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"What are you doing tonight?"
"I thought I'd whip up a smoked salmon omelet, take a shower, and watch TV," Pitt answered, as the guard waved him through, staring at the '36 Ford with envy in his eyes.
"Bachelors lead dull lives," she said teasingly.
"I gave up barhopping when I turned twenty-one."
"Sure you did." She paused to answer a question from one of her aides. "Sorry about that. A constituent called to complain about potholes in the road in front of his house."
"Congresswomen lead dull lives," he retorted.
"Just for being testy, you're taking me to dinner at St. Cyr's."
"You have good taste," said Pitt. "That will set me back a month's wages. What's the occasion?"
"I have a rather thick report on Destiny Enterprises sitting on my desk and it's going to cost you big-time."
"Did anybody ever tell you, you're in the wrong business?"
"I've sold my soul to pass legislation more times than any hooker has sold her body to clients."
Pitt pulled to a stop at a large hangar entry door and pressed a code into a remote transmitter. "I hope you have reservations. St. Cyr's isn't known for taking commoners off the street."
"I did a favor for the chef once. Trust me, we'll have the best table in the house. Pick me up in front of my place at seven-thirty."
"Can you get me a discount on the wine?"
"You're cute," said Loren softly. "Goodbye."
Pitt wasn't in the mood to wear a tie to a fancy restaurant. As he pulled the Ford up in front of Loren's town house in Alexandria, he was wearing gray slacks, a dark blue sport coat, and a saffron-colored turtleneck sweater. Loren spotted him and the car from her fourth-story balcony, waved, and came down. Chic and glamorous, she wore a charcoal lace-and-beadwork cardigan with palazzo pants pleated in the front under a black, knee-length imitation fur coat. She carried a briefcase whose charcoal leather matched her outfit. She'd seen from the balcony that Pitt had put the top up on the Ford, and so, since she did not have to worry about windblown hair, she didn't bother to wear a hat.
Pitt stood on the sidewalk and opened the door for her. "Nice to see there are still a few gentlemen left," she said, with a flirty smile.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I come from the old school."
The restaurant was only two miles away, just across the Capitol Beltway into Fairfax County, Virginia.
The valet parking attendant's face lit up like a candle inside a Halloween pumpkin when he spotted the hotrod roll up in front of the elegant restaurant. The mellow tone from the exhaust pipes sent quivers up his spine.
He handed Pitt a claim check, but before he drove away, Pitt leaned in and scanned the odometer.
"Something wrong, sir?" asked the parking attendant.
"Just reading the mileage," replied Pitt, giving the young man a knowing look.
His dream of taking the hot rod out for a spin while its owner was inside having dinner now suddenly dashed, the attendant drove the car slowly into the lot and parked it next to a Bentley.
St. Cyr's was an intimate dining experience. Established in an eighteenth-century colonial brick house, the owner-chef had come to Washington by way of Cannes and Paris after having been discovered by a pair of wealthy Washington developers with palates for fine food and wine. They'd bankrolled the restaurant, giving the chef a half interest. The dining room was decorated in deep blues and golds, with Moroccan-style decor and furniture. There were no more than twelve tables served by six waiters and four busboys. What Pitt especially enjoyed about St. Cyr's was the acoustics. With heavy curtains and miles of fabric on the walls, all sounds of conversation were cut to a bare minimum, unlike most restaurants, in which you couldn't hear what the person across the table was saying and the din literally ruined any enjoyment of a gourmet meal.
After being seated at a table in a small private alcove off the main dining room by the maitre d', Pitt asked Loren, "Wine or champagne?"
"Why ask?" she said. "You know a good Cabernet puts me in a vulnerable mood."
Pitt ordered a bottle of Martin Ray Cabernet Sauvignon from the wine steward and settled comfortably into the leather chair. "While we're waiting to order, why don't you tell me what you've found on Destiny Enterprises?"
Loren smiled. "I should make you feed me first."
"Another politician on the take," he said satirically.
