Chapter 22
“O’Donnell, let me take you out for a drink to celebrate,” said Pritchard. It was Thursday night in Washington DC. In the morning, O’Donnell would be flying back to Philly and then New York. This time the next day, he’d be home for dinner with Ann. The thought made him smile.
“What do you say?” Pritchard asked again, interrupting his revery.
“All right. One drink, but I’m not staying out with you until all hours.”
Pritchard gave him a look. “Since when did getting married require you to turn into a bore?”
Bill let his breath out slowly. What he really wanted was to be at home with his wife, preferably naked.
In the absence of that, he craved solitude.
For the first time in memory, he didn’t feel much like going out on the town.
He wanted peace and quiet to continue his scheming about how to make Ann fall in love with him.
All through his flights to Philly and then DC, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Never had another woman occupied so much of his mind.
It was turning into an obsession. He could hardly think about anything else.
She didn’t trust him—understandable after his dubious past behavior.
He would have to make every effort to earn her trust going forward.
And if he succeeded, he was fairly certain he could earn her love as well.
The spark they had together meant something.
It was the seed of something bigger, deeper.
It had already taken root in him. With proper care and tending, it would in her too.
He had a lifetime to convince her, though he hoped it didn’t take that long.
Maybe he overdid it with the cake. He needed a new tactic.
Or perhaps he needed a grander gesture. What could he give her that would be meaningful?
He thought about all that she lost. A piano, perhaps?
Not a bad idea, but it would have to wait until they moved into a house. There was no room in his apartment.
The things she agonized about the most were the photos she lost. He remembered them well. He’d stared at them long enough, taking in the past that she cherished so deeply as if they held the key to her heart. And maybe they did. And then he had it.
“Pritchard, I have a favor to ask you,” he said as they climbed into a taxi.
“Anything, my married friend. I owe you a wedding gift.”
“Do you remember the photos from Ann’s mantel?”
“Vaguely,” he said then paused to give the cabbie directions.
“I remember them in detail. Between your memory and mine, do you think you could draw a family portrait of Ann and Junior with Roger and her mother?”
Pritchard turned to look at him. “You want me to draw a picture of the other guy? Really?”
Bill knew it was an unusual request, but as soon as he hit upon it, he knew it was exactly the thing.
Ann had tried reaching out to her aunt to get her wedding photo with Roger back, so that Junior would know what his father looked like, but her aunt seemed to have lost track of it.
She had absolutely nothing to remember Roger by.
“It would mean a lot to her. She lost all the photos she had of both Roger and her mother. She’s worried that Junior will grow up not knowing what they looked like. ”
Pritchard shrugged. “If you say so. I have my sketchbook in my bag. I could get a draft started over drinks.”
“Perfect. I really appreciate this.”
“I still think you might be making a mistake reminding her of what she’s lost. It might be better for her to make a clean start.”
Bill shook his head. “No, I’m certain this is the way to go.
She needs to know I respect and honor her past so that she stops feeling like she has to choose between him and me.
If he truly loved her, which I believe he did, he would have wanted her to find happiness.
I don’t want her to think she has to give him up to be with me. I would never win her heart that way.”
The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that this was what she wanted and would never dare ask for.
“If you say so.”
The taxi pulled up outside the High Flyer, a bar on Dupont Circle frequented by aviators. Bill knew it well. An image of a biplane was etched into the wooden sign above the door. He gave Pritchard his portion of the cab fare and got out.
As they entered, a familiar scent of beer and hot pretzels wafted over them, and peanut shells crunched under their feet.
They sat down together at the bar, and Pritchard took out his sketchbook.
“Two whiskeys,” Pritchard ordered, catching the bartender’s eye.
Then he turned his attention to his sketchbook.
Bill watched in awe as simple lines sketched in charcoal turned into Ann, seated and cradling Junior in her arms. Pritchard took a sip as he turned his attention to a figure standing behind Ann on the left.
“Here’s where I need your help. Do you remember how tall he was and how he was built? ”
“In the wedding portrait, the top of Ann’s head was level with his nose. I’d say he was three or four inches shorter than me.” Bill took a drink, enjoying the way the liquid heat ran down his throat and curled into his consciousness. “He had a bulkier build than me too.”
“Ha! Doesn’t everyone, you human beanpole?”
“Too true, my friend.” Bill took another drink.
“So, like this?” Pritchard sketched in a rough male body.
Bill nodded. “A little wider at the shoulder, I think.”
Pritchard made the adjustment. “Like that?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Now the face. I think it was like this.” He sketched.
“I think his face was a little bit wider with a stronger jaw.”
Pritchard dashed a few extra strokes with his charcoal and smudged away what came before. “How about this?”
“Yes, that’s him exactly.” Pritchard really was amazing. “Now her mother was basically an older version of Ann, so it should be easy to draw.”
A few minutes later, the sketch was done. Ann was seated in the middle with Junior, flanked by Roger on one side and her mother on the other. It was perfect.
“I’ll do a larger version on nicer paper and frame it for you. Next week soon enough?”
“Absolutely,” Bill said, raising his glass to Pritchard.
Together, they emptied their glasses.
“One more?” Pritchard asked.
