At the bottom of the mail pile, he found an enthusiastic letter from a theatrical producer named Homer Bradshaw, whom he had dealt with briefly during his career at Ostreich and Company.
Dear Tom,
Great to hear about your new connection! Have a fabulous gimmick that ought to be right down your alley. Am thinking of producing a new extravaganza entitled: "Be It Ever So Humble."
This will be a real classy show, with plenty of chorus line and top gags. We plan to kid the pants off this spaceman business, until those bright boys in the glass hats cry uncle. I've already lined up James Hocum for the top banana, and Sylvia Crowe for the female lead. You know Sylvia, Tom; she'll make space flight sound about as chic as a debutante's ball on the Staten Island Ferry. This is the way to do the job, Tom—laugh 'em out of it.
If you're interested in a piece of this, you can always reach me at ...
He was about to call it a day at five-thirty, when he got a visiphone call from John Andrusco. When he walked into the immense office at the other end of the floor, he saw a glassy-eyed man standing at Andrusco's desk, twirling his hat with nervous fingers.
"Tom," Andrusco said cheerfully, "want you to meet somebody. This is Sergeant Walt Spencer, formerly of the UN Space Commission."
Tom shook the man's hand, and he could feel it trembling in his own.
"I called Walt in here specially, thanks to that memo you sent me, Tom. Great idea of yours, about talking to some of the boys who've actually been in space. Walter here's willing to cooperate a hundred percent."
"That's fine," Tom said uneasily.