by Gini Koch
“Please remember that while you haven’t finished the course yet, I expect all of you to do us and your spouses proud, and charm one and all.”
Class was dismissed, and the others all wandered out in groups, happily chatting about what they were going to wear, who they planned to cut dead, who was the “get” politico to hang with. Eugene and I looked at each other.
Eugene was the husband of the junior senator from New York, who was on the rise. The woman was an animal, meaning she was just what Washington ordered. Eugene, however, was a sweet, mild-mannered man who looked like an actuary because he was. He was of average size, average looks, and average intelligence. And he, like me, had fallen in love with, in that sense, the wrong person at the right time and ended up here.
“We’re doomed,” he said finally.
“Dude, you speak the truth.”
We got up and headed for the door. “You two,” Lockwood said before we could escape, “come here.” We did. It was like being back in high school, but we did. She shook her head. “I truly don’t understand what’s wrong with you two. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were both trying to sabotage your spouses’ careers.”
Eugene and I both started to protest, and she put up her hand. “I’m not actually accusing you.” Her expression softened, and she looked almost kind. “I just want to ask one small favor of both of you.”
We looked at each other. This was a new one. Maybe I’d been reading her wrong. Maybe she just wanted to help, and our failing hurt her. Maybe teaching was her calling, and we were her greatest challenges and, therefore, would be her greatest triumphs. Maybe she wanted to be the Annie Sullivan to our Helen Kellers.
Eugene and I both leaned closer. “Sure,” I said. “What can we do for you?”
Lockwood cleared her throat. “Saturday night, at the President’s Ball?”
“Yes?” Eugene asked.
Lockwood gave us both a tight smile. “The reputation of the Washington Wife class is extremely precious. My graduates go on to help their spouses to achieve great things.” We both nodded—we’d heard this Day One. Lockwood sighed. “Look, it hurts me to say it, but somewhere along the line at that gala event, one or both of you is going to blow it in a horrible way.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
She shrugged. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention to anyone that you’re in this class. I’m certainly going to deny it, if anyone asks.”
CHAPTER 2
EUGENE AND I SLUNK OUT OF CLASS. The class was held at Georgetown University, so we got to wander through the beautiful campus. It was the end of March, but it was still cold here. I hated cold.
“Well, that sucked,” I said as we put our coats on and trudged outside.
“Like every week.” Eugene heaved a sigh. “You think we’re going to blow it at the ball?” He sounded both depressed and hopeful. Washington really brought out the dichotomies.
“No,” I said as firmly as I could. “Lockwood just doesn’t like us ’cause we walk to the beat of our own drums.”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, my drummer is making it embarrassing for Lydia.”
“My husband’s okay with it.” This wasn’t a total lie. I hoped.
We walked along in silence, enveloped in our mutual misery. “Maybe we can both get an intestinal ailment and be forced to stay home.” Eugene actually sounded like this was a plan to be hoped for.
“It never works like that. If we get sick, we’ll toss the cookies right onto one of those people you never want to throw up on.”
“Are there people you do want to throw up on?”
“I’m all for barfing on Lockwood.”
We were still chuckling when we rounded a corner to see a number of our classmates sitting or lounging in an appropriately cool way at a couple of tables. “Hey,” one of them called, “come on over!”
I didn’t really want to, and I was sure Eugene didn’t, either, but it was a certainty that if we cut them dead, Lockwood would be discussing it at the next class and using us as the examples of the types of people who gave those in the political lifestyle a bad name.
I shoved a smile onto my face as we reached them. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Oh, we just wanted to talk to you guys for a minute,” Abner Schnekedy, who’d called us over, said. He pulled out a chair for me with a flourish, meaning I had to sit or create an incident. While creating the incident sounded like a better plan, I decided to play nicely just in case and sat down, dumping my purse at my feet.
Despite having a name that should have ensured he was the butt of every single joke in the world, Abner was insanely popular in class. Possibly because he was married to Lillian Culver, who had wisely kept her maiden name for business and who was one of the top lobbyists for some major defense contractors. He was also an artist, at least according to his business cards that he’d shoved at all of us on the first day.
