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The Gate House :: Demille Nelson
Страница: 445 из 490Well, if she showed up, I’d go out there and give her a big hug and kiss, and shout into her microphone, “Jenny! Sweetheart! I missed you!”
That’s silly. It did occur to me, however, that I should call Mr. Nasim and give him a heads-up about all of this before he read something in the tabloids that mentioned John and Susan Sutter of Stanhope Hall. Maybe he’d double his offer for the house.
On the other hand, Susan and I were leaving tomorrow, so why bother calling anyone? My and Susan’s philosophy is: When the shit hits the fan, it’s time to hit the road.
Well, maybe one positive thing might come out of all this media coverage – maybe Anthony would have trouble finding a hit man who wanted to take the Sutter job. I mean, hit men are sort of low-profile guys, and they don’t like to hit public figures or people who are in the news. Right? That was an encouraging thought.
It was now 9:00 A.M., and Susan, sitting at the patio table with her coffee, her portable phone, and a pad and pencil, dialed her travel agent.
As the phone rang, she asked me, “Do you mind flying economy class?”
“What’s that?”
Before she could tell me, her agent answered, and Susan and the agent chatted a minute, then Susan booked us two economy class seats to London on Continental Airlines, departing JFK at 7:30 A.M. She said to the travel agent, “No, we don’t need a hotel. My husband has a flat in London.”
When did I get married? Did I lose a day somewhere?
Then she booked us on the Chunnel train to Paris, and in Paris, Susan blew it out and booked us for a week at the Ritz, where we’d stayed the last time. Then Air France economy class back to New York, arriving Wednesday afternoon, July 3, so we’d be back in time for the annual Fourth of July barbecue at Seawanhaka – unless we decided to go on the lam in London.
She hung up and said to me, “I’m really excited about this trip.”
“Me, too.”
“John, when can we get married?”
“We actually don’t need to. I can just file a petition in matrimonial court – de lunatico inquirendo – to annul our divorce decree, then we’ll be automatically married again.”
“You are so full of shit.”
“Right. How about July Fourth at Seawanhaka? Everyone we know will be there anyway, and it won’t cost us anything, except what we spend for ourselves.”
She didn’t think that was such a good idea – women are not practical – and she called the club manager at Seawanhaka.
That’s silly. It did occur to me, however, that I should call Mr. Nasim and give him a heads-up about all of this before he read something in the tabloids that mentioned John and Susan Sutter of Stanhope Hall. Maybe he’d double his offer for the house.
On the other hand, Susan and I were leaving tomorrow, so why bother calling anyone? My and Susan’s philosophy is: When the shit hits the fan, it’s time to hit the road.
Well, maybe one positive thing might come out of all this media coverage – maybe Anthony would have trouble finding a hit man who wanted to take the Sutter job. I mean, hit men are sort of low-profile guys, and they don’t like to hit public figures or people who are in the news. Right? That was an encouraging thought.
It was now 9:00 A.M., and Susan, sitting at the patio table with her coffee, her portable phone, and a pad and pencil, dialed her travel agent.
As the phone rang, she asked me, “Do you mind flying economy class?”
“What’s that?”
Before she could tell me, her agent answered, and Susan and the agent chatted a minute, then Susan booked us two economy class seats to London on Continental Airlines, departing JFK at 7:30 A.M. She said to the travel agent, “No, we don’t need a hotel. My husband has a flat in London.”
When did I get married? Did I lose a day somewhere?
Then she booked us on the Chunnel train to Paris, and in Paris, Susan blew it out and booked us for a week at the Ritz, where we’d stayed the last time. Then Air France economy class back to New York, arriving Wednesday afternoon, July 3, so we’d be back in time for the annual Fourth of July barbecue at Seawanhaka – unless we decided to go on the lam in London.
She hung up and said to me, “I’m really excited about this trip.”
“Me, too.”
“John, when can we get married?”
“We actually don’t need to. I can just file a petition in matrimonial court – de lunatico inquirendo – to annul our divorce decree, then we’ll be automatically married again.”
“You are so full of shit.”
“Right. How about July Fourth at Seawanhaka? Everyone we know will be there anyway, and it won’t cost us anything, except what we spend for ourselves.”
She didn’t think that was such a good idea – women are not practical – and she called the club manager at Seawanhaka.