by Julie Hyzy
I scooched out of the row and made my way up to the dais. “Excuse me,” I said to Gavin.
With reluctance, he stepped away from the lectern, and I took a moment to stand behind it myself. The “blue goose” was tall, as speaking stands go, but I could still see over it with ease.
Running my hands along the sides, I felt the power, too. Twisting around, I cast a glance at the large medallion hanging on a curtained wall behind me. This wide blue oval, with an image of the White House at its center, was seen behind the president whenever he addressed the press from this room.
Gavin was watching me, his face expressionless.
I turned back toward the empty seats. Gav was setting me up to fail, I was sure of that. Maybe I should just give up and let him have his fun.
No. My personal pride rebelled. Not without a fight. Or at least, in this case, my best effort. But after the past few days, I didn’t know how much effort I really had in me for Gavin’s games.
I blew out a breath.
He sidled up. “Are you expecting the answer via ESP?” he asked. “When we held this exercise in the cafeteria yesterday, your colleagues at least searched the room before they gave up.” He made a show of looking at his watch. “I’m giving you another minute. Then I’ll explain what you should have been doing.”
I could practically hear the clock tick as I gripped the lectern with both hands. Closing my eyes again, I thought about how I would wreak havoc on the White House if I had to do it in this room.
“Thirty seconds.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, wasting another two ticks to answer him.
This room was new. Why was that popping to the forefront of my thoughts just now? What was significant about its relative newness? Everything here had been changed. The place was practically sterile-and the housekeeping staff worked to keep it that way.
New. Changed.
A thought tickled my brain, just a breath out of reach.
“Fifteen seconds.”
I opened my eyes. Turned to face the wall behind me. Stared at it.
“Ten.”
The curtains were… wrong. This wasn’t the right backdrop.
As I argued with myself-realizing that nothing prevented the president from switching backdrops from time to time-my hands searched the royal blue curtains. Last time I’d seen President Campbell speak, the background had been flat-as though made of drywall-and the medallion’s suspension wires were visible.
This time, the medallion’s method of suspension was invisible-a means of support I couldn’t detect.
“What are you doing, Ms. Paras?”
I didn’t bother answering. My fingers groped the medallion’s edge-looking for what, I didn’t know.
“Three… two…”
“Got it!” I shouted. I yanked at a fist-sized piece of plastic that had been duct-taped to the back of the medallion. Pulling it forward, I held it up for Gav to see.
“What exactly do you think you have?” he asked.
“This!” I said, feeling my face flush with pride.
He arched an eyebrow.
“This is what I was supposed to find, isn’t it?”
Gav tilted his head, approaching me slowly. Taking the device from my hands, he said, “First of all, let me congratulate you, Ms. Paras. You’re the first person to find one of our planted IEDs.” He fingered two wires that reached out from the bottom of the plastic, playing with them so they bounced at his touch. “And guess what else you did that no one else did.”
I shrugged.
“You just set off the bomb,” he said.
“But-”
He stopped me with a withering gaze. How could anyone stay as cold and detached as this guy? He played with the two wires, pointing them at me.
“Know what this means, Ms. Paras?”
I shook my head.
“Kaboom!” he shouted into my face.
My shoulders dropped.
“It isn’t enough that you’re able to spot things out of place,” he said, stepping back, again the picture of calm. “You need to learn what to do when faced with an emergency.”
I opened my mouth to argue. I’d been in my fair share of emergency situations and I’d handled things nicely, thank you very much-but I realized he was right. When it came to explosive devices, I had no idea what to do. I closed my mouth without saying a word.
“Very good,” he said with a tone that made me want to kaboom him myself. “Now that we’ve tested your powers of observation, let’s work on reaction protocols.”
Forty-five minutes later, he finally released me for the day. “Not a bad start,” he said. From him, I supposed that rated as high praise.
“Thanks a lot,” I said, pushing bangs off my damp forehead. He’d really kept me moving-in the hour we’d worked together, we hadn’t had two minutes of downtime. Truth was, though, I’d learned more than I’d expected to and certainly more than I ever hoped to need to know. Throughout my tutorial, Gavin constantly prefaced his demonstrations with, “We didn’t get a chance to do this with the big group…” so I got the definite impression that I’d received more in-depth instruction than had my colleagues. He really warmed to the subject matter when he taught one-on-one. Maybe I could even skip the next class.
We walked back toward the residence, through the Palm Room, in silence. When he and I were about to part company at the kitchen, I stopped him. “Special Agent Gavin?”
He turned. “Call me Gav.”
Little did he know I’d already been doing that under my breath.
With a shrug, he added, “That is, use the nickname when we’re working together. If we’re out here, then use Special Agent Gavin.”
“Sure,” I said. But I sincerely hoped we wouldn’t be working one-on-one again, ever.
“What were you going to say,” he asked, “when you stopped me?”
Despite the fact that he was an arrogant jerk, and dismissive of my role as executive chef, I realized I was better prepared for emergencies even after today’s short session. “Just wanted to say thanks,” I said. “I learned a lot.”
