by Josie Brown
One way or another, we’ll get ahold of those cell phones.
Doesn’t Ryan realize how hard it is to contemplate wedded bliss when you’re planting a bug on the first lady, let alone doing so within the two-foot thick, ten-foot high walls of her compound, and with her private army of quote-unquote little toy soldiers watching your every move?
So much for a cozy, romantic ceremony.
I dimple up, ostensibly for Babette and company, but really because I’ve got to hide my anger that my wedding is turning into a train wreck. “You’re much too generous…but we can never repay you!”
“I know,” she declares smugly.
I’ll sure as heck try, though. And it will hurt—
Her.
Babette pulls me in close for a squeeze that would have broken a rib if I’d had her infinitesimal Body Mass Index. “And, in answer to what is obviously your very next question: yes, I accept!”
Hmmm. “I beg your pardon?”
Babette’s laugh rivals a glass chime tickled by a gentle breeze. “Yes, Donna Stone, I will be your matron of honor.” Babette rolls her eyes at Jack, as if he’s caught her being kind to an imbecile—that imbecile, of course, being me.
No! No way in hell. I’ve already asked Mary to be my maid of honor!
Jack isn’t smiling either. His ploy has backfired like a ’47 Chevy running on sixty-three proof moonshine during an ice storm. “Yeah, er, Babette, now about that…I really don’t think we can let you—”
“Shhh!” she insists. “I know where you’re heading with this, but say no more. Donna and I go back too far, and we’re much too close, to let something as trivial as the expense of what will soon be hailed as ‘the most celebrated wedding of the decade’ stand in the way of our friendship.” Babette sheds a crocodile tear.
“Oh. Good, then the costs are being covered.” He can’t hide the relief in his voice.
Babette shrugs. “I’m sure that some political action committee will realize the goodwill aspect of doing so. Happy marriages, happy homes, and all that nonsense. Plus, they so love making me happy…and making you happy”—she pets him as if he’s a calico kitten—“is what makes me happy too. Besides, my true gift to you is my presence, am I right?” She turns to me. “I mean, be honest, Donna: if I’m not standing beside you, the guests will be so disappointed.”
Why…that bitch!
Before I can tell her that I’d call the wedding off before I let her highjack my special day (no, even better, that I’ll take her out and chop her up into itty-bitty bits and drop the parts off a cliff into the Pacific Ocean and then have my wedding, after a respectful period of mourning…perhaps a day) Jack stuffs what’s left of the rum-soaked orange blossom cake into my mouth.
Yum.
It shuts me up—for now.
By the time Babette’s cavalcade of black town cars with smoked glass windows is halfway down the street, my Hilldale neighbors have caught on to the fact that we’re somehow Very Important People.
The very first person to ring my doorbell is Penelope Bing.
She comes bearing crow—I mean, a Bundt cake. After what I’ve just eaten, the last thing I need is a mouthful of her Betty Crocker crapfest. “Donna, dear, perhaps we should let bygones be bygones.”
“And, why is that?”
Suddenly, she realizes this mea culpa is not going to be the cakewalk she had hoped for. She frowns. “Because we live in the same neighborhood.”
“Feel free to move. Trust me, I won’t stop you, and I look forward to anything that raises my home’s property value.”
Penelope’s face turns red, but she knows better than to blow her stack. “Well then—because it would make our mutual friends more comfortable.”
“We have none. You’ve made sure that everyone in Hilldale hates me.”
A slight smile alights on her lips. She can’t help but preen when someone recognizes her accomplishments. But it fades soon enough when she realizes the consequence: she’s now banned from rubbing elbows with the first family.
“Donna,” Jack shouts from the living room, “Babette’s on the phone! She wants to remind you that she still needs to go over the guest list for the engagement party she’s hosting for us this weekend!”
Naughty boy. He sure knows how to make a woman grovel—in this case Penelope, whose lip quivers at the thought that she may have insulted FLOTUS’s bestie.
I’m closing the door on her face when she throws her Hail Mary: “Well then…for the sake of our sons!”