“What about?” Eugene asked warily as Abner pulled out a chair for him too. I couldn’t blame him for being wary. Abner had now separated us, so we were on either side of him.
“What did Darcy want to talk to you two about?” Marcia Kramer asked. She was a big-breasted blonde bimbo type married to a Congressman from Illinois. She was his third wife, so even though he was on something like his eighth term, she was brand new to Washington. Somehow she felt this made her better than his former wives, as opposed to merely the next trophy in line. I relished the thought of the day her husband would get tired of her and move on to number four. It couldn’t come soon enough.
“Oh, just giving us some tips for Saturday night,” I lied cheerfully.
The rest of them looked at each other. Jack Ryan, who actually insisted on us acting as if he were really the main character from the Tom Clancy books, even though the only resemblance he had was in name, cleared his throat. “Come on, Ambassador. Give us the real word. Maybe we can help you.”
Ryan calling me Ambassador was a real tip-off that this wasn’t so much a gathering of adults discussing the next political event, but rather a lovely return to high school, with Eugene standing in for Chuckie. No one in class other than Eugene considered me an actual ambassador, so one of them using the title indicated they wanted to play. Fine with me, I’d been here many times before.
“Oh, she just wanted to reassure us,” Eugene said hopelessly.
“Now, now,” Ryan said with a conspiratorial wink, “you know you can’t fool Jack Ryan.” In addition to the rest of his delusions, his wife worked within the C.I.A., though not in the Extra-Terrestrial Division, for which I thanked God every day. So Ryan fancied himself Mister Superspy, even though he actually ran a car dealership in Silver Spring.
He looked like a guy who ran a car dealership in Silver Spring, too. He was less than six feet, had a good start on a middle-aged gut even though he was in his mid-thirties, and tended to dress just a little too flashy for the occasion.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I said casually, hoping Eugene would keep his mouth shut and not volunteer.
“What was Darcy reassuring you about?” Vance Beaumont asked Eugene. He was the one who’d answered the greeting question I couldn’t have gotten right if I’d actually wanted to. His husband, Guy Gadoire, was a lobbyist for the tobacco industry, making Vance one of the Big Men on Campus for the Washington Wife class. Vance didn’t work. I had no idea what Vance actually did with his time when class wasn’t in session, but gainful employment wasn’t on his schedule.
“What we’re going to be wearing,” I answered before Eugene could say anything.
“Oh?” Nathalie Gagnon-Brewer asked, suddenly interested. She was the only non-American in the Washington Wife class, and I still wasn’t sure why she was there, other than for something to do. She’d been a model in Paris and married a wealthy California vintner, Edmund Brewer, who’d just come on as a junior Representative. She and Eugene should have had a lot in common, but the few times she ever glanced at him, it was as if she were looking at a co
ckroach. “What are you wearing?”
“I have no idea. Lockwood just wanted us to be sure to dress nicely.” I figured this one was a safe bet.
“Oh.” Nathalie lost interest and went back to examining her iPhone.
“You should go for something really low cut,” Vance suggested. “Really show off your assets.”
I shot him what I really hoped was a withering look. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll be sure to take it into consideration.”
Leslie Manning and Bryce Taylor came over, carrying trays of drinks from the student union. She and her partner were supposedly closeted, so she represented as the best friend of the Chief Aide for the Secretary of State, Marion Villanova. Their story was that Leslie lived with her to help out because Marion was too busy to find Mister Right and start a family. Everyone played along, even me and Eugene, because, well, some things you didn’t use against a person.
Bryce was “single” and supposedly only the personal assistant to Secretary of Transportation Langston Whitmore. As with Leslie, everyone knew, but again, we all faked it. Leslie and Bryce had become besties, in part because they could pretend to be dating.
