Page 59 of Landing Love

The taxi pulled up outside the High Flyer, a bar on Dupont Circle frequented by aviators. Bill knew it well. An image of a biplane was etched into the wooden sign above the door. He gave Pritchard his portion of the cab fare and got out.

As they entered, a familiar scent of beer and hot pretzels wafted over them, and peanut shells crunched under their feet.

They sat down together at the bar, and Pritchard took out his sketchbook. “Two whiskeys,” Pritchard ordered, catching the bartender’s eye. Then he turned his attention to his sketchbook. Bill watched in awe as simple lines sketched in charcoal turned into Ann, seated and cradling Junior in her arms. Pritchard took a sip as he turned his attention to a figure standing behind Ann on the left. “Here’s where I need your help. Do you remember how tall he was and how he was built?”

“In the wedding portrait, the top of Ann’s head was level with his nose. I’d say he was three or four inches shorter than me.” Bill took a drink, enjoying the way the liquid heat ran down his throat and curled into his consciousness. “He had a bulkier build than me too.”

“Ha! Doesn’t everyone, you human beanpole?”

“Too true, my friend.” Bill took another drink.

“So, like this?” Pritchard sketched in a rough male body.

Bill nodded. “A little wider at the shoulder, I think.”

Pritchard made the adjustment. “Like that?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“Now the face. I think it was like this.” He sketched.

“I think his face was a little bit wider with a stronger jaw.”

Pritchard dashed a few extra strokes with his charcoal and smudged away what came before. “How about this?”

“Yes, that’s him exactly.” Pritchard really was amazing. “Now her mother was basically an older version of Ann, so it should be easy to draw.”

A few minutes later, the sketch was done. Ann was seated in the middle with Junior, flanked by Roger on one side and her mother on the other. It was perfect.

“I’ll do a larger version on nicer paper and frame it for you. Next week soon enough?”

“Absolutely,” Bill said, raising his glass to Pritchard.

Together, they emptied their glasses.

“One more?” Pritchard asked.

Bill really didn’t want to, but Pritchard was doing him a huge favor with the portrait. “All right, one more, but then I’m calling it a night.”

“Of course,” Pritchard said with a big grin, slapping him on the back.

At that moment a couple of women came up to the bar next to them. One of them eyed Pritchard with obvious interest. The other raked Bill up and down, her gaze coming to rest on the ring on his finger. Then she turned away with a little sigh. She didn’t seem like the type that would be satisfied with a little home repair, Bill thought to himself, relieved that his ring fended her off without his having to let her down.

“Hello, ladies,” Pritchard said, obviously welcoming the attention.

“I should go,” Bill murmured to Pritchard.

“No! Stay and finish your drink.” Turning to the ladies he said, “My friend O’Donnell here just got married, and it’s turned him into a terrible bore.”

“Such a shame,” said the woman that had been looking at him. “Why are all the handsome ones taken?”

“What about me?” Pritchard objected.

“You’ll do just fine,” said the other woman, tracing a finger down his arm with a seductive smile. “Got any other friends around who aren’t married?”

“Afraid not tonight,” Pritchard said. “But O’Donnell here is good company, even if he’s not available for more than smiles and jokes. Sit down. Have a drink with us. You won’t regret it.”

No, but Bill would. He didn’t like this one bit. It was clear what direction the evening was about to go, and he really wanted to leave.