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Accustomed as I am to being Napoleon’s fallback option when one of his dates falls through, I still feel slighted at being his fifth or sixth choice.
We had been sent out on a mission late on the previous Friday afternoon and had just returned one week to the day. We made our verbal report to Waverly and convinced Medical that we were fine, which we were, mostly. I was working on our written report. Napoleon was working on a date for that evening.
He had made reservations at Rusterman’s. If only his date fell through, I was in for a gourmet meal, possibly paid for by Napoleon if I could make him feel guilty enough about something.
First, he returned a call from the woman with whom he had had to break a date last Friday. She had left several phone messages, but just wanted to tell him, loudly and at considerable length, that she was tired of broken dates and unreturned calls and did not want to see him ever again. He tried to smooth it over with promises of a fantastic date that very night, but he couldn’t get two words in before she slammed down the phone.
Next, he tried to phone the stewardess whose phone number he had obtained on our flight home. He searched every pocket several times, but couldn’t find the slip of paper that he had carelessly put in his outside jacket pocket. The pocket that his partner had had to brush past on the way to the lavatory. The partner who still holds the Survival School record for “manual dexterity and distraction”. The partner who was quite annoyed at being locked out of our hotel room until four in the morning, so he could “exchange information” with Angelique.
Then there was the Innocent who had insisted on complicating our mission. She had been more trouble than the routine Innocent, complaining about everything in a shrill, nails on chalkboard voice. Even Napoleon had been glad to drop her at her hotel and get away, but now he was having a call put through to her. I was offended that he could prefer her company to mine. Fortunately, her fiancé had flown to New York to take her home, so she was unavailable too.
Unbelievably, Napoleon now tried to chat up the Communications girl on duty. She knew about the calls he had already made, of course, since all outside calls go through Communications and the numbers are recorded. She made it clear that if she wasn’t his first choice then he could go, well, the suggestion wasn’t very ladylike or anatomically possible, but one had to admire her spirit.
Ever hopeful, Napoleon then wandered off in the general direction of the steno pool. I was feeling seriously irked by that time and made a call to the gossipiest member of the steno pool with a legitimate question about a new form. She asked how we were and I assured her that we were uninjured for once, but Napoleon may have lost his sex appeal because no less than four women had already turned down dates with him tonight and he had told me he was reduced to scraping the bottom of the barrel. Napoleon’s quest for a date in the steno pool was not successful either.
I was just about to leave for the day when Napoleon returned and, sounding like it was what he intended all along, asked me if I wanted to go to dinner with him. He is so good at making you think you are the only person in his world, that I almost relented. But I had enough self-respect, and spite, to tell him that I had a date and leave.
When I got home, I pulled out the scrap of paper with the stewardess’ phone number.
“Hello, Miss Andersen, my name is Illya Kuryakin, you may remember me from the last flight from Oslo to New York? I am the blond man who was sitting next to Napoleon Solo. Napoleon has remembered that he has a previous date for this evening. Since he tends to be a bit forgetful of his manners once he has what he wants, I thought it would be only courteous to let you know about the cancellation.
“I am so sorry he inconvenienced you. I should have interrupted his game while we were on the plane, but that would have led to an embarrassing scene. Would you possibly consider letting me make it up to you? Dinner at Rusterman’s? Would 7:30 be acceptable? Wonderful. Shall I pick you up at your apartment?
“I can’t tell you how much I am looking forward to it.”
Since taking the stewardess to Rusterman’s was originally Napoleon’s idea, I would just take his reservation and, with any luck, put the dinner on his account.