She had let it go. There was some logic to it. If anything happened to her, there was no expedition. Simple as that.
Then he had made a remark that made Nancy want to strangle him. He had been thumbing through guide books, and calling out facts he found interesting. "Hey, Nancy! Do you know that among the Tswana tribe, they have only one noun for women?"
"That is not unusual among tribal cultures."
"Their word is monad-and it means 'the one who remains behind and at home when men go to work.' You'd better hope we don't run into any Tswana, or you'll be in big trouble."
"I can handle myself, thank you," Nancy said tightly.
"Don't let it get to you. Remember, B'wana King is here to protect you."
"But who is going to protect B'wana King?" Nancy said through her clenched teeth.
Up ahead, King, flanked by the British guide, called, "Collluuumn, halt!"
The column halted. A misty haze was rising over the Kanda Tract. Sunbirds flashed through the air.
"Break out the videocams!" King called.
Nancy groaned to herself. "Oh, no. Not again."
The lead bearers unpacked the triple-wrapped videocams. Someone from the PR team lifted a light meter to the sky. Someone else took a makeup puff to Skip King's thrust-forward face.
Then King opened his eyes and said, "Where's the little lady herpes specialist?"
"Here," Nancy said in a voice that seemed to cool the surrounding by twelve degrees.
King waved her on. "C'mon up here. Let's get you into this shot."
"Coming," Nancy grumbled. She worked her way forward.
Skip King smiled broadly at the sight of her.
"Why don't you get in this shot?" he said. "I can't hog all the face time on this safari, now can I?"
"Very kind of you."
"Besides," he added as she took her place and submitted to a brief dusting of makeup powder, "we could use a little sex appeal, Nancy."
"Why don't you just call me Dr. Derringer, Mr. King?"
"Why don't you call me Skip? After all, how will it sound on TV? The expedition leader and his gal Friday not being chummy?"
"It will sound professional, Mr. King."
"Does that mean I can't chide you into unbuttoning your blouse a button or two?" King wheedled.
"Shall we just get this over with?"
"Okay, I'll wing it as usual."
Skip King cleared his throat and put the dead weight of one arm around Nancy's shoulders.
"We are standing at the edge of the fabled Kanda Tract," he began, "home of a creature not seen on this earth in a trillion years."
Nancy winced. The man had no conception of geologic time.
"Although incredible dangers await us, we have no fear. For we are corporate Americans, smart, savvy, and determined to fulfill our mission: to bring 'em back alive!"
He grinned into the camera lens like a Cadillac with an ivory grille and held the smile for twelve full seconds.
"Okay, cut! How was that?"
The PR man shot him an A-OK sign. "Super!"
"One-take King, that's me." He smiled down at Nancy and asked, "So-how was I?"
Nancy threw his arm off and stormed away.
"Must be that time of month," King muttered. And as the cameras were repacked, he turned to the expedition medic and said, "Okay. Prep me for the great adventure."
He unrolled the sleeves of his safari jacket as a native porter took off his leopard-striped bush hat. Someone wiped the makeup off his intent face.
They sprayed him down with insect repellent. The medic began affixing flesh-colored patches to his arms, neck, and cheeks.
"Antinausea wristbands," the medic announced.
"Check," said King, as they were adjusted.
"Antimalaria patch."
"Check."
"Nicotine patch."
"Roger."
"Vitamin A patch."
"Check."
"Vitamin C patch."
"Rickets and Scurvy are covered."
"Vitamin E patch."