4
We arrived in Washington at eleven-thirty the following morning after the stifling-hot train ride. The train had been so crowded with boys in uniform that we’d had to stand until two very young-looking soldiers offered us their seats. Union Station was packed wall to wall with travelers. Businessmen in suits and women in their hats and white gloves were lost in a sea of military uniforms. Everyone looked rushed as they swarmed through the massive station. It took us several minutes to work our way through the crowd, our suitcases thumping into the legs of other travelers, before we made it to the exit and out onto the sidewalk. The scent of early fall mingled with the smell of cigarettes and perfume and hair tonic as we joined the mob waiting for a taxi. There was a chill in the air and I drew my coat tighter across my chest. We were both wearing skirts and blouses beneath our lightweight coats, as well as the tams we’d bought on a shopping spree the year before. Gina had lamented that she was completely out of nylons, so she’d carefully applied a line of eye pencil up the back of her leg to fool the casual observer. I still had two pairs of nylons in reasonable condition—not counting the white stockings that went with my nurse’s uniform—and I was wearing one of them now.
“We’re never going to get a cab.” Gina frowned at the sea of people in front of us. “Aunt Ellen’s place is about a half hour’s walk from here. Shall we hoof it? Are you okay carrying your suitcase?”
“Sure.” I nodded and fell into step beside her.
My tan and brown suitcase, the one I’d had since childhood since I so rarely traveled, was quite light. Gina’s aunt only had room for us for one night, so I’d packed a nightgown, robe, and slippers, some toiletries and a bit of makeup, and a dress to wear out to dinner tonight. That was all. I hoped we could find someplace reasonable to eat. Gina had a good secretarial job with a weekly paycheck, while I was still paying for my education with a bit of help from my mother. Every spare penny I had, and there were not many of them, would go toward my wedding and honeymoon.
My mother hadn’t been at all happy when I told her I was going to Washington with Gina.
“What should I tell Vincent if he calls?” she asked.
“The truth.” I shrugged. “That I’m in Washington with Gina.”
“Don’t you think you should be here if he calls?”
I thought Gina had been right. It was pathetic for me to sit by the phone hour after hour, day after day, on the small chance that Vincent might call. “Mom, it’s nearly impossible for him to get to a phone, so I doubt very much that I’ll hear from him,” I said. “Plus, I’m only going for one night.”
“Well,” she said, “just remember who you are.”
I frowned at her. “What does that mean?”
“Remember you’re a girl engaged to be married to a wonderful man,” she said.
I laughed. “Have a little faith in me, all right?” I said.
“I can see Aunt Ellen’s row house,” Gina said after we’d been walking twenty minutes or so. Her hands were laden down by her handbag and suitcase, so she pointed toward the end of the block with her raised chin. “See it up ahead?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. My shoulder ached from carrying the suitcase despite its light weight, and by the time we reached the tourist home, I was perspiring. Breathing hard, we set our suitcases on the sidewalk and looked up at the three-story brownstone squeezed between two larger buildings. It was a pretty house with a bay window on each level and stone garlands near the roofline. Neither of us seemed in a hurry to tackle the long flight of stairs to the front door, but after a minute, I picked up my suitcase and headed up the walk, Gina close behind me. We were both out of breath by the time we reached the small stone porch. An envelope taped to the doorbell was addressed to Gina. She tore it open and read out loud.
Dear Gina, I’m distressed to tell you that I need to go to my house in Bethesda to deal with a burst pipe. I tried to reach you at home but you’d already left. I’m beside myself that I’m leaving you and your friend alone, but it can’t be helped. The two of you come in and make yourselves at home. You’ll each have a room to yourself (2 and 3 at the top of the stairs)—amazing this time of year, so enjoy the privacy! There are good locks on the doors and the two businessmen seem very nice. I’m sure they won’t disturb you. If you need anything, call. The phone is on a table by the stairs. Sorry I’ll miss seeing you this trip! Much love, Aunt Ellen.
Gina looked at me over the top of the note. “So much for our chaperone.” She laughed. Gina’s aunt had been reluctant to let us come because she had two male boarders staying with her. I never mix men and women, she’d told Gina. It’s not appropriate. Gina had talked her into it. “You’ll be there,” she’d said to her aunt on the phone, rolling her eyes at me as I listened to her end of the conversation. “You can be our chaperone.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” I said now, unconcerned. My mother would have a fit if she knew.
Gina pulled open one of the double doors and we walked into a small, cozy living room. We set down our suitcases and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light after the bright sunshine outside. The air held the delicious sweet aroma of pipe tobacco, a scent I’d always associated with the father I’d lost so young. I remembered the scent better than I remembered him.
“Hi, fellas,” Gina said, and only then did I notice the two men sitting in leather Queen Anne chairs near the fireplace. They stood when they saw us, nodding in our direction. One of them, the older of the two, offered a slight bow.
“Welcome, ladies,” he said, bending over to stub out a cigarette in the ashtray by his chair. His smile was warm and welcoming. He was probably close to forty with thick hair, nearly black, bushy eyebrows, and a thin dark mustache. He’d loosened his tie and the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to reveal muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. “One of you must be Mrs. Foley’s niece,” he said. With those few words, I could already place his hard New York accent.
Gina smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear in a manner I could only think of as flirtatious. “Yes,” she said. “I’m Gina and this is Tess.”