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make out the shape of a muscular woman, her arms and legs covered with grease, her bathing cap sporting a British Union Jack, swimming directly toward the boat.
    â€œAvast there!” said a strong female voice. “Are you from the Match ?”
    â€œI beg your pardon?” said Mallory.
    â€œThe Paris Match ,” she said. “You know—the newspaper!”
    â€œI'm afraid not.”
    â€œDamn!” said the swimmer, who now came up alongside the boat. “Well, do you see any members of the press in the area?”
    â€œThere's nothing in the area except us,” said Mallory.
    â€œAnd twenty-seven trillion and seventy-three fish,” added Felina helpfully.
    â€œWere you expecting the press?” continued Mallory.
    â€œOf course,” said the woman. “Whenever you swim the English Channel, you expect the press to greet you at the other end.”
    â€œThe English Channel?” repeated Mallory.
    â€œAll right, all right,” she said irritably. “I know I went a little off course, but they set me straight at Brisbane.”
    â€œNot as straight as you think,” said Mallory. “This is New York.”
    â€œAre you quite sure?” she asked. “It smells just like Liverpool.”
    â€œNot as sure as I was when I first arrived here,” answered Mallory. “But pretty sure.”
    â€œDamn!” said the woman. “I'm getting really tired of all this swimming.”
    â€œLet me give you a hand into the boat.”
    â€œOh, I couldn't do that,” she replied. “Not at all cricket. Hardly the British thing to do.” She paused. “Well, I must be off. Treading water is a total waste of energy. Is Maggie Thatcher still the prime minister?”
    â€œI'm afraid not,” said Mallory.
    â€œWhat a shame! What Brit does Ronald Reagan confide in these days?”
    â€œHardly anyone since he died,” replied Mallory.
    â€œMy goodness!” she said. “Who's left to face the Soviet Union? I'd best be off immediately,” she said. “I'll stay in France only long enough to give the press their interviews and have dinner at Maxim's, and then, if we haven't subdued the Falkland Islands yet, maybe I'll swim down there and lend a hand.”
    â€œIs there anything I can do for you?” said Mallory.
    â€œApologize to the New York press for me,” she said, starting to swim away. “I hate to disappoint them, but I really must get to France. I hope they have a soufflé at Maxim's; I'm getting rather tired of fish.”
    â€œThose are my fish!” Felina yelled after her, but she was already out of earshot.
    â€œEvery time…” said Mallory.
    â€œEvery time?” repeated Jeeves curiously.
    â€œEvery time I think I'm starting to understand this Manhattan, something like that happens.”
    â€œ This Manhattan?”
    â€œNever mind. If I try to explain, we'll both wind up with headaches.”
    â€œ I don't have a headache, darling,” said the cell phone.
    â€œI thought we weren't on speaking terms,” said Mallory.
    â€œI forgive you,” said the phone.
    â€œHey!” hissed Felina, staring angrily at Mallory's pants. “It's my job to forgive him!”
    â€œLose the bimbo,” said the phone. “I'll be waiting for you.”
    They reached shore in another few minutes, and Mallory pulled out the phone.
    â€œI want the same number I dialed before,” he said.
    â€œKiss me first,” said the phone.
    â€œI haven't got time for this nonsense.”
    â€œNo kiss, no call,” pouted the phone.
    Mallory put the phone back in his pocket and walked into a nearby drug store.
    â€œYou got a phone?” he asked the goblin behind the counter.
    â€œHey!” said the cell phone. “ I'm a phone!”
    â€œI want one that doesn't talk back,” said Mallory.
    â€œWouldn't you rather have a condom?” asked the goblin, staring at