“I can do without Cheever in my car.”
She winces as the door wedges the toe of her Michael Kors espadrille into the doorframe, but she holds firm. “I’ll—make him wear a diaper for his, er, incontinence!”
“Really? You know he’ll hate you for it, don’t you?”
“He’ll…get over it. Eventually.” She purses her lips. Yet one more thing he can bring up to his therapist.
“You’d be okay humiliating your son if it allows you to rub elbows with Lee and Babette? Shame on you, Penelope!” Truly disappointed, I shake my head.
She opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out, because she knows I’m right.
“Let me think about it,” I say, but we both know it’s a hollow promise.
This time when I shut the door, she doesn’t stop me. Her hateful glare proves I’ve made the right choice: keep your loved ones close, and your enemies far enough away to be target practice.
“I’ll tell Mary, if you’d prefer.” Jack waits only a second after I shut the door firmly behind Penelope before manning up.
My laugh is anything but jovial. “You’re a brave soul. I appreciate the offer, but this is something I have to do, especially if it puts the Quorum out of commission once and for all.”
“On the other hand, if the bad news comes from me, it may soften the blow.”
I shake my head. “Jack, Mary is going to shoot the messenger, no matter who it is. I need to take the bullet. She’s my daughter.”
He frowns. “She’s our daughter. At least, I’ve felt that way about her since the moment she accepted me as her father, even before Carl tried to muscle his way back into her life.”
“She feels the same about you,” I insist. “All the more reason for me to take the heat. This way, when she seeks you out to cry on your shoulder, at least one of us can be the voice of reason.”
“‘The voice of reason?’” He shrugs. “That particular voice is whispering, ‘Elope!’”
I put my hand to my ear. “Funny! I hear it too.”
His lips find mine. I melt into his kiss.
But even this joy can’t push aside the anxiety of my next task: foregoing my promise to my daughter.
Once again, on tonight’s agenda: heartache for one of my children.
Maybe eloping isn’t such a bad idea after all.
Texts ping on our cell phones.
Jack clicks onto his first. “It’s from Ryan. ‘Feel free to take off from work between now and the wedding. By the way, Emma is coordinating the wedding party details. You can pick up a list of what she needs from you at her place. Enjoy!’”
“I don’t get it,” I mutter. “Does he have a screw loose or something?”
“Frankly, it’s a very smart move. It’s his way of safeguarding the mission, and Acme itself, from prying eyes. Granted, it would have been easier to get the POI list via email or to head over to the office and pluck it off of Emma’s desk. However, rendezvousing with our other mission operatives at Arnie and Emma’s Venice Beach cottage passes muster with anyone who may be watching us.”
I look at my message. “It’s from Emma. It says, ‘Pick up ice cream before you get here. Prefer Fudgsicle.’”
Jack chuckles. “We must be due for a brush pass with Abu. Are you up for ice cream?”
“After all that cake?” I stick my finger down my throat. “Oh hell, sure, why not?”
Babette is right. They’ll need a crowbar to get me into any designer
wedding dress.
That’s okay. I’m sure it’ll be worth it.
Chapter 8
Putting a Ring on It
How exciting! You and your betrothed are going ring shopping! Here are a few tips for getting a bauble worthy of your love:
Tip #1: Ask politely for what you really want. After all, the ring is supposed to be yours for a lifetime. (You may not be able to say the same about the man who gave it to you if you catch him in bed with another woman.)
Tip #2: Don’t succumb to his pleas to settle for his heirloom ring—especially if it’s the same ring he gave his last fiancée before she left him at the altar.
Tip #3: If he uses the excuse that “no diamond is grand enough to grace the finger of my betrothed,” take this as a very broad hint that his feet have turned to blocks of ice at the thought of seeing you walk down the aisle toward him.
At this point, the only way to warm them up is to roast them with the smoking gun food torch you’ve already received as a wedding gift. As he dances a hot-footed jig, he’s sure to change his tune.
“So, spill it. Did you do the dirty deed?”
