“I brought my lunch,” I said. “Tuna.” Stop, I told myself, just stop.
“Eat it tomorrow.” She picked a piece of lint from the front of her fuzzy chartreuse sweater. “Show me what’s good around here.”
* * *
—
We walked in the direction of the White House, Sally leading the way although she’d been the one who’d asked me where to go. “I know a great deli nearby. A rarity in Washington, believe me,” she said. “They slice the ham paper thin and pile it six inches high. Only people from here know of it, and no one is actually from here. You know what I mean? Do you have to get back soon? It’s still a bit of a walk.”
“We have an hour for lunch, so we have about forty-five, maybe forty minutes left.”
“You think Company boys look at their watches during their liquid lunches?”
“No, but…” I paused a beat too long, and Sally turned on her heels as if heading back toward the office. “No,” I said. “Let’s go.”
She looped her arm through mine. “That’s the spirit.” I could feel the hot stares of men as we passed, and even a few women looked our way. I was with her. I liked being with her. My surroundings blurred as if we were no longer in the city—the endless car honking and bus screeching and jackhammers pummeling concrete ceased. It was noon on a Thursday, and the world slowed on its axis.
We passed a tour bus stopped at a light and I could hear the guide’s microphoned voice direct the attention of the passengers toward the famous Octagon House. Sally surprised me by waving to the tourists, who enthusiastically waved back. One took a picture of her. She put her hand behind her head to pose. “Still can’t get used to this city,” she said. “Everyone flocks to the seat of power.”
“Have you lived here long?”
“On and off.”
We turned down an alley off P Street I’d never noticed. Narrow brownstones with ivy-covered chimneys lined the street. Halloween was approaching, and the residents had decorated with cotton spider-webs spread across their hedges, paper black cats and skeletons with movable joints hung in the windows, and yet-to-be-carved pumpkins on their stoops. On the corner was the deli. Over the door hung a green-and-white-tiled sign: FERRANTI’S.
A bell tinkled as we opened the door. The owner, a man as long and thin as the dried sausages hanging from the deli’s ceiling, slapped a sack of semolina flour and a tiny cloud erupted from the bag. “Where have you been all my life?” he asked.
“Off somewhere waiting for a better line than that,” Sally said. The man kissed Sally on both cheeks with big, wet smacks.
“This is Paolo.”
“And who is this exquisite creature?” Paolo asked. It took me a moment to realize he was talking about me.
Sally playfully slapped away my extended hand. “What do I get if I tell you?”
Paolo held up a finger, then disappeared into the back room. He emerged holding two wooden chairs, which he placed in the small space between the front window and the shelves filled with canned tomatoes, glass jars of bright green olives, and stacks of packaged noodles.
“No table?” Sally asked.
“Patience.” He left and returned with a round table, just big enough to seat two. Like a magic trick, he reached behind his back and pulled out a small red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. He spread it over the table and gestured for us to take a seat.
“What, no candle?”
Paolo threw up his hands. “What else? Linen napkins? Salad forks?” He pointed to the ceiling. “Perhaps I should invest in a tiny chandelier?”
“That would be a start, but we’re actually getting our food to go. It’d be a sin to be inside on such a gorgeous fall day.”
He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye with the corner of his apron. “What a disappointment. But of course I understand.” He moved a wax-coated cheese wheel aside to get a better look out the window. “I’d be out there myself if I could. Actually, maybe I’ll close early and join you two ladies for a sandwich. Reflecting Pool? Tidal Basin?”
“Sorry, this is a business lunch.”
“Such is life.”
We ordered: turkey and Swiss on rye with a dill pickle plucked from a barrel for me, and an olive tapenade and some kind of meat I’d never heard of on a baguette for Sally. Paolo handed us our sandwiches in a brown paper bag. We said our goodbyes, and as we left, I turned back. “I’m Irina,” I said.
“Irina! Sally broke her deal with me, didn’t she? Such a beautiful name. I’ll see you back again with Sally soon?”
“Yes.”
We walked for another fifteen minutes, not thinking of the time left in our lunch hour. Sally stopped at the foot of an enormous building on Sixteenth I’d never noticed before. It looked like something out of ancient Egypt. Two giant sphinxes flanked the marble stairs leading up to a large brown door. “Museum?” I asked.
“House of the Temple. You know, Freemason secret society kinda stuff. I’m sure there’s a lot of funny hat wearing and chanting and candle lighting going on in there. Just ask a few of the men we work with. To me, these steps are just the perfect place to have some lunch and watch the world pass by.”
As we ate, I could feel myself becoming more comfortable, though still keenly aware of her presence. Sally finished her sandwich and wiped the corners of her mouth. She ate nearly twice as fast as I did. “How do you like the typing pool?”
“I like it. I think.”
She opened her pocketbook and pulled out a compact and red lipstick. She puckered her lips. “Any on my teeth?”
“Oh, no. It looks perfect.”
“So, you like it?”
“Red’s a great color on you.”
“I mean the Pool.”
“It’s a good job.”
“Do you like the typing or the other stuff better?”
A flash of heat traveled down my throat to my stomach. I looked at Sally with what I thought was a blank stare, though I must have looked nervous.
“Don’t worry,” she said, placing her hand on mine. She had the softest hands, her nails painted the same shade of red as her lips. “You and I are the same. Well, almost.”
“What do you mean?”
“Anderson told me when I joined back up. But he didn’t really have to tell me. I could tell from the moment we met that you were different.”