“God knows,” Burris said. “If they take her seriously, they’re liable to call her some sort of capitalist deviationist.”
“And if they don’t take her seriously?” Malone said.
“Then they’re going to wonder why she’s pretending to be a capitalist deviationist,” Burris said.
Malone flicked his cigarette at an ashtray. “You can’t win,” he said.
“Frankly,” Burris said, “I wouldn’t allow Her Majesty to go along under any circumstances—except that there is an excuse for having an older woman around.”
“There is?” Malone said.
Burris nodded. “As a chaperone,” he said.
“Now, wait a minute,” Malone said. “Brubitsch, Borbitsch and what’s his name don’t need a chaperone.”
“I didn’t say it was for them,” Burris said.
“Me?” Malone asked in a tone of absolute wonder. “Now, Chief, I don’t need a chaperone. I’m a grown man. I know my way around. And the idea of having Her Majesty along to chaperone me is going to make everything look even stranger. After all, Chief—”