“And I’m Roger Talbot and this is Henry…” He raised his eyebrows at the other man, obviously not knowing—or recalling—his name.
“Henry Kraft,” the second man said with a nod. “How do you do?” His voice was a silky drawl, and he had a scrubbed-clean look about him. His light brown hair was neatly cropped, his build tight and lean. Unlike Mr. Talbot, he was dressed for business in a gray suit that fit him to a T. I knew little about men’s clothing. You rarely saw a suit in Little Italy and I knew Vincent owned only one. Nevertheless, I had the feeling that Henry Kraft’s suit was expensive and tailored just for him. His shirt was a light gray pinstripe and his blue tie was perfectly knotted at his throat. On the end table next to him, a curl of fragrant smoke rose from his pipe. He looked closer to our age than the other man. Late twenties, I guessed. Even from where we stood, I could see the pale blue of his eyes. I could see, too, that his smile didn’t reach them. Those eyes had the slightest downward cast to them and I imagined there wasn’t a smile broad enough in the world to lift the sadness I saw in that handsome face.
“Hey!” Mr. Talbot took a step toward our suitcases. “Let us carry them up for you.”
“Oh, would you?” Gina said in a saccharine voice I’d never heard her use before. Was she flirting? “We carted them all the way from Union Station and our arms are about to fall out of their sockets.”
Mr. Kraft started toward us as well, but Mr. Talbot held up a hand to stop him. “I’ve got both,” he said gallantly. He finished crossing the room in a few swift steps, then lifted our suitcases as if they were made of cotton and marched ahead of us up the stairs. We followed him to the second story, where he set down the suitcases outside the door to room number 3. He turned to face us.
“Hope to see you ladies again later,” he said, with a nod. “How long are you in town?”
“Just for the night,” I said.
“And you?” Gina asked. “My aunt said you’re here on business?”
“Securing a government contract, same as that gentleman down there.” He nodded toward the stairs. “Mr. Kraft. He’s in the furniture trade in North Carolina. Southern boy.” He said the word “Southern” in a way that let us know he thought himself better than the man downstairs. “He already has a contract with Uncle Sam and is hoping to expand on it. I’m in textiles and was getting a few tips from him.”
“Ah well,” Gina said. “Good luck.”
The man turned to face me. “You’re a bit of a quiet one, aren’t you?” he said, and I simply smiled. “Still waters run deep,” he added. “I bet there’s plenty going on in that pretty head of yours.”
“Thanks for your help,” I said, and I moved past him toward the door.
We went into our separate rooms—Gina in 2, me in 3—as Mr. Talbot walked heavily back down the stairs. My very spare room had two twin beds, a four-drawer dresser, and a sink jutting from the wall next to a narrow closet. I hung up the dress I’d packed for dinner and was tucking my nightgown beneath the pillow of my bed when Gina knocked on the door and poked her head inside.
“Come on!” she said. “Let’s explore!”
*
The weather was perfect, the air fragrant and golden from the leaves that were beginning to turn. We walked our legs off, the streets crowded with military men and government girls. We spent hours in the Freer and the National galleries. Some exhibits were closed, as the art had been moved out of the city due to the war, but we still managed to exhaust ourselves. So much reminded me of Vincent. His dark eyes stared out at me from a seventeenth-century painting and I thought I spotted him in one of the galleries, studying a sculpture of a horse. I considered finding a pay phone and calling my mother to see if he might have called, but I knew that would annoy Gina and only leave me more depressed than I already was.
My heels were blistered by the time we headed back to the tourist home, and we both seemed too tired to talk. We were a block away from the house when Gina suddenly spoke up.
“What did you think of those two fellas in Aunt Ellen’s living room, huh?” she asked.
I shrugged. “They seemed nice,” I said. It did strike me as a bit odd now that we were sharing a house with two men for the night.
“I think that one—Henry—had eyes for you.”
I laughed. “I’m engaged, remember?” I wiggled my ring finger with its small but sparkling diamond in front of her face.
“Which is not the same as married,” she said. She stopped walking and tipped her head to study my face. “I don’t think you know how pretty you are, Tess,” she said as she started walking again. “How men look at you.”
“What? That’s crazy,” I said, though I couldn’t help but be flattered. When it came right down to it, I knew very few men and had no idea how they saw me. Vincent had been the only man I ever dated. He told me all the time that I was beautiful, but I assumed he was looking through the eyes of love. I knew I didn’t look like the average girl. I thought my eyes were too big, too round for the rest of my features, but Vincent always said he loved getting “lost” in them. While I rued how long it took my hair to dry after I washed it and how unruly it was when I struggled to style it, he said he loved getting his fingers tangled up in it.
I thought of that man, Henry Kraft. His gently handsome face. His sad-looking eyes. “I’ll have to show him my ring,” I said.
“Killjoy,” she said. “Maybe those men can suggest a good place for dinner.”
“I think there are Hot Shoppes in Washington,” I said. “Let’s go there.” I could afford a sandwich and root beer at a Hot Shoppe.
Gina shook her head. “Can’t get a drink at a Hot Shoppe,” she said. “Let’s find someplace more exciting. It’ll be my treat,” she added, and when I started to protest she held up her hand. “When you get your RN license and a job, you can take me out, all right?”
“Fair enough,” I agreed. It would be fun to go someplace different for a change.
We found the two men in the living room again when we reached the tourist home. They stood near the stairs, their fedoras in their hands as though they were getting ready to go out.
“We’re headed to Martin’s for dinner,” Mr. Talbot said. “How about you gals join us?”
“Who’s Martin?” I asked.
Mr. Kraft smiled. “It’s the best restaurant in Georgetown,” he said.
“We have a reservation,” Mr. Talbot added. “I’m sure we can change it from two people to four.”
I was about to politely decline when Gina ran right over me. “We’d love to!” she said, grabbing my hand and nearly dragging me toward the stairs. “Just give us a couple of minutes to change.”
“You have ten,” Mr. Talbot called after us. “Cab’s on its way.”