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.”
“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.”
Upstairs, I followed Gina into her room. “I don’t think we should go out with them,” I said. “It feels wrong. Your aunt would have a fit.”
“She’ll never have to know,” she said, opening the closet and taking out her dress. “Go put on your dress and make it snappy. They’ll buy us a swell dinner at the best restaurant in Georgetown. Are you going to pass that up?” She saw my hesitancy. “It’s not like a date, honey,” she said. “After all, there are four of us. You aren’t going out alone with someone. It’s like four colleagues having dinner together. That’s all.”
* * *
“I insist you gals start calling us by our first names,” Mr. Talbot said as we clambered into the cab. “I’m Roger, remember?”
I sat between him and Gina in the backseat, while Mr. Kraft—Henry—rode in front with the quiet, somber driver. The cab smelled of cigars and Gina’s perfume, a dab of which I’d put behind my ears since I hadn’t brought any of my own. I was stifling in my coat and gloves. Henry was quiet as the taxi made its way through the clogged streets to Georgetown, but Roger filled the air of the cab with his booming voice, telling us how he once saw Speaker of the House Sam Rayburn at Martin’s. On another occasion, he said, he spotted Senator Harry Truman sitting at the next table.
“Did you talk to either of them?” Gina leaned forward to speak past me.
“No, though I certainly tried to listen in on their conversations,” he said. He went on to talk in detail about every meal he’d eaten at Martin’s and I began to think we were in for a very long evening.
Martin’s wasn’t what I expected. It was more tavern than the posh restaurant I’d anticipated. The walls and the long bar were made of dark, polished wood, the tin ceiling was a bronze color, and there were far more male diners than female. I felt slightly overdressed and out of place. We were led to a wooden booth and Gina and I sat on one side, Roger and Henry on the other.
When the waiter arrived at our table, Roger ordered drinks for all of us. “Spytinis all around,” he told the middle-aged man.
“What on earth is a spytini?” Gina giggled at the name. She pulled a cigarette from the case in her handbag.
“Martin’s special martinis,” Roger said. He leaned across the table to light Gina’s cigarette, then lit one of his own. “A spy who used to dine here loved the martinis, so they changed the name. You’ll love them, too,” he added.
I’d never had a martini and would have preferred a glass of wine, but decided to give the drink a try. This was a night of firsts and I’d be adventurous. Besides, I had the feeling few people argued with Roger Talbot.
As we waited for our drinks, Roger and Gina talked nonstop about politics while Henry and I quietly observed. I had no idea Gina knew a thing about the war or what was going on in the world. At one point, Henry caught my eye and winked. Not a flirtatious wink, no. It was a wink that said, You and I are the quiet ones and that’s fine. Let these two talk their heads off. It felt a bit conspiratorial and I smiled back at him, suddenly liking him.
Our pretty spytinis were delivered and Roger raised his in a toast. “To the lovely ladies from Baltimore,” he said. “May they thoroughly enjoy their stay in the nation’s capital.”
“Thank you,” Gina said, and we all took a sip.
“Oh my,” I said, my cheeks on fire, my throat ice cold, and the men laughed. I took another sip, fascinated by the taste. All their eyes were on me. “It tastes like, I don’t know…” I sipped again, licking my lips. “Salt and spice. And pine trees,” I said, and the three of them chuckled.
“I think Tess has a new favorite drink,” Gina said.
“Careful now, Tess,” Roger said. “When’s the last time you had anything to eat?”
“I’m fine,” I assured him, and I raised my glass to my lips once more.
It wasn’t until Henry lifted his own glass again that I noticed he was missing three fingers on his left hand. The sight was so jarring, I had to quickly turn my head away, my heart giving a double thump in my chest. His thumb and forefinger were intact, but the other three fingers were gone, right down to the smooth knuckles of his hand. What had the poor man been through? Did he lose them as an adult or a child? I’d wondered why he wasn’t in the military. Now it was clear, and his sad eyes made more sense to me.
Roger suddenly seemed to notice my own hands and he leaned across the table to grab my left, holding it by the fingers so that my ring sparkled in the overhead light.
“Well, what’s this?” he inquired, lifting my hand a couple of inches from the table. “You’ve got a fella?”
“Yes,” I said, gently pulling my hand from his grasp.
“Overseas?” he asked.
I shook my head. “He’s a doctor volunteering with the polio epidemic in Chicago.” I felt my cheeks color with pride.
“A doctor!” Roger said. “He’s a fool to let you go running around unchaperoned, beautiful girl like you. Ain’t she a lovely one?” he asked Henry, who nodded.
