Fonduing Fathers (25 page)

Virgil turned. “I prepare the family’s daily meals,” he said. “They only work on the social events.”

“My mistake,” Thora said without missing a beat. “You must be Virgil. So wonderful to finally make your acquaintance.” When he looked down to wipe his hands on his apron, Thora gave me a conspiratorial wink. “I’ve heard
quite
a bit about you.”

He perked up at what he assumed she’d meant as a compliment. “Have you?” he asked. “Let me show you around then.” Virgil took a few moments to explain his creations, over which Thora oohed and aahed at appropriate intervals. When she thanked him and insisted she leave him to his work, she returned to our little circle and I made quick introductions with the rest of my staff.

“What brings you to the kitchen?” I asked. “If it’s about the wig and dress, I have them at home, but I’ll be happy to bring them back whenever you want.”

“No rush, dear. I have quite a stash of supplies. That’s not what I came to see you about.” She sent a wide smile to Bucky and Cyan before fixing glittering eyes on me. “You wouldn’t have a moment for some girl talk, would you?”

Me? Girl talk? This woman clearly did not know me well. “Sure,” I said because I was curious, but mostly because I was polite. “Follow me.”

We stole into the China Room, a room I generally associated with bad news—a trend I was eager to reverse—and closed the door behind us. “What’s on your mind?”

For the first time since we’d met, Thora was flustered. Her smile was still brilliant, but she patted the side of her hair,
fluffed her neck scarf, and twisted her multi-ringed hands as she chattered inanely about nothing in particular.

“Thora,” I said in a quiet voice, “what is this all about?”

“Your friend,” she said finally, in a quiet, confessional tone. “I find myself utterly smitten with your friend and I wondered if, perhaps, you would do me a stunningly huge favor and talk with him to see if, perhaps, the feeling is mutual?”

“My friend,” I repeated, thinking back to the last few moments in the kitchen. “Virgil?”

Her hands fluttered skyward. “Oh heavens, no.” She gave an affected shudder. “I’m talking about your friend Peter.”

It took me a long moment of feeling stupid before I made sense of her words. I barely got the question out. “Sargeant?” I knew my voice betrayed my incredulity.

“He’s such a doll.” Thora was beside herself trying to stifle giggles. “Do you believe there’s any chance he might be interested in me?”

This was almost too much for my little brain to handle. “I don’t know,” I said honestly, “but he’d be a fool not to.”

“Oh, thank you, you are so sweet,” she said. “Ever since our meeting the other day, I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind.”

“Peter Everett Sargeant,” I said to be clear. “That’s who we’re talking about.”

“Yes, indeedy.” She covered her mouth with both hands as though reluctant to share a secret, but continued talking with barely a pause, “This all sounds so junior high, doesn’t it? At my age, though, I neither want to waste time nor embarrass myself.” She made a happy so-so motion with her head. “Embarrass myself
unduly
, that is. We should all feel free to let our authentic selves out for the world to see.” In a whisper, she added, “But with matters of the heart, I am a bit more cautious. You understand.”

“I’ll talk with him,” I said. “How may I get in touch with you?”

“Of course, silly me,” she said, digging a business card from a tiny beaded purse hanging from her elbow. “Here you are.” She tapped it with a long red fingernail. “Let him know he can call anytime. And thank you.”

“WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?” BUCKY ASKED on my return. Cyan looked interested as well.

“Long story,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “Did I just get back from vacation?”

“You did,” Cyan said.

“Then why do I feel as though I need another one?”

“It gets worse,” Bucky said.

I looked up. “What?”

“Doug wants to see you upstairs.”

I couldn’t help it; I groaned aloud.

“Too much work for our fearless leader?” Virgil asked in a mocking voice. “Maybe it’s time we got a chef who knew how to take charge.”

I didn’t have the energy for a comeback, but Bucky and Cyan rose to my defense, chiming in together to tell Virgil how wrong he was. “Stop,” I said, putting my hands up. “You’re not going to change his mind about me, so don’t waste your breath.”

Virgil smirked, as though he’d won this round.

“I’ll see you guys in a bit. Let’s hope whatever Doug wants to see me about is low priority.”

I took the steps two at a time, wanting to stretch myself, wondering what in the world Thora saw in Sargeant and why she’d enlisted my help to make a love match. On my way up, I ran in to the object of my contemplation on his way down. “Peter,” I said, not knowing exactly what to say next, but wanting this particular task scratched off my to-do list as soon as possible, “will you have some time this afternoon?”

I noticed that he seemed startled, as though I’d pulled
him from deep thought. “Today?” He looked up and down as though a copy of his schedule was printed on the steps. “I’m not certain. A situation has come up.”

He, like Thora, was flustered.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

A frown creased his brow. The tight persnickety personality he was so fond of was nowhere to be seen. “I don’t know.”

He started to descend the steps again, forgetting me immediately. I watched until he turned the corner. I’d have to try again another time.

Doug was in his office on the phone, as usual. He waved me in and wiggled his fingers to indicate I should shut the door.

When he hung up, he folded his hands on his desk, looking like a little boy in a desk that was too big for him. “I have good news,” he said.

“I love good news,” I replied, gauging his mood at this pronouncement. “What is it?”

“The president and First Lady are close to a decision about naming a permanent chief usher.”

My heart sank. Not because we didn’t need a chief usher at the helm, but because of Doug’s obvious glee. “That’s great,” I lied. “Who’s in the running? Beside you, that is?”

“That I don’t know,” he admitted. “They’ve interviewed at least a dozen potential candidates, but I know for a fact that most of them washed out. As far as I know, it’s between me and one other man.”

“How do you know? You met the candidates when they came for their interviews?”

