"You don't understand. Mr. Pate's in charge, not me."
"Then—then I won't speak at all. Let him tell their audience that."
"What? Why, Miss, you can't do that. They expect you on the show and—"
"Send for Mr. Pate." Suddenly, she was glad Lubrano hadn't come out here with her. He naturally would have agreed with Mr. Pate.
The general picked up a phone on his desk, dialed. "Afternoon, Captain. Have you seen Pate? What? Splendid. Of course I'll wait." He cupped a well-manicured hand over the receiver. "They're looking for him, Miss ... Eh? Hello? Mr. Pate? I'm sorry to bother you, but—yes, important. I wish you could come to my office, whenever you ... Splendid. Splendid." The general hung up. "Be right here."
Ten minutes later, Pate arrived. He was young, florid of face, and looked like he'd soon have a bad case of high blood pressure if he didn't already have it. He waved a hand carelessly at the general. Too carelessly. Like he was a recently discharged enlisted man who felt he didn't have to bow and scrape any more.
"You're Jeanne. Recognize you anywhere. Like to tell your Tom he has good taste."
"Fine," said Jeanne. "Tell him anything you want. I'm not speaking."
"Ha, ha. Good joke."