Free Baker Towers by Jennifer Haigh Page A

Patsy asked.
    “There’s a place nearby that makes great hamburgers.” Dorothyhad never eaten there herself, but Jean Johns had once gone there on a date.
    “You mean Morrison’s? That’s pretty tame for a returning hero.” Patsy cocked her head at Rowsey. “Hey, big spender. Didn’t you say something about steaks?”
    He grinned sheepishly. “It’s Friday night. A table for four might be tough to swing.”
    “I’m sure you can do it.” Patsy turned to Georgie. “When’s the last time you had a Delmonico steak?”
    “A long time,” he admitted, grinning. “A coon’s age.”
    “Then it’s settled.” Patsy took his arm. “We’re going to Patrick Henry’s.”
     
    T HEY CROWDED into a booth near the kitchen, a cozy semicircular one meant for a couple. Georgie sat in the middle, the girls on either side. A waiter brought an extra chair for Rowsey. Drinks were ordered: beers for the men, Coca-Colas for the girls. When the waiter disappeared, Rowsey produced a flask from his pocket. He took a swig and handed the bottle to Georgie.
    “What is it?” said Patsy.
    Rowsey grinned. “It’s not suitable for ladies.”
    “That’s not fair,” she said. “It’s rude not to share.”
    Rowsey clapped Georgie’s shoulder. “Two weeks’ leave, huh? How’d that happen?”
    “Don’t ask me, pal. How does anything happen?”
    Patsy leaned forward. “Dorothy says you have a girl back home. Evelyn, isn’t that right?”
    Georgie shot Dorothy a look. “Not anymore. That’s finished now.”
    “What do you mean?” said Dorothy.
    “Ev’s marrying Gene Stusick.”
    “Gene? I can’t believe it!” Their fathers had worked on the same crew. From school, from church, the six Stusick children were as familiar as cousins. “You two were always such good friends.”
    “It’s no big deal.” Georgie drained his glass. “I don’t mind. I wish them the best.”
    “Women,” said Chick. “You can’t count on them.”
    Georgie lit a cigarette.
    “You smoke now?” said Dorothy.
    “Off and on.” He grinned. “I haven’t had one all week. Not with Mama around. It wouldn’t have been worth the grief.”
    “All GIs smoke,” said Patsy, reaching for his pack. “Isn’t that so?”
    “Most of them. But it’s a bad habit.” George nudged her. “Especially for a girl.”
    “It’s worse for a girl,” Rowsey agreed solemnly. “Makes her look fast.”
    Patsy giggled. “Watch it, buster.”
    “You’re a bad influence,” said Georgie. “You didn’t get my sister started, did you?”
    “Not Dorothy,” said Rowsey. “She’s not that kind of girl.”
    Dorothy felt a flush creep across her cheeks. The conversation embarrassed her, but it was delightful to be out with her brother. He was glad to see her; he looked handsome in his uniform. They had not laughed together in years.
    Rowsey raised his glass. “They say it’s almost over.”
    “They said that a year ago,” Georgie said.

    T HE CAR WOUND slowly through the dark streets. Dorothy sat up front next to Rowsey, Georgie and Patsy in the rear. The rain had stopped. A dense fog blanketed the warm night. Dorothy’s watch showed two-thirty. She’d never seen Washington at this hour. She was surprised by how much activity there was.
    They stopped at a light on Sixteenth Street. At the corner two men stood smoking cigarettes. Across the street, a soldier and his girl leaned against a low wall, kissing.
    “Lively neighborhood,” Georgie observed.
    “There’s an officers’ club up ahead,” said Rowsey.
    In the backseat Patsy murmured something to Georgie, and he answered in a low voice. She giggled shrilly. Dorothy glanced in the rearview mirror, wondering what was funny.
    Rowsey turned onto Massachusetts Avenue and stopped in front of the boardinghouse. The engine idled loudly in the quiet street. In an upstairs window a light came on.
    Patsy stepped out of the car, adjusting her skirt. “Good Lord, I’m tired.”
    “Rowsey,” said