Jack winces at my question. Shame on him. Since starting our surveillance detection route, we’ve spotted two tails: most likely FBI, since we’re on the Chiffrays’ guest list while they’re in town. It’s a precautionary measure, considering that Jack and I were once on the FBI’s Most Wanted List (another little gift from my not-so-dearly departed ex, Carl), I can’t say I blame them.
We’re taking a little stroll on Hilldale’s Main Street in order to kill time before we’re to pick up Trisha from her elementary school’s end-of-year picnic. We’ll stay in the park long enough to rendezvous with Abu, who’s got his ice cream truck back on the streets for a brush pass: the fruits of Acme’s ComInt division—a full list of our mission’s Persons of Interest—can be found on a Fudgsicle stick.
Many of the POIs will be attending President Chiffray’s Middle East summit, and are even now buzzing around Lion’s Lair in preparation for it. If our target is among them, we’ll now be in position to find him.
Or her.
Jack stops to gaze into Hilldale’s Tiffany store window. “Hey, what’s your guess—is that ring’s diamond two carats? Three?” He points to a white-gold ring, crowned with a halo diamond.
“It’s big enough,” I assure him. “Now quit trying to change the subject.”
“If what you’re asking is if I planted the microdot on Babette while you stuffed your face with cake, unfortunately, the answer is no. Although, I have earmarked a couple of possible, er, locations. I’m supposed to work out with her later today, remember? If I’m showing her a few new strokes—”
“Ha, ha. I’m sure she’ll figure out how to turn the tables so that she does the stroking.” I keep a placid grin on my face as I point to another ring in the case: a Princess cut diamond in a scroll vintage cluster setting. “That one is prettier. So, tell me: where?”
“Are you sure you really want to know?” Jack bends down in the pretense of scrutinizing my choice. In reality, he’s avoiding eye contact.
Now I feel guilty. I mean, heck, he’s only doing his job.
Our job.
Which is rarely in sync with the rest of our lives. The wedding is an apt case in point. “I’m facing the same problem, so we may as well share trade secrets,” I concede.
“You’ve got a point.” He shakes his head, frustrated. “There’s a fold between her ear lobe and the back of her neck. How about there?”
“Don’t. We won’t get video that we could use.”
He nods. “Good point. How about on the neck, below the jaw?”
“She’s sure to wash it off.”
“Gotcha. She always wears low-cut tops. Maybe, you know, between her breasts?”
“Since when will you have a chance to touch her breasts? …Oh, yeah, I forget. We’re talking about Babette.” My smile belies the anger in my murmur.
He rolls his eyes. “Donna, please don’t be jealous.”
My eyes narrow into a glare. “Tell me, Jack Craig, how would you feel if I asked your opinion about planting a microdot on Lee’s itchy and scratchy?”
“We’re talking an audio and video feed here! Since he doesn’t walk around with his boys exposed, I don’t think we’ll find what we need,” he snickers.
I cover my angst with a shrug. “Sure then, go for it.”
If the opportunity presents itself, he’ll take it. We both know it.
I stare at the rings so that he and our government-sanctioned shadows can’t see my tears.
An idea strikes me. When our eyes meet through the reflection of the store’s plate glass window, I murmur, “Since our true goal is their cell phones, why work so hard to place the microdot?”
“Who says I am?” Through gritted teeth, Jack’s voice cracks with exasperation. “I can’t stand the woman. Whereas, let’s face it—you care about Lee.”
“I don’t ‘care’ about Lee.” I turn to face him.
Without the reflection of shadow and light, those brilliant green of his eyes take my breath away—
Until I notice the wariness in them. “Then why do you keep making excuses for him?” he asks.
“Because…because I don’t want the wrong person to go down for this.”
“I see: Lee, being the ‘wrong person.’ And you’re convinced that Babette is such a brilliant evil mastermind that she could pull off control of the Quorum?”
“Why not?” I retort defensively. “Just because she plays the part of a lecherous airhead bitch doesn’t mean she isn’t all that plus a brilliant evil mastermind! In fact, what evil mastermind isn’t also lecherous, or bitchy for that matter? Granted, airheadedness isn’t usually part of the equation, but you catch my drift.”
