Joan kissed her. “All right, darling. I knew you weren’t having quite the happy time I wanted you to have. Didn’t know why. I’ll have to visit you at your place—where it’s nice for all of us. I don’t like the city, it scares me. But I like it, loads, in your studio—as long as 1 don’t have to go outside. But is that all that’s wrong? Has anyone upset you? Or Joe?”
“Oh, no! Everybody’s been swell.”
“You called Jake ‘Mr. Salomon.’”
“That was because I was upset—knowing I had to tell you.”
“Then you both feel easy with Jake? I know he’s impressive, he even impresses me. Nothing uptight there?”
“Oh, not a bit! Uh; knowing we were walking out on Jake upset us as much as knowing we were walking out on you.”
“Then may Jake and I both come visit you? Stay a few days?” (Will she duck this, Eunice?) (Why ask me, Boss? You just asked her.)
Mrs. Branca dropped her eyes, then looked up and said bluntly, “You mean a Quartet? All the way?”
“All the way.”
“Well, we would, I guess you know that. But how about Jake?”
“Well? How about Jake, Gigi? You tell me.”
“Uh, Jake is relaxed with us. But he’s a little uptight when you’re around, seems like. Joan Eunice, you caught on. Didn’t you? Or you wouldn’t have braced me for a Quartet.”
“I caught on, dear. It’s all right. No huhu.”
“I told Jake I thought you had. He said, Oh, no, impossible, you slept like a log.”
“I do except that I’ve reached the point in pregnancy where I sometimes get up to pee. But that wasn’t it—Jake could be most anywhere if he’s not in bed and I never check on him. What I spotted wasn’t proof. Just that a man has a way of looking at a woman he’s sure of. And vice versa. Nothing anybody could object to. Just ‘not uptight’ describes it as well as any. I’m not even mildly jealous of Jake, it simply pleased me. Knowing how sweet you can be for a man—remember, I used to be a man—”
“I know. But I don’t really believe it.”
“I have to believe it and can’t ever forget it. Knowing you, I felt smugly pleased for my husband. Tell me, have you made a Three Circle with Jake? Money Hum?”
“Oh, yes, always!”
“Next time—at your studio—it will be a Four Circle. Then our Quartet will harmonize perfectly and no one will ever be uptight again.”
“Yes. Yes!”
“In the meantime you’re not going to have to put up with this great big scary ocean even one more night. We won’t anchor, I’ll have Tom call for a copter—say for right after lunch. It’ll put you down at La Jolla International and you’ll jet straight home—copter pilot will see to things for you and Tom will have your reservations—and you’ll be home and flashing a pack in your own studio before you can say ‘Time Zone.’ Feel better?”
“Uh, I feel like a heel but—yes, I do. Oh, golly, Joan, I’m so homesick!”
“You’ll be home today. I’m going to find Tom and have him get things rolling. Then I’ll go tell Jake—and tell him why, he’ll understand—and relieve him at the wheel, and tell him he can find you in your stateroom. If you have the nerve of a mouse, little alley cat from the big city, you’ll bolt the door and tell him good-bye properly. Uh—Troy? Or twosome?”
“Oh. Troy. Of course.”
“Then find Joe and tell him. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. But Gigi—that painting of Eve. I must buy it.”
“No, we’ll give it to you.”
“We settled that long ago. Joe can give me anything else, but not paintings. I must pay for it because I want it to be a present from me to my husband. Now kiss me and run, dear.”
The Pussy Cat with her sails dowsed rocked gently on a light sea. Fifty feet above her tallest stick a copter hovered while again lowering a passenger-freight basket. Tom Finchley stood far aft and coached the copter pilot with hand signals. Mr. and Mrs. Branca had already disappeared into the copter cabin, having gone up on the first trip, but their baggage was on the weather deck, waiting to be loaded.