“I’m sorry. The Council was most specific. One pair of Earthlings, male and female. I cannot, as you might say, break up the set.”
He started for the door, and again Milt saw the end of the world in his gesture. He grabbed for the green man’s arm and pulled him back into the room.
“You can’t mean that! You can’t just walk out of here this way—”
“I have my orders,” the visitor said gravely.
“But I’ll get a mate. I promise! I’ll get one soon!”
“I hardly think—”
“So help me I will!” Milt let the hysteria take over; he was tired of holding it down. “I’ll get a mate right away. You’ll see. A genuine Earth-type mate—”
“I’m afraid there’s hardly enough time. If you will excuse me.”
“Just give me a chance. A week—a few days—”
The green man hesitated, and the hesitation gave Milt hope. “A few days?” the visitor said mildly. “Exactly how many days?”
“Five!”
The green man frowned. “Four. Three.”
“You believe you can accomplish this in three days?”
“I’m sure of it!”
“I’m behind schedule as it is—”
“I promise you! In three days, I’ll be ready!”
The visitor looked doubtful, and then the stony green countenance relaxed.
“Very well,” he said gently. “In three days I will return. If you succeed, all will be well. If not—”
He shrugged, opened the door, and left.
It had to be Naomi Winkler. Not because Naomi was the woman he had dream-envisioned himself spending the rest of his natural life with on some far-off planet, but simply because she was the only female Milt had been seeing.
Milt Klowitz had not quite been a Mama’s boy, but things had been so secure, so regulated, living with Mama, that until her death at the age of seventy-four Milt had lived on in the old house without a thought of the outside world. Least of all, marriage.
With his science fiction, his undemanding job in the advertising agency, and his Mama’s gugelhopf, Milt’s life had been cozily comfortable. But when Mama died, the old place became oppressive, and Milt had sold it to take this smaller, compact bachelor apartment.
He had met Naomi in the traffic department of the agency, when she had been sent up as a replacement from the typing pool. They had dated only casually. Although he had fumblingly kissed her on three occasions, there was never a thought of marriage. Marriage was totally outside his interests.
Now, it was his sole interest.
Consequently, it had to be Naomi Winkler.
“Hello, Naomi? Milt. I was, uh, wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight? Yeah, I know it’s Saturday and all that, but I was just thinking if we could get together—”
Milt had never known he could talk so long or so convincingly. But with the final gasp and the plunk of the receiver, he had made the dinner date.
He shaved with extreme care, and used more aftershave lotion than usual.
“This really is a lovely place, Milt. Are you sure you can afford it? I mean, it looks so expensive—”
She wasn’t really a homely girl, when you looked at her three-quarter view in the flickering light of the candle stuck in the Chianti bottle. Her hair was a rather lively chestnut, and her eyes were wide, brown and sparkling. Her features were a bit irregular, and her nose a bit too large, but at this juncture Milt was not looking for Raquel Welch. Merely a mate.
“Just leave the finances to me, Naomi. Tonight is something special. If a guy can’t spend a few bucks on the girl he loves, then—”
The word did it. Her expression was startled. Now he had to follow it up quickly, before the arrival of the veal parmesan spoiled the moment.
“It’s true, Naomi. I’ve kept this thing buried too long already. I’m in love with you—”
She blurted: “You—”
“I want to marry you! Right away!”
Her face froze in astonishment.
“Don’t say it!” he said. “Don’t say you hardly know me. That doesn’t matter, Naomi. I love you enough for the both of us. Just give me the chance to show you—”
“But we—”
Milt went on doggedly, dragging air into his lungs as he plunged along, halting her every word, deluging her with sweet nothings, frenziedly couched in logical plans for the future, their happiness together, for the children, the two car garage, the backyard barbecues…
“Now wait a minute!” She thumped the table with alarming force and the water glasses did a mambo. “I like you a lot, Milt, and if I knew you a little better, I might consider it. Just consider it, you understand—”
Milt almost chortled. She was weakening. He grasped her rather chubby hands and squeezed them with manly ardor. She pulled away and said:
“Well, at least you can let me think about it, Milt. For a little while.”
“I’ll call you in the morning,” Milt said hungrily.
He brought her home at twelve, and planted what should have been a passionate kiss, midway between her nose and mouth.
In the morning, Milt telephoned at eight. Her voice was thick with sleep, and her answer abrupt.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, Milt. I think we should wait. After all, there really isn’t any hurry—”
“Isn’t there?” Milt groaned. “If you only knew!”