"It was a man," said Aunt Anna.
"Who said my roast was burning?" Mom asked them all indignantly as she returned from the kitchen.
"Who was the young man, Jeanne?" Aunt Anna asked.
Jeanne grinned, brushed back a stray lock of her blonde hair. "Sorry to disappoint an old gossip like you, but—"
"Tom is a long way off!"
"That was just Mr. Lubrano, a reporter on the Times-Democrat. 'How does it feel to be the fiancee of the first man to reach the moon,' he said. Funny, I hadn't thought of it that way at all. How does it feel? Did he expect me to turn cartwheels? (But, I am proud of Tom, so why don't I admit it?) He'll be down to interview me this afternoon."
"After dinner, I hope," said Mom.
Awkwardly, Aunt Anna lit a cigarette—something she did only on rare, important occasions. "It never occurred to me," she said slowly, trying to remove tobacco grains from her tongue as delicately as possible with thumb and forefinger. "Not for a moment. But Jeanne, in her own right, is also a celebrity. The Women's League has watched her grow up, I know. But suddenly, all at once, Jeanne is different. Andrea, get May King on the phone!"
"May—the president?" Mom wanted to know, somewhat awed.
"Of course, Andrea. A little imagination, that's what you need."