As a “couple” they proved the adage that people tended to date those who looked like they did. Though Bryce was taller, they both had stocky builds and a similar taste for modified mullet haircuts and pink polo shirts. They were both attractive, though, in their ways, with a vaguely non-American look indicating they were both probably first-generation citizens.
Leslie’s eyes widened when she saw me and Eugene. “Oh, I’m so sorry. We didn’t know you were joining us.” She actually sounded sincere, and I believed it. Of all of them, Leslie was the least offensive. I would have liked to hang out with her, if not for her friends.
Bryce, on the other hand, was a tool. “So, what prompted you two to grace us with your presence?” he asked as he handed drinks around. He finished and put his arm around Leslie’s waist. She snuggled next to him with a smile. I had to give it to them—they did come off as a real couple whenever they wanted to.
“Abner asked us over,” Eugene said.
Bryce and Abner exchanged a look. I recognized it. It was the “goody, fresh meat” look. I stood up. “It’s been real, but I graduated from high school a long time ago. Eugene, let’s go, I need to get home.”
“Ambassador business to handle?” Vance asked. “Or are you going to race out to find a Wet Seal to get your dress?”
It took every ounce of my self-control, but I didn’t flip him the bird. “No, actually. I’m going to go home and hang out with people who, in point of fact, have manners.”
Jack shook his head. “Be careful. Wouldn’t want you to cause an international incident on your way home.”
Eugene looked as though he didn’t know if he should stay or go. Why he wanted to be tortured I had no idea, but I decided not to let him make a potentially bad decision. “Eugene, you’re my ride. I need to get home to my daughter.”
“Right!” Eugene stood up as I grabbed my purse, which had gotten shoved under the middle of the table somehow. “See you guys Saturday night.”
“Oh, we can’t wait,” Marcia said.
Vance nodded. “We’re so looking forward to seeing what you two wear.”
“And what you two do,” Abner said, managing to control a snicker. “We can’t wait for that.”
Bryce did snicker, Leslie looked as though she wanted to be anywhere else, and Nathalie didn’t look up from her phone. I got the impression she was playing Angry Birds and really couldn’t tear herself away for anything less than a nuclear threat.
“I’ll bet you can’t.”
Abner gave me a slow smile. “My money’s on you doing a striptease after you’ve had one drink. You are named for a stripper, right? Your mother, perhaps?”
I wanted to punch his face in, but that actually would cause an international incident. Besides, I’d grown up watching people taunt Chuckie this way. He’d never let them goad him into something stupid, and I did learn by example.
I leaned closer to Abner, however, and got right into his face. He clearly hadn’t expected it, at least if I took his eyes widening and shifting all over as proof. “Abner? You and your ridiculous name better pray that my mother and I don’t decide to strip your ass down for parts. Though I have to bet you’d only be useful if we needed some manure really quickly.”
With that, I spun on my heel and left, Eugene, thankfully, coming with me.
“See you Saturday night,” Bryce called. “If you survive that long.”
“My Glock, my Glock,” I muttered as we strode off. “My kingdom for my Glock.” Like so many things, I wasn’t allowed to carry it to the Washington Wife class, presumably because everyone knew I’d use it.
“What?” Eugene asked.
“Nothing. Just having another really nostalgic moment.”
Eugene sighed. “I miss my old job and where we used to live. No one ever acted like this.”
“Dude, you’re speaking to my soul. I miss my old job like you wouldn’t believe.”
I wondered if there was any way to lure a few parasitic jellyfish over, toss them onto those people, and then kill them, all in the name of saving humanity.
Probably not. I never lucked into good things like that.
CHAPTER 3
“WELL, THAT WAS HELL ON EARTH,” I said finally when we were far enough away that I knew there was no chance they could hear us.
“Sorry,” Eugene said. “I knew we should have pretended we didn’t see them.”
“Like we had a choice? But not to worry. I plan to spill something that stains permanently on all their clothes at the ball, so it’ll all even out.”
Eugene stared at me. “Seriously?”
“Dead seriously.”
He grinned. “Punch?”
