I ‘d stand in front of Theory’s window drooling over their little spring dresses in beige and pink. Is that aqua I see peaking behind a bashful blue? Makes you want to pick up a Faulkner novel and read on a swing… a scotch sour on a side table, a bowl of blueberries to sweeten the taste.
I’d buy a new purse…something light and roomy…in canvas, with an elegant leather strap. Hopefully it has kitten heels to match in faux alligator, soft to the touch.
Looking so nice I’d want to go someplace and since West Palm’s too far, I’d hop the Acela for DC with the New Yorker and David Sedaris under my arm.
Did you think I was going to say Paris? Washington is my Paris, the Capitol, my Eiffel Tower.
I think of Mr. Lincoln that brings me to Walt Whitman who wrote so beautifully of him in When the Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d. It was about Lincoln’s funeral train and how mourners lined the tracks holding handfuls of lilac bursting into bloom like no other April had ever seen.
I’d wait in the taxi line, because that’s what you do, so one could take me to my favorite hotel, The Hay Adams, who greet me like family. Spent many weekends there with my last boyfriend, running around the National Mall in the morning…always stopping at the Vietnam Wall to pray. The hotel itself basks in history built on the site once the homes of Henry Adams, grandson of John Quincy…great grandson of John, and John Hay, Lincoln’s noble secretary and Teddy’s Secretary of State.
After breakfast, I’d go to the Smithsonian’s American History Museum to see Daniel Webster’s desk, Henry Clay’s straw hat and The Philadelphia, a ship belonging to Benedict Arnold before he became a spy for the British.
There’s the First Ladies Exhibition where I can glimpse all of Jackie’s jewelry Jack gave her when they ruled 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. You can even buy replicas in the gift shop. I’d feel a little like her in my sleeveless dress, a light cardigan tossed over my shoulders hardly making a sound in my heels.
En route to Fords Theater to dream a little more of Mr. Lincoln, I’ll stop at Old Ebitts raw fish bar…oysters, clams…shrimp all on cool ice.
“Yes, yes I certainly would…thank you, and please…call me Susannah.”
After Fords I’ll head back to the hotel to gather my things before taking the Acela home with the Washington Post, snacks the hotel made me and memories to keep me warm.
If I had money.