“You’re rambling, but I’ve been around you long enough to decode DonnaSpeak. What you mean to say is you’ll do everything in your power to prove me wrong.” His smirk says, Bring. It. On. “And no doubt Lee will enjoy every minute of it.”
“If—please take note I’ve used the conjunction ‘if’ as opposed to ‘when’—I have to place the microdot on Lee, it’s only because I failed to get his cell phone first.”
“If any circumstance affords you the opportunity to place the microdot, do it.”
My laugh sounds hollow, even to me. “You don’t mean that.”
“I’m not being flippant,” Jack growls. “This is not a request, Donna. It is an order from your mission leader.”
“I don’t need your permission to do my job, Jack Craig. And you certainly don’t need mine.”
He reaches for my hand. “You’re right. But I’d still like to know I’ve earned your understanding.”
“To earn it, you first have to give it.”
Despite his attempt to keep his face smooth as marble, Jack grimaces. “Fair enough.”
I lean into him. Just shifting my body those few inches gives shade to one particular ring. Its two-and-a-half carat diamond, raised on six prongs above a band inlaid with channel-set diamonds on each side, and is backlit in such a way that its natural brilliance is even more dazzling. “So beautiful,” I murmur—
Suddenly, I’m hit with an idea. “Oh, my God! We never—”
“I know, Donna.” Guilt lays heavy in Jack’s eyes. “Look—I’m sorry I’ve never taken you shopping for a wedding ring. But in all honesty, we’ve been so busy—”
“I wasn’t going for a broad hint, silly!” I step up to kiss the tip of his nose. “Jack, I think I know where we can hide the microdots without…well, without having to put it where the sun don’t shine, if you catch my drift.”
“I’m all ears.” His relieved tone makes me feel silly for even doubting him.
I point to the rings. “What I started to say is that we forgot the one thing the Chiffrays always wear: their wedding rings. If Plan B is inevitable, instead of attaching it on skin, why don’t we slip the microdots on the settings of their wedding bands?”
Jack stares at the rings for a long time. Finally, he whispers, “Oh, my God, that’s perfect! You are a genius, Almost Mrs. Craig! The dot will have enough glue to cling between the prongs and stone. And it’s clear, so no one will see it!” He sweeps me up in his arms and smothers me in a deep, languid kiss.
When our lips part, he adds, “Of course, we may have to be creative in how we get ahold of their rings.”
“By ‘creative,’ do you mean we’ll have to hold hands with the targets? I’d expect that.”
“And, you won’t mind?” He’s still staring at the ring in the window.
“What, if you hold Babette’s hand? No—not if that’s all you’re holding.” I shrug. “I presume you feel the same way about me and Lee.”
He laughs. “And every other guy on Emma’s list.”
“Well, hopefully, the damn list isn’t too long!”
“More to the point, they all better have rings.” Jack frowns, but he still won’t face me. “Otherwise, we’ll have to come up with a Plan C, which we both know won’t be as chaste as holding hands.”
My mind shifts to everything a wedding band is meant to stand for: fidelity, trust, and eternity.
Happily ever after.
Can spies like us ever truly be happy, ad infinitum, knowing that we must trust each other, despite any infidelity our jobs entail?
A large part of why Jack hopes Lee is Quorum because of my feelings for him.
At every turn, I’ve given Lee the benefit of the doubt. I’ve trusted Lee.
But Jack has had no reason to be jealous, since I’ve never loved Lee.
I take that back: Jack doesn’t trust Lee because it’s so obvious that Lee has feelings for me.
And now, to prove Jack right, I may have to do the one thing he dreads: give in to Lee’s feelings for me.
I pat Jack’s arm. “Here’s our Plan B: Trust. Fidelity. Eternity.”
Jack nods. He gets it. “Always,” he murmurs, as he kisses my hand. “Let’s grab Trisha, then pick up our Fudgsicle.” I sigh. “Then I’ll work off this cake while you can play golf with Babette.”