The Daily Dispatch

The Pump Room

They gaped unabashedly at the pictures on the way into the Pump Room, not being able to resist the temptation to proclaim out loud the ones of particular interest. Celebrity of every stripe and epoch hung there in simple frames, testaments both to fleeting notoriety and to enduring tradition. The restaurant had been a fixture in the City for sixty-some years and its patrons, famous and not, were legion.

"Look at Bill Murray with the phone! That must be table one. Christ those guys had fun." He reflected just for a moment on the innocence and excess of a bygone era, until his memory (or imagination) turned elsewhere and then meandered along with every succeeding stair step.

Pumproom At the end of their ascent, they were surprised to find themselves alone in the vast, elegant room. The tables were covered with crisp linens, and well-appointed with white china and cobalt stemware. Here and there, red floral bouquets offered accent to the understated oaken and golden tones of the room. Directly across from where they stood, an entire wall of windows looked out onto State Street. They paused quietly, taking it in, and he found himself breathing a deep sigh just before she squeezed his hand.

"Do you remember what they call the big plates that sit under the other plates?" She managed to stump him repeatedly with this one.

"Racers?" He knew that wasn't right.

"Chargers. Pretty close though, Honey." Her smile was as warm and beautiful as the room and he felt gratitude, once again, to whichever gods had brought them together.

The hostess entered from the kitchen along the fabled east wall. "Two?" Her greeting was pleasant, if brief, and she lead them to a table in the center of the north end with "a great view of the room."

Chicago had always been a good town for them, and this trip was one of the best yet. They spoke of their plans for the day, smiling in furtive guilty enjoyment each time the silver coffee decanter arrived to interrupt them - taking such pleasure in all the little relics of class and refinement - imagining that this was their everyday life: freshly-squeezed orange juice and Eggs Benedict and everything so proper and so cheery.