The Hellfire Club(34)
They were trying to remind themselves of what they enjoyed about each other outside of the newly hectic tenor of their DC life. Ten days before, Charlie rushed home after the defense appropriations bill markup, excited to show his skeptical wife that his strategy had worked, that the money for Goodstone had been deleted in the latest draft. But even though he raced red lights and arrived home by six thirty, Margaret had already fallen into a deep sleep on the couch. The next morning, still eager to share his news, Charlie headed into the kitchen, only to find Margaret furious. The day before, she’d learned that Gwinnett’s research team had returned to Nanticoke and Susquehannock Islands without her. Her encounter with Teardrop the pony was the most noteworthy event in all their research. “But of course, my being a woman—and one with child, no less—all but erases that,” she fumed. “Can’t wait to see what gender pronouns are used to describe the researcher’s encounter with the pony in the final published work!” Charlie tried to be sympathetic, and he realized that this wouldn’t be the moment to share his own professional triumph. He left for work feeling vaguely disgruntled, and it wasn’t until a day later that she asked him about Goodstone. By then, he’d built up a head of righteous petulance and didn’t answer, even though he knew it was childish, and the simmering tensions between them continued.
Tonight, however, they were both trying to put aside the resentments they’d let fester. And as soon as they had their first sips of wine, she brought up the appropriations bill. She reached across the table to hold his hand. “Proud of you,” she said. He would have proposed again right there if he’d had a ring.
“It was great,” Charlie said. “I was trying to keep a low profile, but during the markup, Chairman Carlin took a moment to thank all the veterans for our service and for sharing our experiences with them. The other guys on the committee applauded; it was really nice.”
“And the appropriation money for Goodstone is gone?”
“Gone with the wind,” Charlie said. “The provision was literally x-ed out, a line struck through the whole paragraph. And on the floor of the House later, a bunch of the vets—Strongfellow, MacLachlan, Sutton, Street—all patted me on the back. Highlight of the year.” He caught himself—Margaret had told him she was pregnant in January. “In terms of Congress, I mean,” he added.
The tavern was full of revelers—Georgetown University students, professionals whose postwork happy hours had morphed into sloppy dinners, married couples trying to catch up after busy weeks. It was dark, the restaurant’s maroon ceiling and oak floors providing little reflection from the hanging chandeliers and candles on each table. Waiters bustled in and out of the kitchen, ferrying hamburgers, oyster stew, and hot browns to customers, while the saloon seemed almost like an assembly line for martinis.
Margaret rested her elbows on the table and ticked off the names on her fingers.
“Strongfellow is the OSS guy on crutches; MacLachlan, or ‘Mac,’ is the minister from Indiana; Sutton is the conservative Democrat who’s challenging Kefauver. Who’s Street?”
“The Tuskegee Airman,” Charlie said. “Distinguished Flying Cross.”
“Oh, right,” she said. “We should have him over for dinner. Is he married?”
“Yes,” Charlie said. “With twins. Just born last year.”
Margaret shuddered a bit. “Twins! I can’t imagine. Let’s hope we don’t get that lucky,” she said with a smile.
“Good God, no. Can’t imagine two; I’m terrified of one.”
“I wonder if people having twins say, ‘The rabbits died.’ Or if they think there were three dead rabbits for triplets.”
“Good Lord,” said Charlie. “If it’s triplets, I’ll have what the rabbits are having.”
She chuckled. “I’ve been meaning to ask you—does your office manager have children?”
“Miss Leopold? I don’t believe she’s even married. She’s never discussed any family. She wears rings, but none on her left ring finger. I can’t imagine she doesn’t have suitors—she’s a knockout for her age—but none that I know of. Why do you ask?”
“I want to visit your office more,” Margaret said. “If this is our life now, I need to get to know the people you’re working with.”
“Any time. It would be great to show you around the Capitol now that I know it better. I’m close to not getting lost on my way to the bathroom.”
“Knockout, huh?” Margaret asked.
“For a woman in her forties,” Charlie said. “If you like that Southern-beauty-queen type. Which I don’t. Not that you’re not a beauty queen.”
“Uh-huh,” said Margaret, smiling.
“You know what I mean, sweetie. I’m going to go to the bathroom.” Charlie excused himself from the table.
“Good idea.” Margaret laughed.
On his way back, Charlie spotted the Kennedys—Jack and Jackie and Bob and Ethel—seated at a more private corner table near the back. Jack and Jackie lived across the street and a few doors down from the Marders, on Dent Place, in another Federal-style town house—a much larger one, of course. After they finished dessert and Charlie paid the check, he suggested to Margaret that they go say hi.