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Jessica wore a black cocktail dress and turned more than a few heads as we boarded the Potomac River dinner cruise. While I looked sharp in gray dress slacks, a crisp white dress shirt, and a navy blue blazer, I doubted anyone was looking at me. Not with Jess on my arm.
“Did you have to wear that tie?” Jessica asked me. I was wearing a New England Patriots tie. It was blue with the Pats logo. Some referred to it as “flying Elvis.” I had to admit, except for the silver face, the figure shared a slight resemblance to Elvis Presley.
“What is wrong with the tie?”
“Nothing is wrong with it, but. . .” Jessica trailed off as she searched for a polite way of telling me it was either juvenile or not fancy enough for an expensive dinner cruise. “Never mind,” she concluded. “You look very handsome.” She smiled at me and I melted.
“You're just happy I'm dressed up,” I said. Which was no small feat. I wasn't fond of dress shirts and jackets. Ties were even lower on my list. I made rare exceptions. Those rare exceptions almost always because of Jessica Casey.
“Yes,” she replied. “And thank you.”
“For you, my lady.”
The host showed us to our seat. Every table promised the most breathtaking views of Washington monuments. I didn't take any chances with our reservation. Since I shelled out two hundred bucks, I made certain we were sitting next to the window.
The boat was upscale with contemporary fixtures in gray and black. A large dance floor sat in the middle and a live band was warming up to entertain us throughout the cruise and provide after-dinner dance music. We started with cocktails as the boat moved away from the dock. We cruised past Fort McNair and National War College and rounded the tip of East Potomac Park on our way up the Potomac.
My tie had already received several comments. Some of them were “Go Pats,” from visiting New Englanders or transplants who had moved to the DC area. Others were less appreciative from Washington fans or those visiting from other parts of the country. New England versus everyone else, I thought.
“You enjoy getting a rise out of others, don't you?” Jessica asked.
I shrugged. She smiled. We toasted and drank our cocktails as we cruised past the Jefferson Memorial. Next up would be Arlington National Cemetery on our left, then the Lincoln Memorial on our right.
Our first course arrived. We both went with the Lobster Bisque. Our Entrees were Oven Baked Atlantic Salmon for Jessica and Braised Beef Short Rib for me. We would top it off with dessert, Chocolate Decadent Cake for Jessica and New York Style Cheesecake for moi.
The food was delicious, the band very enjoyable, and the views did not disappoint. Neither the monuments nor Jessica.
“The views are breathtaking,” Jessica commented as we passed the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.
“Indeed,” I said as I looked at her. She turned her head toward me.
“I meant the Washington landmarks,” she said, “but thank you.”
“Those are nice, too,” I said.
After dinner, we danced cheek to cheek as the band played a set of '80s ballads. I managed to shuffle my feet just enough to call it slow dancing. We sat out the prior set of several Swing classics featuring the music of Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller. There were several couples who knew how to cut a rug to those classics. They were classics themselves.
“It has been quite a day,” Jess whispered into my ear as we danced.
“Yes,” I said. “Two goons assaulted me on Brattle Street, I have been confounded by Nevin Barlow's associations, and threatened by an FBI OPR agent. Now I get to spend the evening on a fabulous river cruise with the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”
Jessica kissed me on the check. My heart fluttered like a schoolboy.
“What do you make of the Vincent Gallaway development?” she asked me.
“When I spoke with Tyrell just before we left the hotel, he indicated Gallaway was an okay agent in Boston. Nothing remarkable. What was interesting is that Tyrell said he did not personally like Gallaway. Something about the guy rubbed him the wrong way. He got him transferred out of Boston and down to DC.”
“That speaks volumes right there,” Jessica said.
“Yeah. Tyrell has a very good instinct about people. I'm hoping your DC Pinnacle guys will find something to give us a little more to go on. Right now it is hard to see a legitimate connection between Barlow and Gallaway.”
As we returned to our table, my cell phone rang. “It's one of the Pinnacle guys,” I informed Jessica. I answered. I listened. After he filled me in on what they witnessed, I thanked him and hung up.
“So what did he say?” Jessica asked anxiously.
“You will not believe this,” I said to her. “Vincent Gallaway is having an affair with Elizabeth Barlow.”