H.G. Wells had ripped off George's great idea even before Nassau, disguising his theft by writing his Pal rip-off novel, The First Men in the Moon, before George was born, and then dying before Destination Moon was made. Very smooth Herb, but it didn't fool George. He sued Wells, and received the film rights to The War of the Worlds and The Time Machine as recompense. Then George allowed Ray Harryhausen to shoot Herb's First Men in the Moon, knowing that it would be seen for what it was, a poor attempt to steal Destination Moon by moving it back a century. That's how the secret ways of Hollywood work.
And when I did finally get Neal to get romantic, he said to me, "That's one small step for man, one giant slut for mankind." A bit rude, if you ask me. I also overheard Neal and Buzz gossiping on the phone with their buddies, Dick Nixon and Walt Cronkite, about sex with me, saying, "We came in peace for all mankind." All mankind? Even I won't do all mankind! I wouldn't do Nixon for one, and I'm never doing Dick Cheney again either. (Trust me ladies, don't do Cheney unless you don't mind him shooting you in the face. Normally I don't mind that, but he hadn't even brought along any moist towelettes.) No, the most I'll do would be most of mankind. Let's say a quorum.
Fortunately, Neal and Buzz had had their driver, a guy named Mike, waiting in the car, orbiting overhead, motor running, so after the most airless, uncomfortable, lousy-sex-filled 22 hours of my life, I got the guys to take me home again, although man, that was a long drive back. And then they stuck me with the bill for the trip. Holy Mother of Groucho, that was the most expensive excursion I have ever been on! They didn't even reduce it for triple occupancy! You could go to Mars for that much money, where you'd at least be able to hang out with Ray Walston.