That struck him as kind of a dumb thing to say. Of course she couldn’t compete with the president; no one could. But he did not want to get into that discussion. He went right to the point. “Something’s happened,” he said. “Before I met you, there was another girl.”

“I know,” said Norine.

“What do you mean?”

“I like you, George,” Norine said: “You’re smart and funny and kind. And you’re handsome, apart from that ear.”

“But . . .”

“But I can tell when a man is carrying a torch for someone else.”

“You can?”

“I guess it’s Maria,” said Norine.

George was astonished. “How the heck did you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned the name four or five times. And you’ve never talked about any other girl from your past. So it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she’s still important to you. But she’s in Chicago, so I thought maybe I could win you away from her.” Norine suddenly looked sad.

George said: “She’s come to Washington.”

“Smart girl.”

“Not for me. For a job.”

“Whichever, you’re dumping me for her.”

He could hardly say yes to that. But it was true, so he said nothing.

Their food came, but Norine did not pick up her fork. “I wish you well, George,” she said. “Take care of yourself.”

It seemed very sudden. “Uh . . . you too.”

She stood up. “Good-bye.”

There was only one thing to say. “Good-bye, Norine.”

“You can have my salad,” she said, and she walked out.

George toyed with his food for a few minutes, feeling bad. Norine had been gracious, in her own way. She had made it easy for him. He hoped she was okay. She did not deserve to be hurt.

He went from the restaurant to the White House. He had to attend the President’s Committee on Equal Employment Opportunity, chaired by Vice President Lyndon Johnson. George had formed an alliance with one of Johnson’s advisers, Skip Dickerson. But he had half an hour to spare before the meeting started, so he went to the press office in search of Maria.

Today she was wearing a polka-dot dress with a matching hair band. The band was probably holding in place a wig: Maria’s cute bob was definitely not natural.

When she asked him how he was, he did not know how to answer. He felt guilty about Norine; but now he could ask Maria out with a good conscience. “Pretty good, on balance,” he said. “You?”

She lowered her voice. “Some days I just hate white people.”

“What brought this on?”

“You haven’t met my grandfather.”

“Never met any of your family.”

“Grandpa still preaches in Chicago now and again, but he spends most of his time in his hometown, Golgotha, Alabama. Says he never really got used to the cold wind in the Midwest. But he’s still feisty. He put on his best suit and went down to the Golgotha courthouse to register to vote.”