"Listen, I'm off duty. You got any idea what time--"
"You're wanted at the White House. Now."
"The _White_ House? You mean--?"
"The White House. The President wants to see you."
"The _President_! Cut out the gags, will you? I'm in no--"
"I don't kid with reporters, Sam. On your way."
The phone went dead. I stood there staring stupidly at the receiver.
Lois had to shake my arm to get my attention. "What did he want?"
"The President wants to see me."
"You're joking!"
"Hunh-uh. Anybody but Pete Purcell, I'd agree." I put back the
receiver and went over to the dresser for clean underwear. "Get back
to bed, honey. I'll be home as soon as I get through running the
Government. Can you imagine! The President wants to see _me_!"
She yawned and stretched, looking like the June page on an _Esquire_
calendar. "Well, so much for my sheerest nightgown."
"Believe me, darling, if it wasn't the President--"
"I know. It would be an Indian."
I finished dressing while she sat on the bed with her knees drawn up
to her chin, watching me. I kissed her thoroughly and patted her here
and there and went downstairs. The night man in the garage under the
building put down his _Racing Form_ and dug my Plymouth out of a
welter of chrome and glass.