"Then tomorrow night?"
"Where?"
"What would you say to my place downtown? I think you live right around the corner from me."
"This has to be strictly business, Matt."
"Guaranteed." I raised my palm.
"Well, I've got a lot of work—"
"Shall we make it for seven?" I was handing her my card, address and number thereon. "The cocktail hour?"
She was still glaring at Mori's office as she absently took it. "Well . . . all right." She glanced back. "Seven."
"See you there."
. . . Jack O'Donnell's speech, to be delivered to the Senate that Tuesday, sort of slipped to the back of my mind. Maybe it shouldn't have. After getting back to his office that afternoon he dictated about three versions before he had it the way he wanted it. Friday morning he messengered a copy down to my office, and I can tell you it was a beauty. He'd got it all, and he'd got it right.