“I’m thinking of some kind of oil, like WD-40, possibly mixed with dirt, breast milk, foundation, and chocolate. Very, very hard to get out.”
“I might enjoy the ball after all,” Eugene said almost cheerfully.
I looked around as we walked on. The riot of spring was in full force, but while the colors were pretty, they weren’t desert colors, and I was a desert girl.
I noted someone lounging against a tree that was bragging to the other trees about how it was a proud Maple of the American Revolution and explaining how its leafy branches made the rest of them look inferior. I’d have missed him if I hadn’t been doing a morose study in comparative botany.
He was a big guy, built along Jeff’s lines. As he smiled and gave me a nod, I realized he was someone from our class, Malcolm Buchanan, one of the few who didn’t really “group” with anyone. He was sporting the tall, blue-eyed, brown-haired, big and brooding hottie look. I had to admit that if I were single, I’d have been interested in seeing if he was interested in hanging with me.
However, I wasn’t single, and, if he was in the Washington Wife class, he wasn’t either. So I went for the semi-friendly wave. He grinned as Eugene turned to see who I was waving to. “You friendly with him?” Eugene asked, sounding displeased.
“Not really. Not enemies, either, though.”
“Oh. I don’t like him.”
“Why not? Has he been a jerk like the people we just left?”
“No. He just…he makes me nervous. He’s always watching us.”
I turned around. Buchanan was indeed watching us. He didn’t seem fazed by the fact that I was looking back at him. In fact, he winked. I felt my cheeks get hot.
I turned around, and we kept moving while I worked to stop blushing like an idiot. These days I wasn’t used to anyone but my husband making me blush.
We walked on and reached the parking lot Eugene used in a couple of minutes. He drove himself. I would have, but the A-Cs were against it for a variety of reasons, the biggest being that A-C reflexes were so fast that they couldn’t actually drive, fly, or use other human machinery safely.
I wasn’t an A-C, despite the lovely parting gift
s that having our daughter, Jamie, had given me. We’d done the mother and child feedback thing, and since her daddy was a mutated alien thanks to some of our many enemies, Jamie had shared some mutated alien genes with me. I could still drive and fly. But as the Co-Chief of Mission, no one wanted me to.
I was used to it. When I’d been the head of Airborne for Centaurion Division, Tim Crawford had been my driver. Tim had my old job now, and, from what he told me, he was having a great time. It wouldn’t be hard to have more fun than I was having, I had to admit.
Of course, we hadn’t found a human driver I clicked with yet. And since I was already miserable, Jeff was going out of his way to try to find someone, anyone, to make me a little happier about our major job changes and their required location. So far, not a lot of luck, but then again, there was only one Tim, and he was busy saving the day and kicking evil butt.
Normally Eugene dropped me off at the A-C Embassy. I got to avoid upsetting the latest human operative who’d been given Driving Miss Kitty duty, and it gave us more time together without anyone else telling us we sucked. But today there was a gray limo at the curb, parked, with the motor idling.
A big, tall, droolingly handsome man with rather broad features and dark brown eyes under a great head of dark, wavy hair was leaning against the side of the car. He was in a black Armani suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie, with a black overcoat on. He gave me a wide smile.
I ran and jumped into his arms. Jeff pulled me to him and kissed me. As always, his kiss was amazing, and it washed away any thoughts about my inadequacy, the horrible high school reenactment we’d just gone through, or other men. As also always, my thoughts instead happily turned to getting our clothes off as soon as possible.
He ended the kiss slowly, eyes smoldering. “How’re you doing, baby?”
I sighed. “Much better now. What brings you here?”
He shook his head. “The two of you are giving off suicide-level depression,” he said in a low voice Eugene was unlikely to hear. In addition to his other talents and with the assist from some drugs he’d been unwittingly given by those aforementioned enemies, Jeff was the strongest empath in, most likely, the universe. He always monitored me, and, again due to the mutation said drugs had caused, he could read much of my mind. He’d started monitoring Eugene, too, because Eugene was with me when no one else Jeff trusted was.