“Oh, lots,” she assured him. “They don’t expect me to have much of any of my allowance left when I get home, and I never intended to, anyway. But anybody with half a brain is expected to be able to get home from a party—any kind of a party—without crying for help, and without walking, either; so I’ll go hide one of these slips.”
“If that’s all that’s bothering you, no matter,” Cloud said quickly. “You’ve got another pay day coming before we get to Vegia, you know.”
“Oh, I never thought of that—I’ve never been on a payroll before, you know, and can’t get used to being paid for doing nothing. But can we go now, Captain Nealcloud, please? I can’t wait!”
“If Joan’s ready we can. We’ll go see.”
But Joan was not ready. “Did you actually think she would be?” Helen asked. “Don’t you know that the less a woman puts on the longer it takes her to do it?”
“Nope—I s’posed Doctor Joan Janowick would be above such frippery.”
“You’d be surprised. But say, how’d you talk her into this vacation? Your manly charm, no doubt.”
“Could be, but I doubt it. All she wanted was half an excuse and the promise I wouldn’t get sore if we have to kill a couple of days in space before starting shooting on Vegia . . . Hot Dog!—just look who’s here!”
Joan came in, pausing in embarrassment, at the burst of applause and whistles that greeted her. She was richly, deeply tanned; taut, trim, and dainty—she had trained down to a hundred and fifteen pounds—her bra was a triumph of the couturier’s art. She, too, was armed; her DeLameter harness sported the two-and-a-half silver bars of a lieutenant commander.
“Ouch—I’m bedazzled!” Cloud covered his eyes ostentatiously, then, gradually and equally ostentatiously recovering his sight: “Very nice, Joanie—you’re a veree slick chick. With a dusting of powdered sugar and a dab of cream you’d make a right tasty snack. Just one thing—a bit overdressed, don’t you think?”