“That’s… it’s not…” She fell silent for a moment, biting at her lips. Then she said, “How could
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then I can’t believe you. Johnny said Kennedy was going to be the nominee of the Democratic party, even though everybody else thought it was going to be Humphrey on account of Kennedy being a Catholic. He analyzed the states with primaries, ran the numbers, and he was right. He said Johnson would be Kennedy’s running mate because Johnson was the only Southerner who would be acceptable north of the Mason-Dixon line. He was right about that, too. Kennedy got in, and now he’s going to kill us all. Statistical analysis doesn’t lie.”
I took a deep breath. “Sadie, I want you to listen to me. Very carefully. Are you awake enough to do that?”
For a moment there was nothing. Then I felt her nod against my upper arm.
“It’s now early Tuesday morning. This standoff is going to go on for another three days. Or maybe it’s four, I can’t remember.”
“What do you mean, you can’t
“We’re going to blockade Cuba, but the only Russian ship we’ll stop won’t have anything in it but food and trade goods. The Russians are going to bluster, but by Thursday or Friday they’re going to be scared to death and looking for a way out. One of the big Russian diplomats will initiate a backchannel meeting with some TV guy.” And seemingly from nowhere, the way crossword puzzle answers sometimes come to me, I remembered the name. Or almost remembered it. “His name is John Scolari, or something like that—”
“Scali? Are you talking about John Scali, on the ABC News?”
“Yeah, that’s him. This is going to happen Friday or Saturday, while the rest of the world — including your ex and your pal from Yale — is just waiting for the word to stick their heads between their legs and kiss their asses goodbye.”
She heartened me by giggling.
“This Russian will more or less say…” Here I did a pretty good Russian accent. I had learned it listening to Lee’s wife. Also from Boris and Natasha on
She wasn’t giggling now. She was staring at me with huge saucer eyes. “You’re making this up to make me feel better.”
I said nothing.
“You’re
“Wrong,” I said. “I
“George…
“John Clayton claims to know, and you believe
“You’re jealous of him, aren’t you?”
“You’re goddam right.”
“I never slept with him. I never even wanted to.” Solemnly, she added: “I could never sleep with a man who wears that much cologne.”
“Good to know. I’m still jealous.”
“Should I ask questions about how you—”
“No. I won’t answer them.” I probably shouldn’t have told her as much as I had, but I couldn’t stop myself. And in truth, I would do it again. “But I will tell you one other thing, and this you can check yourself in a couple of days. Adlai Stevenson and the Russian representative to the UN are going to face off in the General Assembly. Stevenson’s going to exhibit huge photos of the missile bases the Russians are building in Cuba, and ask the Russian guy to explain what the Russians said wasn’t there. The Russian guy is going to say something like, ‘You must vait, I cannot respond viddout full translation.’ And Stevenson, who knows the guy can speak perfect English, is going to say something that’ll wind up in the history books along with
She looked at me doubtfully, turned to the night table, saw the charred pack of Winstons sitting on top of a hill of crushed butts, and said: “I think I’m out of cigarettes.”
“You should be okay until morning,” I said dryly. “It looks to me like you front-loaded about a week’s supply.”
“George?” Her voice was very small, very timid. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
“My car’s parked in your—”
“If one of the neighborhood neb-noses says something, I’ll tell them you came to see me after the president’s speech and it wouldn’t start.”
Considering how the Sunliner was running these days, that was plausible. “Does your sudden concern for propriety mean you’ve stopped worrying about nuclear Armageddon?”
