Malone suddenly found himself talking without having any idea why he'd started, or what he was going to say. At first he said, "Urr," as if the machine were warming up, and this stopped Dorothy and caused her to give him a rather sharp, baffled stare. Then he found some words and used them hurriedly, before they got away.
"Dorothy," he said, "would you like to take in a show this evening? I think I can get tickets to—well, I guess I could get tickets to almost anything, if I really tried." His expression attempted to leave no doubt that he would really try.
Dorothy appeared to consider for a moment. "Well," she said at last, "how about The Hot Seat?"
Malone felt just the way he had several years before when he had bluffed his way into a gigantic pot during a Washington poker game, with only a pair of fours to work with. At the last moment, his bluff had been called.
It had, he realized, been called again. The Hot Seat had set some sort of record, not only for Broadway longevity, but for audience frenzy. Getting tickets for it was about the same kind of proposition as buying grass on the moon, and getting them with absolutely no prior notice would require all the wire-pulling Malone could manage. He thought about The Hot Seat and wished Dorothy had picked something easy, like arranging for her to meet the Senate.
But he swallowed bravely. "I'll do my best," he said. "Got any second choice?"
"Sure," she said, and laughed. "Pick any one you want. I haven't seen them all, and the ones I have seen are worth seeing again."
"Oh," Malone said.
"I really didn't expect you to get tickets for The Hot Seat," she said.
"Nothing," Malone said, "is impossible." He grinned at her.
"Meanwhile, where can I pick you up? Your home?"