“They’re both lovely,” Henry said diplomatically.
“I’d love to see that beautiful hair of yours down,” Roger said. “How long is it?”
“Long enough,” I said coyly. I took another sip of the spytini and felt the icy heat of the drink spread through my chest and work its way into my arms, all the way to my fingertips. I took one more delicious sip before I set the glass down.
“Her hair is a few inches below her shoulders,” Gina answered for me. “And her fiancé loves it, so don’t get any ideas. Plus, she’s a nurse, so they’re a perfect couple.”
“Certainly sounds like it,” Roger said. “Your fiancé’s a lucky man.” He leaned away from the table as the waiter set another round of spytinis in front of us even though we hadn’t yet finished the first.
“So,” I said to the men as the waiter walked away. I wanted to get the topic off myself. “You’re both here to negotiate contracts with the government. That must be very challenging.”
All three of them looked at me as though I’d spoken a foreign language, but then Henry responded.
“My family’s factory in Hickory—that’s in North Carolina—has built fine furniture for nearly half a century,” he said. “But the last couple of years, we’ve shifted our efforts to producing material for the war effort.” It was lovely, listening to him talk. I’d only heard a Southern accent on the radio. It was much more charming in person.
“What sort of material?” I asked.
“Oh, everything from crates for bombs and ammo to mess tables to aircraft parts,” he said, then added wistfully, “and precious little furniture these days, I’m afraid.”
“Hickory,” Roger said. “Sounds like some little Southern backwater.”
Henry only smiled at the insult. “The fastest-growing city in North Carolina,” he said. “Population fourteen thousand and counting. We have a lake and a river and the mountains are right nearby. And industry is booming.”
“It sounds wonderful,” I said, annoyed with Roger. I was glad when the waiter finally returned to take our order. The men ordered filet mignon, but Gina and I both ordered the crab cakes, which got a lot of teasing.
“You can take the girls out of Maryland, but can’t take Maryland out of the girls,” Roger said.
We had yet another round of spytinis when our meals arrived. And wine appeared, although I couldn’t remember any of us ordering the bottle. Conversation between Gina and Roger got a bit louder with each drink consumed, while Henry and I seemed to grow quieter. Gina and Roger argued playfully over sports and the décor in the restaurant and whether or not Baltimore was truly a Southern city. Behind the words, I heard the flirting. Gina was good at it. She’d perfected the coquettish lowering of her eyelids. The smile that lifted only one side of her mouth. The tilt of her head. She was playing with fire, I thought. Henry and I exchanged the occasional commiserative look as we sipped our spytinis. It was odd that in our mutual silence I felt a connection stronger than if we’d been speaking to one another.
I knew I’d had far too much to drink the moment I got to my feet at the end of the evening. I didn’t feel ill, just unsteady, my knees soft as butter. The colors of the room swirled in my vision. The bronze of the ceiling seemed to drip down the walls, and I heard myself giggle, the sound coming from far away. When Henry offered me his arm, I took it gratefully.
Our cab driver wouldn’t let any of us sit in front with him, so all four of us crammed into the backseat. Gina sat on Roger’s lap, and when he rested his hand on the fabric of her dress, high on her thigh, I was relieved to see her calmly brush it away. I sat demurely next to Henry, my own hands folded in my lap, my head in a fog that wasn’t the least bit unpleasant. I’d only had too much to drink once before when Vincent and I attended a party where drinks were handed out like candy. I’d been miserable after that party. I’d thrown up more times than I could count and then crawled into bed, the covers over my head to block out the light. Was I drunk now? I didn’t think so, but I did feel as though, if someone gave me a good pinch, I wouldn’t notice.
I looked down at my folded hands, then over at Henry’s lap where his hands lay flat against his dark trousers. Seven fingers. I wanted to touch his wounded hand in sympathy. I hoped he hadn’t been a child when it happened. How horrid that would have been! More likely, he’d been an adult using some of the equipment in his factory. Child or adult, though, it must have terrorized him. Whatever had happened to him, he’d clearly overcome it. He’d become not only the head of a business, but a man who could negotiate with Uncle Sam, as well.
He lifted his hand, turned it palm side up, and I knew he’d caught me staring. “It happened when I was six years old,” he said, only loud enough for me to hear. “I was playing with my father’s tools, which was strictly forbidden. I couldn’t reach the table saw very well and this was the result.” He rested his hand on his thigh again.
I winced. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Our maid Adora saved my life.”
I felt myself tearing up as I imagined the terror of that little boy. “Thank heavens your maid was there,” I said.