He frowned. “I’ll be tougher on you next time.” With a quick turn on his heel, he walked away.
Peculiar man.
I’d just about gotten into the kitchen when I ran into Bindy coming out. What was she doing here?
“Ollie!” she said, startling us both. “Where have you been?”
I didn’t feel like explaining, so I pointed west. “Busy.”
“The senator’s wife, Maryann Blanchard, is upstairs,” she said. “She wants to meet you.”
“Me?” My hand instinctively brushed hair out of my eyes, and I was disappointed to discover I was still perspiring. “Why?”
Cheeks flushed, Bindy appeared a good deal more frazzled than she had yesterday. Although she was again super-snazzily dressed, she lacked the polish from the day before. “I was supposed to introduce you hours ago. Treyton insisted on it.” Her eyes were restless-as though she were afraid that he would suddenly swoop down and scold her for taking too long. She giggled, which I recognized as Bindy’s unusual expression of nervousness. We were all put in uncomfortable situations all too often. Her method of release didn’t speak well of her professionalism. “Mrs. Blanchard wants you to meet the children.”
“Now?” I glanced at my watch. The Mothers’ Luncheon should be over. Guides should be taking groups of moms and tots on tours of the open rooms of the White House, and then everyone would gather in the East Room for a final discussion of the day’s events. “Where’s the First Lady?”
Bindy tilted her head, as though the question surprised her. “Upstairs with Mrs. Blanchard and a few others.”
“How’s she holding up?”
Finally, the light dawned. “Oh, of course. Yes. That’s right. She lost her nephew yesterday.”
My God, how could she have forgotten?
Bindy glanced away again. Maybe this job was too much for her. “I mean, we feel terrible ab
out the First Family’s loss,” she said.
Too little, too late.
“But, Ollie, if you could just come upstairs for a little bit…”
“Does this have to do with the placement of her kids’ gingerbread men in the Red Room?” I asked.
Bindy blushed more deeply. “Just five minutes, okay?”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I haven’t been back to the kitchen in over an hour and there are a million things to be done. Sorry.” I started to move away, but she cut me off.
“Please,” she said. “I promised her she’d get the chance to meet you.”
“I told you I’d take a look at the gingerbread men the kids made. Isn’t that enough? Tell her I’m busy. It’s the truth.”
“You have to do this, Ollie,” Bindy said. Her voice had changed. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”
I stared at her but she averted her eyes. “I don’t understand what what’s like?”
She bit her lip, wrinkling her nose. When she looked at me again, I thought she might cry. “Look at you. You’ve made it. You’re at the top. You’ve gotten there.”
I had an idea of where she was going, and though I didn’t really want to travel down this track, I couldn’t think of a way to stop the train.
“This is my chance,” she said. “This is a dream job. This is what I’ve been working for all my life.” She jabbed a finger into her own chest so hard it had to hurt. “But I’m still new. And I’m still trying to prove myself. What’s it going to look like if I can’t do something simple like make an introduction that Mrs. Blanchard requested?”
“You shouldn’t have promised-”
“I know. You’re right. I shouldn’t have.” Bindy looked as miserable as a person could, despite the trim suit and snazzy shoes, and she held out her hands, abdicating all power.
I had to ask. “Why are you so keen on keeping a job that makes you unhappy?”
For the first time since we started talking, Bindy smiled. “I love my job.”
“I never would’ve guessed.”
“It’s just the pressure,” she said. “I’m not used to it yet. But I’m getting better. And Treyton has plans. Big plans. If I’m good at what I do, he’ll keep me around. That’s all I want.”
Big plans. Like a run for the presidency? He was the same party as President Campbell. I doubted he’d make a primary bid against an incumbent, but I didn’t doubt he fantasized about it.
I felt for Bindy, but I was sticky, tired, and not in the mood to meet anyone-especially one with a “choose my kids’ artwork” agenda on her mind.
“Please,” she said again.
I rubbed my eyesockets. “I’m a mess.”
“Nobody will care.”
And that was how I came to meet Mrs. Blanchard upstairs in the Entrance Hall. She was a dark-haired, petite beauty. Bindy introduced me. “Call me Maryann,” Mrs. Blanchard said.
I knew I could never do that, but I smiled and said hello to the three young children hanging on her. “And what’s your name?” I asked the oldest.
He squirmed and smiled. “Trey,” he said. “Are you the cook?”
“I sure am,” I said.
“The food was good,” he said, ever so politely. “Except Leah didn’t like the banana pudding. She smashed it on the floor.”
His mother shushed him, and shrugged. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said as I turned to the other two little ones. Leah was about three and John was five. They all looked like they couldn’t wait to get home and out of their dressy clothes. Leah wrapped herself around her mother’s leg and whimpered.
Behind us, small groups wandered in and out of the Green Room, Blue Room, Red Room, and State Dining Room. Tour guides kept them moving. I was amazed at how well-relatively speaking-all the children behaved. I heard an occasional outburst and an accompanying reprimand, but the groups were more sedate than I’d expected, especially after Jackson’s and Red’s descriptions. I really wished Mrs. Blanchard had taken the tour.
