Mom got up doubtfully, approached the telephone as if it might jump up and attack her.
"Forget it," Jeanne told them. Use big words. Use words which would have ridiculous double-entendres for them. Frighten them. "I won't prostitute my emotional relationship with Tom for all the Women's Leagues in the county. Forget it."
"Jeanne!" said Aunt Anna.
"Jeanne," Mom echoed her, more than a little shocked. "What all this has to do with—Jeanne! Oh...."
But Jeanne was on her way upstairs to put on something gay and bright for the arrival of Mr. Lubrano. Now that she thought of it, she liked the almost electric crackle in the reporter's voice over the phone.
"Good afternoon, Miss Peterson. Honest, I feel almost like a cub. In a few hours, you've become quite a figure." Mr. Lubrano was young, good-looking in a dark, dangerous, eager Latin way. He took Jeanne's proffered hand, held it and looked at her long enough to let her know he appreciated what he saw, briefly enough to indicate everything would be strictly business if she wanted it that way.
Jeanne had been firm with Aunt Anna and her folks. Their part in this was to be strictly a vicarious one. She would answer their questions later. As it turned out, Pop almost had to propel Aunt Anna from the room, and this only because Jeanne had insisted beforehand. Mom couldn't fathom the fuss or the secrecy, and contentedly did as she was told.
"You're younger than I expected, Miss Peterson."
"Come now. Tom's only twenty-five. You know that."