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"I'm glad to hear it."
"Thank you for coming in," Roosevelt said. "I really value your friendship, Gus."
Gus said: "Nothing could give me more pleasure, sir." He shook hands with the president, and Woody did the same.
Then they left.
Woody half-hoped that Joanne would still be hanging around, but she had gone.
As they made their way out of the building, Gus said: "Let's go for a celebratory drink."
Woody looked at his watch. It was five o'clock. "Sure," he said.
They went to Old Ebbitt, on Fifteenth Street near F: stained glass, green velvet, brass lamps, and hunting trophies. The place was full of congressme
n, senators, and the people who followed them around: aides, lobbyists, and journalists. Gus ordered a dry martini straight up with a twist for himself and a beer for Woody. Woody smiled: maybe he would have liked a martini. In fact he would not--to him it just tasted like cold gin--but it would have been nice to be asked. However, he raised his glass and said: "Congratulations. You got what you wanted."
"What the world needs."
"You argued brilliantly."
"Roosevelt hardly needed convincing. He's a liberal, but a pragmatist. He knows you can't do everything, you have to pick the battles you can win. The New Deal is his number one priority--getting unemployed men back to work. He won't do anything that interferes with the main mission. If my plan becomes controversial enough to upset his supporters, he'll drop it."
"So we haven't won anything yet."
Gus smiled. "We've taken the important first step. But no, we haven't won anything."
"A pity he forced Welles on you."
"Not entirely. Sumner strengthens the project. He's closer to the president than I am. But he's unpredictable. He might pick it up and run in a different direction."
Woody looked across the room and saw a familiar face. "Guess who's here. I might have known."
His father looked in the same direction.
"Standing at the bar," Woody said. "With a couple of older guys in hats, and a blond girl. It's Greg Peshkov." As usual, Greg looked a mess despite his expensive clothes: his silk tie was awry, his shirt was coming out of his waistband, and there was a smear of cigarette ash on his ice-cream-colored trousers. Nevertheless the blonde was looking adoringly at him.
"So it is," said Gus. "Do you see much of him at Harvard?"
"He's a physics major, but he doesn't hang around with the scientists--too dull for him, I guess. I run into him at the Crimson." The Harvard Crimson was the student newspaper. Woody took photographs for the paper and Greg wrote articles. "He's doing an internship at the State Department this summer, that's why he's here."
"In the press office, I imagine," said Gus. "The two men he's with are reporters, the one in the brown suit for the Chicago Tribune and the pipe smoker for the Cleveland Plain Dealer."
Woody saw that Greg was talking to the journalists as if they were old friends, taking the arm of one as he leaned forward to say something in a low voice, patting the other on the back in mock congratulation. They seemed to like him, Woody thought, as they laughed loudly at something he said. Woody envied that talent. It was useful to politicians--though perhaps not essential: his father did not have that hail-fellow-well-met quality, and he was one of the most senior statesmen in America.
Woody said: "I wonder how his half sister, Daisy, feels about the threat of war. She's over there in London. She married some English lord."
"To be exact, she married the elder son of Earl Fitzherbert, whom I used to know quite well."
"She's the envy of every girl in Buffalo. The king went to her wedding."
"I also knew Fitzherbert's sister, Maud--a wonderful woman. She married Walter von Ulrich, a German. I would have married her myself if Walter hadn't got to her first."
Woody raised his eyebrows. It was not like Papa to talk this way.
"That was before I fell in love with your mother, of course."
"Of course." Woody smothered a grin.
