"You sound jealous," Veronica said, laughing.
"I am," Pick said.
"Maybe you ought to smile back at Dawn Morris."
"Lips that have touched Macklin's shall never touch mine."
Veronica was truly surprised. "You really think she's... uh..."
"They could, I suppose, be holding Midnight Vespers in her room."
"Do you think Bobby knew that?"
"Yeah, sure he did. We saw Macklin going into her room at one in the morning-in Sacramento, I think, on the second or third day of this odyssey-in his dressing gown, no less. Why did you ask that?"
"No reason, Pick. Just feminine curiosity. Oh, there's Billy."
"I hate that sexually satiated look on his face," Pick said.
Dunn crossed the room to them, snatching a drink from a waiter's tray on the way.
He took a sip from it, grimaced, and handed it to Pick.
"Scotch," he said.
"God is punishing you," Pick said.
"I'll take it," Veronica said, taking the drink from Pickering.
"God has been very kind to me lately, actually," Dunn said. "And how was your afternoon, Mr. Pickering?"
"What would you like to know about truck windows?"
Dunn looked at his watch.
"Isn't it about time for the triumphal entry?" he asked.
"Any minute now," Pick said. "If you want a drink before the baked chicken breast Portland, you'd better get it now."
"Not chicken again!"
"I told you, God is punishing you. When he said, 'Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery,' He meant it. He knows how you spent the afternoon."
"Oh, Pick, shut up." Veronica giggled.
Another waiter passed with a tray full of drinks. Dunn took another chance. To judge by the pleased look on his face after he tasted it, this time he was successful.
"See, He does love me after all. This is pretty good sour mash."
There was a small ripple of applause. It gradually swelled as everyone in the Main Ballroom turned to the door.
Staff Sergeant Thomas Michael "Machine Gun" McCoy, USMCR, stood in the doorway. He was wearing a dress blue uniform, and the Medal of Honor on its white-starred ribbon was hanging around his neck. Behind him, in greens, were a pair of gunnery sergeants.
The Mayor of Portland walked to the door and shook Sergeant McCoy's hand. The applause died down. The strains of the Marine Hymn, from an electric organ, filled the room.
With the exception of Lieutenants Dunn and Pickering, everyone there seemed to come to attention. A few people actually put their hands over their hearts.
When the music was over, Sergeant McCoy waved shyly and modestly at the crowd. And then, with the mayor at his side and the two gunnies one step behind him, he crossed the room to the bar. Once he was there, a bartender handed him a Pilsner glass of beer.
"I would really like to know what Jake Dillon said to him, to get him to behave," Dunn said.
"It is probably what the gunnies have done to him," Pickering said.
"You mean you don't know?" Veronica asked.
"Know what?" Pick asked.
"If he behaves all day, and all the way to dinner, Jake sees that he gets two drinks after dinner. And that isn't the only carrot Jake dangles in front of his nose, either."
"The lady speaketh, believeth the truth," Pick said.
"Major Dillon is a man with an uncommon problem-solving ability, isn't he?" Dunn asked admiringly.
"Every night?" Pick asked.
"Every night, if he has behaved all day," Veronica said.
"How come nobody ever dangles a carrot in front of my nose?" Pick asked.
"God doesn't love you," Dunn said. "And look who's coming!"
Lieutenant R. B. Macklin was walking across the room to them.
"Would you mind posing with Sergeant McCoy and the mayor, Miss Wood, for some photographs?" he asked when he reached them.
"Certainly."
"Maybe it would be better if you left your drink here," Macklin suggested. Veronica handed it to Pickering. Dunn drained his bourbon.
"We would like you in the photos too, Dunn," Macklin said.
"I've been through this before, Macklin," Dunn said.
"You two could have expressed a certain respect for The Corps by coming to attention when the Marine Hymn was played," Macklin said.
"Unless you want to be photographed on your rear end, Lieutenant," Dunn said softly and icily, "you had better not say one more word to either me or Mr. Pickering for the entire balance of the evening."
He turned to Veronica Wood. "Would you take my arm, Ma'am, and we'll sashay across the ballroom and have our picture taken."
"I would be honored, Lieutenant Dunn," Veronica said. She took his arm, and they marched across the room, with Lieutenant Macklin trailing along behind.
"Is that what they mean when they say a 'two-fisted drinker'?" a female voice behind Pick asked. He turned to see who it was. She was in a cocktail dress, an older woman, thirty-five anyway; her hair seemed to be prematurely gray.
"I guess it is," Pick said. He finished his drink and set it down.
"You're Lieutenant Pickering, right?" the woman asked, offering her hand.
"Yes, Ma'am," he said.
"I've been wanting to introduce myself," she said. "We're going to dinner together. I'm Alice Feaster. Mrs. Alice Feaster. For what it's worth, I'm the President of the City Council's sister. That's how I got a ticket."
"How do you do?" Pick said. "I didn't know we were going into dinner in pairs."
"I arranged it," Mrs. Feaster said.
What the hell does that mean?
"And the Major... what's his name?"
"Major Dillon."
"... pointed you out to me, but I didn't want to interrupt. You were having a private conversation with Miss Wood."
"You should have come up. If I had known, I would have gone looking for you."
"May I ask you a personal question?"
"Certainly."
"Is there... uh... anything between you and Miss Wood?"
"Miss Wood is going to marry Major Dillon. We're just friends."
"You seem to be very good friends," she said.
"We are. Can I get you a drink, Mrs. Feaster?"
"I'd love one. A martini. Gin. Onions."
On the way back from the bar, Pickering observed that Mrs. Feaster was very well preserved, for an older woman.
"Thank you very much," she said, looking at him over the rim of the martini glass.
"Did your brother the City Council President manage a ticket for Mr. Feaster, too?"
"Mr. Feaster is in Spokane tonight."
"I'm sorry."
"You wouldn't really like him; he's rather dull." She reacted to the surprised look in his face by asking: "Don't you think people should say what they want to?"
"Absolutely."
"And where is your wife, while you're off on the war bond tour?"
"No wife."
"I'm surprised. You're a very good-looking young man. I'm surprised that some sweet young thing hasn't led you to the altar."