Bill really didn’t want to, but Pritchard was doing him a huge favor with the portrait. “All right, one more, but then I’m calling it a night.”
“Of course,” Pritchard said with a big grin, slapping him on the back.
At that moment a couple of women came up to the bar next to them.
One of them eyed Pritchard with obvious interest. The other raked Bill up and down, her gaze coming to rest on the ring on his finger.
Then she turned away with a little sigh.
She didn’t seem like the type that would be satisfied with a little home repair, Bill thought to himself, relieved that his ring fended her off without his having to let her down.
“Hello, ladies,” Pritchard said, obviously welcoming the attention.
“I should go,” Bill murmured to Pritchard.
“No! Stay and finish your drink.” Turning to the ladies he said, “My friend O’Donnell here just got married, and it’s turned him into a terrible bore.”
“Such a shame,” said the woman that had been looking at him. “Why are all the handsome ones taken?”
“What about me?” Pritchard objected.
“You’ll do just fine,” said the other woman, tracing a finger down his arm with a seductive smile. “Got any other friends around who aren’t married?”
“Afraid not tonight,” Pritchard said. “But O’Donnell here is good company, even if he’s not available for more than smiles and jokes. Sit down. Have a drink with us. You won’t regret it.”
No, but Bill would. He didn’t like this one bit. It was clear what direction the evening was about to go, and he really wanted to leave.
Pritchard put a hand on his arm as he started to rise. “Come on. Finish your drink,” he pleaded quietly. “I just need you to keep the other one company so she doesn’t feel left out. She already knows you’re married, so there’s nothing to worry about. Please?”
Reluctantly, Bill sat back down and took a sip of his drink while the ladies ordered their drinks. When the drinks arrived, Pritchard suggested they move to a booth. Bill found himself hemmed in between Pritchard and the bored looking friend of the woman Pritchard was interested in.
“What’s your name?” Bill asked, trying to make the whole situation feel a little less awkward.
“Norma. You?”
“Bill.” He took a drink. He was starting to feel a bit tipsy three quarters of the way through his second whiskey.
“How long have you been married, Bill?” she asked as if she didn’t care one bit what he answered.
“Just tied the knot this week,” he said.
“A newlywed, eh? Lucky you.” She tilted her drink one way and then another, watching it slosh back and forth. “My fiancé dumped me last month, and Helen has been trying to fix me up ever since. But somehow, I keep ending up with duds. No offense, mister.”
“None taken.” Ugh. Heartbroken, bitter, and disappointed. This was not how he wanted to spend his evening, and apparently the same was true of her.
She guzzled her drink and ordered another from a passing waiter. Bill finished the last sip of his and wracked his brain for a graceful excuse to leave.
“O’Donnell here sings like an angel,” Pritchard said to Helen. “Sing us something O’Donnell.”
Pritchard was on whiskey number four already, and the ladies seemed to be keeping pace. Norma, in particular, seemed to be getting drunk with singular determination, casting annoyed glances at her friend and sighing and shaking her head at Bill.
“Come on, O’Donnell. Sing for us,” Helen said swaying in her seat. “Let’s hear this angelic voice. Don’t you want to hear him sing, Norma?”
“Sure,” Norma pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
Hemmed in, Bill gave in and quietly sang the chorus to “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows.”
Helen sighed. Norma rolled her eyes. Pritchard clapped and laughed.
“Bravo, bravo.” Ernie clapped loudly then elbowed him in his side.
“I should really be going, Pritchard.” Enough was enough. Bill wasn’t trying to be polite about it anymore.
“No, don’t go,” protested Pritchard and Helen. Norma just gazed drunkenly into the middle distance but didn’t move to let him out.
“Stay. Just one more drink and we call it a night, eh?” said Pritchard, a pleading look in in his eye.
Bill rolled his eyes. “Fine. One last drink and then I leave.” He had no intention of drinking his drink, but he let Pritchard order one as he caught a waiter to get another round for the table. Ann would be appalled if she saw him right now.
Norma passed out against him after finishing her drink in record time.
Pritchard and Helen were necking now. Bill let his face fall in his hands.
How had he ever enjoyed going out with his friends like this?
And yet he’d spent countless evenings similarly engaged, pointlessly hoping that one of the girls he met might turn out to be the one.
When Pritchard came up for breath, Bill elbowed him in the side and nodded his head toward Norma, slumped against his side and snoring quietly.
“Helen, what do you say we get out of here?” Pritchard asked, nodding at Norma. “We can drop off your friend at home and then see where the night takes us.”
“Golly, that sounds great.” She draped herself across Pritchard’s shoulders and nibbling on his ear.
Bill hoisted up a stumbling Norma and walked her out to a cab. The four of them squeezed into the back.
Helen gave an address, giving Pritchard an unnecessarily long explanation for how Norma ended up her roommate. Bill couldn’t have cared less. He just wanted out of here.
Norma’s head rested on his shoulder like a deadweight. When they arrived, Bill maneuvered her into the apartment and onto the sofa and then left as quickly as he could. Pritchard and Helen were so wrapped up in each other, they hardly noticed him leaving.
In his hotel at last, he stripped off his clothes, which stank of booze and cigarettes, and took a bath.
Never again, he swore to himself as he turned out the light and went to bed, thinking of Ann.