He touched my arm, lightly, gently, and when he spoke again, I heard the smile in his voice. “I bet you’re a very caring nurse,” he said.
As soon as we reached the tourist home, Roger and Gina headed upstairs without even wishing Henry and me a good night. They were laughing, and I watched Roger pull his tie free from his neck and give Gina a playful swat on the bottom with it before the two of them disappeared onto the second story. I heard Gina say, “Oh, no you don’t,” and Roger’s muttered reply. There was some muted conversation I couldn’t understand. Then Gina laughed.
“Go to your own room,” she said. “There’s a good boy.”
I heard her shut her bedroom door, then Roger’s heavy, defeated footsteps in the hall, and I was relieved Gina was taking her flirting no further. She would have hated herself in the morning.
When I brought my attention back to the living room, the pictures on the walls grew fuzzy and I had to grab the edge of an end table to keep from toppling over.
“You’re unwell,” Henry said, taking my arm to steady me.
“I’m all right,” I said. “I’m just not used to … to those spytinis.” I giggled at the name all over again. “Just a bit dizzy. I think I’ll go up.”
“Of course,” he said.
I started for the stairs, and when I lifted my foot to climb the first step, I tripped, nearly wrenching my arm as I grabbed the railing to stop my fall.
“Whoa,” Henry said, rushing to my side. “Let me help you.”
I felt his arm around me, his hand tight against my waist. I didn’t object. I needed the help.
We climbed the stairs together and he walked me into my room. I couldn’t wait to reach my bed. I meant to simply sit down on the edge of the mattress, but my body had other ideas and I lay back, my head against the pillow, my eyes shut. The room spun, but it was a gentle spinning, almost as if I were in a dream, and when Henry leaned down and rested his lips against mine, I didn’t turn my face away. What on earth was I doing?
“I can’t.” My voice sounded like it came from another room. It echoed in my head. “I’m engaged.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” His voice faded away, and once more, I felt his lips press against mine, and the room twirled as if I were on a merry-go-round. Was I pushing him away or pulling him closer? Was his tongue teasing my lips apart or was my mouth inviting him in? Everything was happening so quickly. I knew I should resist him, yet I was not. Instead, I felt my body give in. Not a big deal, the voice in my head said. Let it happen. Get it over with. I felt the pressure of him pushing inside me. Then a sharp pain. The sensation of sandpaper scraping me raw as his body rocked above me. I both knew and didn’t know what was happening and I pushed reality away. I was suddenly back in Gina’s bedroom. You need a little whiskey in your Pepsi for your nerves, Gina said. I held on to the image of her handing me the glass. Everything was pink. Her pink and white striped curtains and pink ruffled bed skirt. Ruffles, I thought, my mind full of cotton. Ruffles. Gina. Whiskey. Pink.
He stood up. I opened my eyes to see his unfamiliar features. His brown hair jutted in tufts from his head. What was his name?
“Oh,” he said. “You should have told me you were a virgin.”
I watched him lift the lamp from the dresser and hold it above the triangle of bedspread between my parted thighs, my nylons down around my calves. I sat up quickly, the walls of the room tumbling around me, and saw the small red stain on the blue bedspread. A sickening dizziness took hold of me and with it a terrible shame.
“Oh no,” I said. Bile teased the back of my throat,
He didn’t seem to know what to say. “Are you all right?” he asked after a moment. He began pulling on his pants.
I scrambled beneath the covers of the bed, wanting to get away from his sight, my cheeks hot with embarrassment. “I just want to go to sleep,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.
I knew he stood there a while longer, watching me. Maybe trying to come up with more to say. All I could think about was how I would scrub the bedspread the moment I woke up in the morning. I would make it very, very clean.
* * *
Although my eyes were closed, I felt sunlight wash over the bed the following morning where I lay curled in a fetal position, tasting bile and alcohol at the back of my throat. My head felt cleaved in two. I didn’t dare move or I would be sick.
The night before came back to me in a rush and I kept my eyes squeezed tightly closed in regret. What had I done? I’d made love—no, I’d had sex—with a stranger. Oh, to be able to take it all back! The drinking, the allowing him into my room, the kissing, the intimate moments that should never have been given to him.
Vincent. I felt a tear run from my eye across the bridge of my nose. In the hallway outside the room, I heard voices and I lay still, very still, until I heard footsteps descend the stairs and had the sense that I was alone on the second story. Then I let it out. The tears. The regret. The terrible grinding guilt. I lay there for the longest time, waiting for the men downstairs to leave the house. I didn’t ever want to see Henry Kraft again.