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Since the death of her father, Aunt George is Dickey's only ally. Edna loves her daughter, but she has never understood her, not for one moment. Not from the day her daughter had insisted upon being called Dickey, in honor of her hero, explorer Admiral Richard "Dick" Byrd. Not from the day Dickey had dropped out of Massachusetts Institute of Technology—one of the first young women admitted there, on full scholarship—to become a pilot, nor when poor eyesight resigned Dickey to her second love: reporting on pilots. Edna could not understand Dickey marrying Tony, a man old enough to be her father, though Tony had charmed Edna like he could the shell off a turtle. Edna especially couldn't fathom Dickey wanting to be the first woman photographer in the Pacific theater of war and on Iwo Jima, or wanting to travel through postwar Europe's rubble-framed misery photographing refugees.

Aunt George, on the other hand, has always understood and encouraged Dickey, and her presence is a lifeline. The old woman loops her arm through Dickey's and smiles at her.

"For a pacifist," says Dickey, "Marmee sure knows how to make war."

Growing up, Dickey's parents had instilled pacifism in their children. They preached it like the Gospel because it came from the Gospels. Both of their children had disappointed them on that front. Dickey's brother, Robert, joined the U.S. Army, and Dickey has been going to and reporting on war since 1945.

"None of us see ourselves as causing war, do we?" asks Aunt George. "But no need to fret. Your wingman has arrived."

Dickey's loud, booming laugh erupts.

"I love that a sixty-three-year-old, divorced, bohemian poet uses military terminology to describe herself," Dickey says. "In all seriousness, thank you. Things turned south quickly tonight. Caught me off guard."

"It always does, Dickey," says Aunt George. "But, aside from your tendency to walk into sniper fire, I wouldn't have you any other way. Hopelessly hopeful."

Dickey squeezes her aunt's arm and steels herself for a return to battle.

There's much enthusiasm at Aunt George's arrival, and Dickey decides to dull the sting of her personal life with another of Bemelmans' famous martinis. The bartender knows her well. Dickey, Tony, and their literary agent, Marie Rodell, are frequent guests, along with most of the New York literary scene. Writers love the place named for and decorated by Ludwig Bemelmans, the creator of the charming, children's Madeline books. Sometimes he can even be found at his favorite table by the piano player, sketching on napkins for patrons.

The martini soon arrives, with its sidecar. Dickey normally switches to beer after a strong drink, but tonight calls for mindless oblivion.

* * *

The volume of Tony's voice, shouting over the piano about how underappreciated his photography is, sobers Dickey. The aunts have left, taking Edna in a taxi back to their place. Dickey had longed to go with them, but now that she's attuned to Helga and Tony, she cannot leave them alone, even with Ernst there. The large, young German man sulks. English is proving hard for him, so Dickey is forced to engage him. She's fluent in German because her mother's family left the country at the turn of the century, before the land they loved had cannibalized itself and the world with its war machines. Ernst, however, has shut down completely, and the bartender gives Tony looks dirtier than the martinis they've consumed.

"Time to go," Dickey says, touching Tony's shoulder.

He shakes her off, clipping her glasses with his elbow and knocking them askew.

Dickey rights them and clenches her teeth. She knows this routine well. They went through it last week at the Overseas Press Club, after Tony had broken a beer bottle against the bar and threatened another journalist with the jagged remnant of it for calling Tony "Hardy." It was an allusion to Laurel's fat partner in crime, and an apt comparison. Two hundred pounds is a lot on a five-foot-seven frame. At the OPC, Dickey had felt compelled to get Tony out, to protect their reputation. Freelancing is hard enough without editors hearing about bad behavior, and it's a very small community. Their peers aren't here, however, so Dickey feels less need to shield Tony.

Helga leans in and whispers in Tony's ear, and his shoulders relax. As his anger subsides, Dickey's grows. She realizes she has been too indulgent with Tony, and it has made him a spoiled man-sized child. It's time to put him in his place.

Dickey picks up her purse, pushes in her chair, and walks to the doorway of the bar. She pauses a moment before leaving and looks over her shoulder. Ernst is almost passed out. Tony and Helga's heads are bent together. They either don't notice or don't care that Dickey has gone.