The audience was relaxing. Morton was moving onto familiar ground.
"But will the work get done? I am not sure. I know my mood has been dark, since the death of my beloved wife, Dorothy."
Evans sat bolt upright in his chair. At the next table, Herb Lowenstein looked shocked, his mouth open. George Morton had no wife. Or rather, he had six ex-wives--none named Dorothy.
"Dorothy urged me to spend my money wisely. I always thought I did. Now I am less sure. I said before that we don't know enough. But I fear that today, the watchword of NERF has become, We don't sue enough."
You could hear breath sucked in sharply all around the room.
"NERF is a law firm. I don't know if you realize that. It was started by lawyers and it is run by lawyers. But I now believe money is better spent on research than litigation. And that is why I am withdrawing my funding for NERF, and why I am--"
For the next few moments Morton could not be heard above the excited jabber of the crowd. Everyone was talking loudly. There were scattered boos; some guests got up to leave. Morton continued to talk, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having. Evans caught a few phrases: "...one environmental charity is under FBI investigation... complete lack of oversight..."
Ann Garner leaned over and hissed,"Get him off there."
"What do you want me to do?" Evans whispered.
"Go and get him. He's obviously drunk."
"That may be, but I can't--"
"You have to stop this."
But on the stage, Drake was already moving forward, saying "All right, thank you, George--"
"Because to tell the truth right now--"
"Thank you, George," Drake said again, moving closer. He was actually pushing against Morton's bulk, trying to shove him away from the podium.
"Okay, okay," Morton said, clinging to the podium. "I said what I did for Dorothy. My dear dead wife--"
"Thank you, George." Drake was applauding now, holding his hands up at head height, nodding to the audience to join with him. "Thank you."
"...who I miss desperately..."
"Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in thanking--"
"Yeah, okay, I'm leaving."
To muted applause, Morton shambled off the stage. Drake immediately stepped up to the podium and signaled the band. They started into a rousing rendition of Billy Joel's "You May Be Right," which someone had told them was Morton's favorite song. It was, but it seemed a poor choice under the circumstances.
Herb Lowenstein leaned over from the next table and grabbed Evans by the shoulder, pulling him close. "Listen," he whispered fiercely."Get him out of here."
"I will," Evans said. "Don't worry."
"Did you know this was going to happen?"
"No, I swear to God."
Lowenstein released Evans just as George Morton returned to the table. The assembled group was stunned. But Morton was singing cheerfully with the music, "You may be right, I may be crazy..."
"Come on, George," Evans said, standing up. "Let's get out of here."
Morton ignored him. "...But it just may be a loo-natic you're looking for..."
"George? What do you say?" Evans took him by the arm. "Let's go."
"...Turn out the light, don't try to save me..."
"I'm not trying to save you," Evans said.
"Then how about another damn martini?" Morton said, no longer singing. His eyes were cold, a little resentful. "I think I fucking earned it."
"Harry will have one for you in the car," Evans said, steering Morton away from the table. "If you stay here, you'll have to wait for it. And you don't want to wait for a drink right now..." Evans continued talking, and Morton allowed himself to be led out of the room.
"...too late to fight," he sang, "too late to change me..."
Before they could get out of the room, there was a TV camera with lights shining in their faces, and two reporters shoving small tape recorders in front of Morton. Everybody was yelling questions. Evans put his head down and said, "Excuse us, sorry, coming through, excuse us..."
Morton never stopped singing. They made their way through the hotel lobby. The reporters were running in front of them, trying to get some distance ahead, so they could film them walking forward. Evans gripped Morton firmly by the elbow as Morton sang: "I was only having fun, wasn't hurting anyone, and we all enjoyed the weekend for a change..."
"This way," Evans said, heading for the door.
"I was stranded in the combat zone..."
And then at last they were through the swinging doors, and outside in the night. Morton stopped singing abruptly when the cold air hit him. They waited for his limousine to pull around. Sarah came out, and stood beside Morton. She didn't say anything, she just put her hand on his arm.
Then the reporters came out, and the lights came on again. And then Drake burst through the doors, saying "God damn it, George--"
He broke off when he saw the cameras. He glared at Morton, turned, and went back inside. The cameras remained on, but the three of them just stood there. It was awkward, just waiting. After what seemed like an eternity, the limousine pulled up. Harry came around, and opened the door for George.