The Intern: Chasing Murderers, Hookers, and Senators Across DC Wasn't In The Job Description Read Free Page B

Georgetown, which was
entirely out of my realm of possibility. I circled the neighborhood once,
looking for a parking spot, and finally squeezed in at the end of the block. I
headed down the street, noticed a man standing in his apartment in full dress
army gear, and nodded at Stephanie’s next-door neighbor, who was always outside
and beginning to recognize me, which I took as a good sign. I finally got to
her place, walked up the stairs, and rang the bell. To my right I could see in
her living room; she had a fairly good-sized window and had the bad habit of
not pulling the blinds, which was extremely rare in DC. I could see a navy
couch and her TV from where I was standing. And, of course, she could see me
gawking inside as she opened the door.
    She smiled and invited me in. Stephanie was wearing a short
burgundy dress so simple that it must have been expensive. It was cut to show
she worked out, but that fact would’ve been apparent if she had been covered in
tar and feathers. She smiled brightly and offered me a seat, saying she just
needed to touch up her hair. I sat down in front of the TV, which was tuned, as
hers always seemed to be, to CNN.
    She shouted over the blow dryer, and we had a somewhat
passable conversation while I watched bloody Bosnian images interspersed with
those of fat American politicians. With Stephanie yelling into the mirror, her
hair still yet to be dried, I looked around and once again saw many things I
wanted, but couldn’t afford, hanging on the walls and lining her bookshelves.
She had real photos by Annie Leibowitz and William Gottlieb punctuating the
brilliant white rooms.
    I walked over yet again to her big bookshelf, which I
examined on my first trip to her apartment and on each subsequent visit. Some
of the books were law school texts, but most were reading editions of American
authors like Faulkner and Fitzgerald. It seemed like a lot for a law school
student, but she was twenty-five, so what did I know. It was the little details
like her library that made me want to skip every other formality and go
straight to the buying of the ring.
    In another corner of the room was a smaller bookshelf filled
with curios and pictures. I bent over to examine some of the photos—Stephanie
with her family, various high school and college friends, and several of her
with a guy who looked to be about my height and size with the same brown hair.
I got that knife in your stomach sensation when I realized this was probably
the oft-mentioned Roger and was even more unnerved when I noticed how much he
looked like me. Stephanie told me he had been her only serious boyfriend, and I
was sure it was going to be tough to step out of his shadow, now even more so,
since I appeared to be his shadow. I stood up and moved away just before she
walked out which was nice because I didn’t want to have to hear even more about
Roger.
    We left and headed to Rachel’s, a pricey restaurant near
DuPont Circle complete with snotty waiters and small portions. It was decorated
in creams and off-whites, and the soft lighting made you wonder if you were
developing cataracts. I called ahead for reservations—suave, I know—and we were
seated ahead of all of the schmucks who hadn’t. I never did junk like making
reservations, but Stephanie was worth planning ahead for. The place was fairly
small, the tables were too close together, and I could hear a northern woman at
the next table saying “salary” in an accent that made it sound like “celery.”
    By the time we ordered, I came to the unsettling conclusion
that I was going to really fall for this one. My heart swelled to the point
where I was simply trying to make eye contact, speak in complete sentences, and
not spill anything on myself. Before I blacked out into a blissful abyss where
I merely smiled and mumbled, I remembered the most important advice my good
friend Steven had ever given me about women: “If you like ‘em, get them to talk
about themselves; if you