"Will you stop it?" I cried. "Now, Glad, listen, aim it toward my orbit. Lead me a little—there, that ought to do it. Now when I count down to zero give it a shove. Ready? Three, two, one—zero!"
It was dead on!
I looked in the bag, hoping to find a newly charged carbonation unit for the servomech bar. I didn't, but I found something else!
"Helene," I said, "I love you!"—and I drew forth the loveliest magnum of champagne you'd ever hope to see.
"But, Bill," Helene cried, "that's to celebrate our wedding night!"
I appreciated the present tense but said nothing, working on the wire which bound the cork.
"Bill, remember what happened to the Scotch," Gladys warned me.
I ignored them both, thinking furiously. It had to be Helene! She would sweep to the apogee of her cometlike orbit near the cellar door again in seconds. I shook the magnum as violently as I could. Its cork went whooshing off on a ricochet romance with the Scotch cap. The freed and deeply disturbed champagne blasted off straight for the most remote point in Helene's orbit—and Helene was there! On target!
I went whirling backward with the reacting magnum against my chest, bounced against a wall, smacked against the chandelier, flipflopped a few times and found myself orbiting directly below Gladys. I re-oriented myself with some effort and found by twisting my head sharply that I could see the results of the improvised jet blast: Helene, drenched with champagne, stood in gravity on the cellar stairs.
"Dear," I ventured, "just go down and ease off on the rheostat; that'll cancel this out gradually and let us down easily."