us?”
“Jim wants me to, but I’m not sure …”
“We have separate bedrooms down there, just like up here. You can slip into my room late, and fuck me till my eyes pop out of my head.”
“Well, that’s nice to know …”
“And no one the wiser, not that anyone would give a shit.” She rose and wobbled over to me and sat in my lap. “Of course, there’s always right now-upstairs. Jim won’t be home till after that banquet tonight, and I’ll be long gone, on my way to Florida.”
She was long gone now.
Her hands were locked behind my neck as she wiggled her bottom into my lap. “Or are those awful little men of yours still snooping about?”
The scent of Chanel No. 5, and her still slenderly appealing figure, almost made it tempting, no matter how drunk she was. But in a way I still thought she was bluffing: those years of “open marriage,” with Forrestal banging half the good-looking broads in D.C., were a one-sided affair. That was my instinct, anyway.
“Jo, you’re a lovely woman,” I said, not exactly lying. “But let’s not rush things.”
“Why? Which of us is getting younger?”
I kissed her, tenderly, and it wasn’t half bad. “Let’s wait for a better moment.”
She shrugged. “All right,” she said, in a small voice, slipping off my lap. But once she got on her feet, she bellowed, “It’s your fucking loss!”
Then she wheeled and pointed a finger right at me; remarkably, it didn’t tremble at all. Auntie Jo wanted me.
“Did it ever occur to you, shithead, that maybe I had the idea people were after me because my husband
“I don’t think I asked one.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“Don’t mind if you do what?”
“Have another drink.”
And she ambled over to the liquor cart and built herself another one; again, the vermouth outdistanced the gin, but that didn’t help much, as many as she was throwing down.
“So,” she said, falling into the chair but not spilling a drop, “is anybody
“I don’t believe so, no…. I, uh, think I’m gonna see how my men are doing.”
“You do that. You do that.”
I did that, and when I came back, she’d fallen asleep in the chair. Her tumbler-which was empty-I plucked from her hands and set on the coffee table.
When she woke up, a little over two hours later, with a kind of spasm, eyes snapping wide open, she asked, “What time is it?”
“Three-fifteen,” I said, checking my wristwatch.
I was sitting on the sofa, reading an old issue of
“Shit!” She slapped the arms of the easy chair. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Was I supposed to?”
She jack-in-the-boxed to her feet, glaring at me. “My flight’s in an hour; cab’ll be here any minute.”
She hustled off, almost ran up the steps, and came down several minutes later, with a flowing black jacket over her white blouse and black slacks; she’d added some jewelry-black-and-white round earrings, a jeweled brooch, some rings-and had freshened her makeup. It wasn’t hard to remember that she had once been extremely beautiful, enough so to pose for
I met her as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “You look swell,” I said.
“Thank you.” She had a watch on now, and was winding it. “I’m, uh … sorry if I seemed rude, earlier. I have a bad habit of speaking my mind-particularly to people I like.”
“I thought you’d decided not to like me.”
She touched my face with a slender hand. “I changed my mind. Would you see if my cab is out front? I have to leave some instructions with Remy.”
“I haven’t seen him since you tossed that glass.”
Her tiny smile was an odd mix of embarrassment and pride. “He retreats to his rabbithole when I’m on a rampage.”
The cab indeed was waiting, and I went out and told the cabbie his fare would be along shortly. In the meantime, I carried out her bags and the cabbie helped me load them in his trunk, though they wouldn’t all fit; a few had to go in the backseat.
Inside, I found her snugging on some white gloves; a big black patent-leather handbag was slung over her shoulder, and she looked rather stylish-as chic as a well-dressed Wave.
“Have a good trip,” I said. “I’m making a full report on my investigation to your husband, tomorrow. Any message for him?”
“Just that I hope he’ll join me soon.”
“Is that concern I hear?”
“I love Jim, in my way, as I’m sure he loves me in his.” She kissed my cheek, tickled the side of my face with gloved fingertips. “You’re really a very sweet man.”
“You know, you haven’t cursed in something like five minutes; it makes me uneasy.”
She laughed and this time it lacked the brittle hysteria. “Well, then, Nate, why don’t you go fuck yourself.”
“That’s extra, too.”
She laughed some more and, as if she were a duchess on her way to the ball, I escorted her to the cab and waved as she drove off. She waved from her backseat window, and smiled, but if I’d ever seen a sadder expression, I couldn’t remember when.
My day’s work was done; I’d be leaving Washington tomorrow, I’d decided. The evening was mine, and I had a date with Anya, the blonde in Pearson’s office, who in that wonderful accent had requested I not tell her boss.
Well, if she insisted.
Anyway, it was nice to know Drew Pearson wasn’t on top of everything that went on in this town.
9
The day after he reluctantly stepped aside as Secretary of Defense, James Forrestal was honored by a rare special meeting of the House Armed Services Committee, at which he was lavishly praised by committee chairman Carl Vinson and ranking minority member Representative Dewey Short. Forrestal was presented with a silver bowl, “engraved with our names in testimony of our regards-a regard also indelibly inscribed in our hearts.”
The flustered Forrestal of the day before, struck dumb by surprise and emotion, was replaced by a prepared, dignified statesman who delivered several brief, gracious speeches.
Also attending-and celebrating Forrestal’s accomplishments in public life-were his successor, Louis Johnson; Secretary of the Army Kenneth Royall; Secretary of the Navy John Sullivan; and Secretary of the Air Force Stuart Symington. The press made much of the kind words the latter said about Forrestal, and vice versa, as the onetime