Mrs. Campbell stood a few feet away, watching us. She maintained a serene smile, but from the look in her eyes, I knew she wanted to be away from all these people-to be alone to grieve for Sean. I marveled at the woman’s strength in light of all that had happened.
“Are they touring the West Wing, too?” I asked at a lull in the conversation.
“They’re almost everywhere,” Bindy answered. “But we wanted a chance to talk with Mrs. Campbell alone. It’s probably our only opportunity, isn’t it?” she asked.
Mrs. Campbell nodded, without expression.
Couldn’t they leave the poor woman alone?
Above the soft conversation and sounds of people moving around, we heard a speedy click-clack of two sets of high heels on the hard floor. A moment later, the social secretary, Marguerite, and her assistant joined us. Marguerite apologized for interrupting. “Mrs. Campbell,” she said quietly, “you’re needed upstairs.”
The First Lady offered regrets for being called away. She thanked Mrs. Blanchard for attending the day’s festivities and then procured a promise from the assistant secretary that everyone on the tours would be looked after properly.
Once the First Lady and Marguerite departed, I started to move away myself. “It was nice to meet you,” I said. To the children, I added, “I hope you enjoyed your gingerbread man project.”
Little Trey gave me a solemn look. “I didn’t have fun making those,” he said.
Bindy piped in. “This is the lady who will put your gingerbread men up for everybody to see. Right, Ollie?”
I didn’t have any idea how to answer. “I’ll do my best,” I said.
Trey’s mother gave his arm a tug. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Blanchard smiled at me. An embarrassed smile. “We didn’t turn them in with the rest. Bindy didn’t want them to get lost in the confusion. She knows where they are.”
“I’ll make sure to get them into your hands directly,” Bindy said.
“The tours are winding down now,” the assistant secretary interjected, effectively ending this uncomfortable line of conversation. “Is there anything else you wanted to see before we return you to your car?”
What a nice way to shoo people out.
“No, we’re done here,” Maryann Blanchard said. She settled a high-wattage smile on Bindy, who winked at me.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t wait for them to be gone.
CHAPTER 11
FROM THE FRYING PAN STRAIGHT INTO THE fire.
That’s how I felt at Gene’s wake. I’d been here for about fifteen minutes, but couldn’t help but believe I’d inadvertently thrown myself into the flames just by showing up. I hadn’t anticipated the enormous impact my presence might have. Standing next to the casket, I hadn’t expected to be surrounded by Gene’s well-meaning relatives, all asking me what really happened, what I’d seen, what I’d done, and did I think Gene had suffered? With everyone asking at once, it was difficult to know exactly what to say to give each of them the most comfort. Above all, I wanted to be helpful.
Try as I might, I couldn’t keep the family straight. A tall woman rested her hand on my right shoulder, turning me to meet yet another relative. An elderly, suited gentleman. “This is the girl who found Gene,” she said by way of introduction.
She was about to continue when a man to my right tapped my arm. He, too, wore a suit-and the look of a successful businessman. “What was done for him?” he asked. “I mean, on the scene. Did you administer CPR?”
The woman to my right tugged me again, trying to pull my attention back to the elderly fellow, who I now learned was Gene’s older brother. “I’m very sorry,” I said, taking his hand in both of mine.
His eyes sagged under the weight of unshed tears. “Thank you.”
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice said. A big hand clamped my left shoulder with solid authority. “Ollie,�
� he said, “I need to talk with you.”
I turned to see a very welcome and familiar face. His hair had gone almost completely gray, but his customary cheer sparkled from those blue eyes. I started to smile, but remembered where I was and immediately tamped down my reaction. “Henry!” I reached to give him a big hug. Relieved to have an out, I turned back to the family. Again I offered my condolences-and then apologized for having to leave so soon.
“Thank you,” I said as we moved to the lobby. “I didn’t know how to answer them.” I shot a look back into the room as the group clustered together again. Circling the wagons, as it were. “It’s so difficult to know what to say. And what not to say.”
“It’s always hard,” he said, his eyes scanning the large vestibule. “And a situation like this one makes it worse.” He winked at me. “I’ve been waiting for you. I knew that unless there was some emergency, you’d be here tonight.”
Henry had lost some of the weight he’d put on in his last few months as executive chef, and his face looked less flushed. Although his waistline would never be characterized as trim, it was certainly under control. In fact, the suit he wore gave the impression of being almost saggy. “You look good,” I said.
He blushed. “How’s your kitchen?”
“Our kitchen?” I asked.
That made him smile.
“I’ll tell you all about it, if you want to go for coffee.”
Henry’s eyebrows lifted. “Such a beautiful young lady asking an old man like me out for coffee? I would be a fool to refuse.”
I placed a hand on his arm. “With an attitude like yours, Henry, you will never be old.”
There was a Starbucks half a block away, and though it was cold outside, we walked. I knew it wouldn’t be long before Henry started peppering me with questions. He didn’t disappoint. As soon as we’d settled at a small table, him with a cup of coffee, me with a caramel apple cider, he asked, “So, how are the holiday preparations progressing?”