Thank You for Smoking

"Speaking of which," Jack said, "have you decided whether you're going to his birthday, yet?"

This would be the President's birthday, thought Nick. Heather had mentioned it. A big affair, on the South Lawn of the White House. It was being done as a benefit, of course, for homeless children. These days you couldn't just throw a party for yourself.

"I don't know," Jeff said with an air of exhaustion. "I don't know yet. I just don't."

"It's tomorrow, Jeff."

"Yes it is. Maybe I'll be there. I don't know. The whole thing to me is very. sad."Once again — Nick was dazzled. The death of thousands of Glutanese had been displaced by a discussion of whether Jeff was going to attend a party for a President who had disappointed him by not staying as a guest at his house, all because the press was making a thing out of how he was star-struck by Hollywood. Yet clearly Jeff was a man of sensitivity: he had extended to Nick the professional courtesy of asking one mass murderer if he had any objection to co-sponsoring a movie with another mass murderer. In a crazy, mixed-up world, Nick reflected, it amounted to manners.

"So," Jeff said, "would that be a problem for you?"

BLOODY SULTAN AND TOBACCO COMPANIES TEAM UP IN MOVIE DEAL.

Nick sighed. "I'd better run it by my people."

"Of course," Jeff said, sounding disappointed.

Nick sensed that he was not used to being told, I'll get back to you.

"And those numbers," Jeff said, setting down his cup of ginseng. "You'll want to run those by your people too," in a tone of mild, but unmistakable disparagement.

It was time, Nick reckoned, for some counter-pecker flexing. A forty-eight-billion-dollar industry had no apologies to make for the size of its penis.

"Of course," Nick smiled, "those numbers are completely out of line. Especially in light of the fact that we're being asked to participate in the venture with someone who's being called the Hitler of the South Pacific. Not that we get involved in politics, either."

Jeff stared. Jack finally broke the silence. "There's a lot that didn't come out in the press. He did offer to relocate them, first. And what did they do? Stuck a spear through his emissary. My understanding is that if you're a sultan, you just can't let that kind of behavior happen, cause pretty soon everybody's going to be in your face. It's not like being governor of, I don't know, Kansas."

"I think we're getting a little off the track here," Jeff said. "I personally can say that in my dealings with the sultan, he's been a very reasonable and sensitive individual. As for those numbers, we can get them down. We're all looking for comfort. At the same time, Nick, we have to be realistic. We're talking about two of the hottest stars in the business, supernovas. And some technical considerations. Like why they don't blow themselves up when they light up in a spaceship. We're still going to be talking serious money."

"Uh-huh," Nick said. "Of course we'll want everything all spelled out, contractually. Script approval. Brand of cigarettes, number of cigarettes smoked, spoken references to the cigarettes, specifically to how enjoyable they are to smoke. And so forth. In fact, for this kind of money, I'm certain that we'll want it specified how many puffs they take off each cigarette. Can Mace McQuade blow smoke rings?"

"I don't know," Jeff said. "I don't have that information."

"For this kind of money, we'd want smoke rings."

Jack said, "He learned how to scuba dive for Kraken. I don't see a problem learning to do smoke rings."

"Good," Nick said. "Because for the kind of money we seem to be talking about, my people would expect some very serious smoking in Sector Six."

"Let's see what we can work out," Jeff said. "We'll be in touch."

This time, Jack Bein remained behind with Jeff. Stepping across the fish pond, Nick felt like one of the people in the James Bond movies who, having displeased Number One, are dropped through the trapdoor into the shark pool; but he made it to the elevators without being nibbled to death by expensive carp.

Back at the Encomium, there were urgent messages from the Captain, BR, Heather, Polly, Jeannette, and Jack Bein. He wasn't sure whose to return first, but with phone messages, as with life, it's always prudent to give priority to the person paying your salary.

The Captain was out of the hospital, but sounded as though he should be back in it. He was not in a good way.

"I assume you heard this. grotesque news," he said. Nick said he'd been in a meeting all morning with Jeff Megall. The Captain didn't even ask how that was going.

"Finisterre?"

"Means end of the earth, in French," the Captain said, pausing to swallow something. Nitroglycerin? "That's appropriate. Gomez O'Neal reported in last night. One of his Senate people finally dug it out. Wasn't easy, or cheap. The son of a bitch is going to introduce a bill by the end of the week mandating that cigarette packages carry a skull and crossbones."