“I’m so pleased.”
“And I’m very glad that you took the trouble to travel up from Monterey to make these matters clear to us.”
“Enlightened self-interest,” Ms. Sawyer said.
“Mmm. Yes.” He found himself studying the sharp planes of her cheekbones, the delicate arch of her eyebrows. Not only was she cool and competent, Christensen thought, but now that the business part of their meeting was over, he was coming to notice that she was a very attractive woman and that he was not as tired as he had thought he was. Did international politics allow room for a little recreational hanky-panky? Metternich hadn’t jumped into bed with Talleyrand, nor Kissinger with Indira Gandhi, but times had changed, after all, and—no. No. He choked off that entire line of thought. In these shabby days they might all be children playing at being grownups, but nevertheless, international politics still had its code, and this was a meeting of diplomats, not a blind date or a singles-bar pickup. You will sleep in your own bed tonight, he told himself, and you will sleep alone.
All the same he said, “It’s past six o’clock. Shall we have dinner together before I go back to the city?”
“I’d love to.”
“I don’t know much about Berkeley restaurants. We’re probably better off eating right here.”
“I think that’s best,” she said.
They were the only ones in the hotel’s enormous dining room. A staff of three waited on them as though they were the most important people who had ever dined there. And dinner turned out to be quite decent, he thought—seafood, calamari and abalone and sand dabs and grilled thresher shark, washed down by a dazzling bottle of Napa chardonnay. Even though the world had ended, it remained possible to eat very well in the Bay Area, and the breakdown of society not only had reduced maritime pollution but also had made local seafood much more readily available for local consumption. There wasn’t much of an export trade possible with eleven national boundaries and eleven sets of customs barriers between San Francisco and Los Angeles.
Dinner conversation was light, relaxed—diplomatic chitchat, gossip about events in remote territories, reports about the Voodoo principality expanding out of New Orleans and the Sioux conquests in Wyoming and the Prohibition War now going on in what used to be Kentucky. There was a bison herd again on the Great Plains, she said, close to a million head. He told her what he had heard about the Suicide People who ruled between San Diego and Tijuana and about King Barnum & Bailey III who governed in northern Florida with the aid of a court of circus freaks. She smiled and said, “How can they tell the freaks from the ordinary people? The whole world’s a circus now, isn’t it?” He shook his head and replied, “No, a zoo,” and beckoned the waiter for more wine. He did not ask her about internal matters in Monterey, and she tactfully stayed away from the domestic problems of the Empire of San Francisco. He was feeling easy, buoyant, a little drunk, more than a little drunk; to have to answer questions now about the little rebellion that had been suppressed in Sausalito or the secessionist thing in Walnut Creek would only be a bringdown, and bad for the digestion besides.
About half past eight he said, “You aren’t going back to Monterey tonight, are you?”
“God, no! It’s a five-hour drive, assuming no more troubles with the San Jose highway patrol. And the road’s so bad below Watsonville that only a lunatic would drive it at night. I’ll stay at the Claremont.”
“Good. Let me put it on the imperial account.”
“That isn’t necessary. We—”
“The hotel is always glad to oblige the government. Please accept their hospitality.”
Ms. Sawyer shrugged. “Very well. Which we’ll reciprocate when you come to Monterey.”
“Fine.”
And then her manner suddenly changed. She shifted in her seat and fidgeted and played with her silverware, looking awkward and ill at ease. Some new and big topic was obviously about to be introduced, and Christensen guessed that she was going to ask him to spend the night with her. In a fraction of a second he ran through all the possible merits and demerits of that and came out on the plus side, and had his answer ready when she said, “Tom, can I ask a big favor?”
Which threw him completely off balance. Whatever was coming, it certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’d like an audience with the Emperor.”
“What?”
“Not on official business. I know the Emperor talks business only with his ministers and privy councillors. But I want to see him, that’s all.” Color came to her cheeks. “Doesn’t it sound silly? But it’s something I’ve always dreamed of, a kind of adolescent fantasy. To be in San Francisco, to be shown into the imperial throne-room, to kiss his ring, all that pomp and circumstance—I want it, Tom. Just to be there, to see him—do you think you could manage that?”
He was astounded. The facade of cool, tough competence had dropped away from her, revealing unanticipated absurdity. He did not know what to answer.
She said, “Monterey’s such a poky little place. It’s just a town. We call ourselves a republic, but we aren’t much of anything. And I call myself a senator and a diplomat, but I’ve never really been anywhere—San Francisco two or three times when I was a girl, San Jose a few times. My mother was in Los Angeles once, but I haven’t been anywhere. And to go home saying that I had seen the Emperor—” Her eyes sparkled. “You’re really taken aback, aren’t you? You thought I was all ice and microprocessors, and instead I’m only a hick, right? But you’re being very nice. You aren’t even laughing at me. Will you get me an audience with the Emperor for tomorrow or the day after?”
“I thought you were afraid to go into San Francisco.”
She looked abashed. “That was just a ploy. To make you come over here, to get you to take me seriously and put yourself out a little. The diplomatic wiles. I’m sorry about that. The word was that you were snotty, that you had to be met with strength or you’d be impossible to deal with. But you aren’t like that at all. Tom, I want to see the Emperor. He does give audiences, doesn’t he?”
“In a manner of speaking. I suppose it could be done.”
“Oh, would you! Tomorrow?”
“Why wait for tomorrow? Why not tonight?”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“Not at all,” Christensen said. “This is San Francisco. The Emperor keeps weird hours just like the rest of us. I’ll phone over there and see if we can be received.” He hesitated. “It won’t be what you’re expecting.”
“In what way?”
“The pomp, the circumstance—you’re going to be disappointed. You may be better off not meeting him, actually. Stick to your fantasy of imperial majesty. Seriously. I’ll get you an audience if you insist, but I don’t think it’s a great idea.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“No.”
“I still want to see him. Regardless.”
“Let me make some phone calls, then.”
He left the dining room and, with misgivings, began arranging things. The telephone system was working sluggishly that evening and it took him fifteen minutes to set the whole thing up, but there were no serious obstacles. He returned to her and said, “The ferry will pick us up at the marina in about an hour. There’ll be a car waiting on the San Francisco side. The Emperor will be available for viewing around midnight. I tell you that you’re not going to enjoy this. The Emperor is old and he’s been sick and he—he isn’t a very interesting person to meet.”
“All the same,” she said. “The one thing I wanted, when I volunteered to be the envoy, was an imperial audience. Please don’t discourage me.”