“An ambassadorship,” I remarked, taking a small sip of my champagne. “How exciting. To where?”
Joe poised his fork above his salad plate as he fixed his dark eyes on me. “Not sure yet,” he said. “But most likely England or France.”
I nodded, forcing myself to take a small, measured bite. “London or Paris,” I said. I could hardly imagine anything more exciting. “Do you have a preference?” I asked.
“No.” Joe shook his head. “As I told the president, I wish simply to serve, and—”
But Jay cut in before Joe could finish that thought. “Marjorie, do you know what Roosevelt calls himself?”
I looked toward my host, answering no, I did not.
“FDR calls himself ‘Joe Davies’s sidekick,’？” Jay answered. May laughed.
I turned back toward Joe Davies, my interest further piqued. “How did you become so close with the president?” I asked.
Joe spoke with less flair than Jay, but I found myself impossibly drawn toward him, eager to hear whatever it was he had to say. “I worked with Woodrow—er, President Wilson at the Paris Peace Conference.”
I cocked my head. “After the Great War?”
“Yes,” Joe answered. “Franklin and I became close as young men around that time. Back when we both had a bit more time for golf.”
“Did you come from a political family?” I asked.
“Not at all. I come from a long line of dedicated drunks.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at this sudden and unexpected swerve, marveling at the man’s candor. And humility. Joe went on, and I noticed, only vaguely, that May and Jay had speared off into a conversation of their own, leaving Joe and me to ourselves. “From Washington, though, I presume?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Welsh immigrants. My parents made their home in Watertown, Wisconsin.”
I straightened in my seat, my entire frame enlivened as I replied, “Ah, and I come from Battle Creek, Michigan.”
Joe’s dark-eyed gaze glimmered. “So we are a pair of displaced midwesterners.”
“It appears we are.”
“My father passed away before I’d finished grammar school,” Joe said, taking a bite of his food. I stole yet another sideways glance toward him as he did so, noting the fine cut of his pale linen suit. His impeccable posture. The strong, pleasing contours of his profile. This was a man who had ascended to the trust and close friendship of multiple presidents of the United States entirely on his own merit and work. Much like another man I had known.
Joe must have felt me staring, because he raised his gaze and met my eyes directly. And then his expression shifted suddenly, and he looked at me the way one might study some ornate piece of art. I sat back a bit in my chair. His voice quiet, Joe leaned close and said: “Your eyes are quite lovely, Marjorie. But I am sure you already know that.”
I laughed at this, mostly to buy myself time to form some response, and then I answered: “Well, Joe Davies, I’d say you already have your political flattery down.”
His eye contact flickered just momentarily, and I saw it sweep over the bare skin of my arms, my shoulders, before rising back to meet my gaze. “I’m not a politician, remember? I’m a lawyer.”
“I’m not sure if that’s better.”
He grinned at this. “Regardless, I’ll look away now, so you don’t find me terribly rude. Otherwise I might just end up staring at you all evening.” He did look away, but then he leaned toward me, and with a playful smirk, he gestured toward his salad plate and whispered, “It’s a fine salad, but I do have to say—I’m partial to Birds Eye vegetables.”
“Are you, now?” I asked, tilting my head sideways.
Joe nodded. “That was brilliant on your part, if I might say so. Those vegetables. And all of the other frozen foods. Why, I probably eat Birds Eye at least three times a week.”
“I’m glad that I could be of service. I thought it was a good idea, too.” I turned back to my own plate, noting that I was in fact quite hungry; for the first time in a long while, my appetite had come to the table. “So, Joe Davies, when do you head off to Europe for your assignment?”
“I’m not certain,” he said, lifting his gaze toward me. “Why do you ask? Are you interested in a trip to Paris? Or London?”
“Oh, always,” I said, managing a casual smile.
“Well, you have to promise me that when you come over, you’ll let me know. Will you?”