it easy in there. She's on fire!"
An old Sicilian in a white coat hurried up and gave Jettero a reassuring pat and ushered them into a salon of such elegance the Countess thought for an instant she was back on Voltar.