Fellow Travelers

by Thomas Mallon

Tim knew that he, too, would never again be what he had been, and he knew it even more surely once he saw Hawk enter the room, smile at him, and mouth the word “Skippy.” After smiling back, he turned and looked the other way, behind him, toward the rooftop’s railing, telling himself that if he leapt over it now he would die happy, the mortal sin of suicide just a redundant count in God’s indictment, earning him only a concurrent eternity in Hell. Hawk approached with an improbable entourage: Mary Johnson and the man who must be her fiancé, along with Mrs. Phillips and a fellow Tim didn’t recognize. They all took drinks from a tray, a waiter having glided instantly up to Hawk, just the way Tim remembered it had gone at the restaurant in Charlottesville. With one hand Hawkins selected a summery gin and tonic, and with the other he made a discreet wave to Joe Alsop, who, engaged in conversation with Ike’s press secretary, gave a businesslike one in return. “Here,” said Hawk, presenting Tim to his companions, “is the real source of your invitations.” In fact it had been a joyful, capering Tommy McIntyre who’d pressed a fistful of Mrs. Craig’s invites upon Fuller when he’d visited the office yesterday morning to talk to Senator Potter about the St. Lawrence Seaway legislation. “It’s nice to see you again,” said Mary Johnson, who reacquainted Tim and Beverly Phillips before introducing him to Paul Hildebrand and Jerry Baumeister. “Mr. Fuller,” she explained to Tim, “is making us...