He shook his head. “The Hydens are keeping the list of interviewees quiet. I happen to have a few connections.” He winked. “They’re getting close to a decision, and a good friend of mine overheard them saying that they’re impressed with my work.”

“You mean Virgil overheard,” I said.

Doug could barely sit still. “Virgil wouldn’t be able to sway them. He hasn’t been here long enough. But you could. Sway them, I mean.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Write a recommendation for me. You’ve got capital with them. They’ll listen to what you have to say.”

“Whoa.” I waved my hands. “Hold on. First of all, if they’re ready to name you to the position, you don’t need me.”

He scratched the back of his neck and for the first time looked unsure of himself. “They didn’t exactly say me, not precisely. Virgil said they don’t use names in front of him. They talk about the ‘Ivy League’ candidate, the ‘California’ candidate, like that. I’m apparently the ‘in-house’ candidate.”

“Virgil shouldn’t be repeating their conversations, you know.”

“There’s nothing of national security in…” he began.

“You think that makes it okay?” I couldn’t even begin to describe how wrong it was for Virgil to toddle back with business the Hydens believed was being conducted in private. Something needed to be done about that. At the moment I didn’t know what it was. In the meantime, I decided to probe a bit deeper. “Listen, Doug, I know how much you want to be named to the permanent position, but I think it would be a mistake for me to get involved.”

“We’ve both worked at the White House longer than the Hydens have.”

“So?”

He looked at me with irritation, as though I was stupid to not comprehend. “You and I know what’s best for them.”

I wanted to tell him he was being ridiculous now, but he was so focused on himself he wouldn’t recognize good sense if it slapped him across the face. “I’ve got people waiting for me,” I said.

“Hold on a minute, please,” he said. “It’s probably only a matter of days before they make an announcement.”

“The anticipation builds.”

He didn’t even notice my sarcasm. “It would mean a lot to me if you’d write that recommendation. I know the Hydens have been looking at people from the outside. If you could tell them how much better it would be for all of us to promote from within…” He stared up at me with imploring eyes. “Please, Ollie. This is really important to me.”

Doug wasn’t cut out for this job and I couldn’t say that he was, no matter how hard he tried to convince me otherwise. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know how to extricate myself without crushing him with the truth.

“Don’t ask me for that, Doug,” I said, in a last-ditch attempt to let him down gently. “I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” His gaze turned hard. “What happens when the new guy is some ex-military who runs the staff like a drill sergeant? Or some twenty-five-year-old smart aleck? You’ll be sorry then.”

I started for the door. “You may be right.”

“Just wait,” he said to my back. “They’ll name me, even without your recommendation. I’ll remember this. We’ll see how different life is around here for you then.”

Angry at him for putting me in this position, angry at myself for trying to spare his feelings when he clearly held mine in contempt, I opened the door and turned. “Threatening me because I won’t comply is beneath the position of chief usher.” I smiled, showing teeth. “Unfortunately, however, you just proved it isn’t beneath you.”

His mouth gaped.

“Think about that,” I said and walked out.

VIRGIL WATCHED ME CLOSELY FOR THE REST OF the afternoon. Or was it my imagination? Bucky, Cyan, and
I worked through all our plans, both of them pulling me aside on separate occasions to ask if I was all right. “A lot on my mind,” was all I could say. If Doug was right about his having the inside track on the permanent position, I might eventually regret my actions upstairs.

Nah.

Whether he got the nod or not, worrying about it wasn’t going to help. I tried to bury myself in work, belatedly remembering my promise to Thora. “Has anyone seen Sargeant recently?” I asked.

No one had. I went to the computer and sent a note asking him if he might have a few minutes to talk. I didn’t give any indication of the subject matter. How would one phrase it, anyway? “The woman who’d dressed you in a Pink Floyd T-shirt and ponytail wants to know if you’d like to date her?” Hardly the stuff of interoffice correspondence.

I signed off and thought about calling Gav. I hadn’t heard from him the evening before, but he’d left me a text this morning to let me know he was up and out again. There were long spans where we didn’t see each other at all. I hoped we weren’t in for one of those now. Of course, I always hoped that.

I needed to talk with him about my meeting with Yablonski. I decided that my interactions with the caustic fellow were coloring my mood and I didn’t like it one bit. I looked around the kitchen. They would be fine for a few minutes without me. I decided to give Gav a call. “I’ll be right back,” I said, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket as I made my way out toward the pantry. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

I made my way to the Butler’s Pantry on the main level. With no official meals going on right now, I knew it would be quiet there. As soon as I reached the narrow room, I made my way to the window and dialed. “Hey,” I said when he answered. “You have a few minutes?”

I heard the smile in his voice. “I’d love to say anytime for you, but we both know how that works. Yeah, what’s up?”

Now that I could talk, I found I had too much to say for a phone conversation. “Last evening was interesting, to say the least,” I said. “I’m itching to talk with you about that. And about…politics going on here.”

“Politics? In the White House? Surely you’re mistaken.”

“Ha-ha,” I said. “Not those kind of politics. I mean the really annoying kind.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I have another call coming in. Hang on.”

I pulled the little device away from my ear and debated answering. I didn’t recognize the number, but curiosity won out. “Hello,” I said.

A woman’s voice. “Is this Olivia Paras?”

“Yes, how may I help you?”

I had my back to the rest of the pantry, but noises made it clear that another person had come in. I turned to see Quinn there. I raised a hand in greeting.

“This is Ingrid,” she said, “Mickey Fitch’s wife?”

“Oh, hi,” I said, dumbfounded. “How are you?”

Quinn crossed his arms and leaned against the far wall, mouthing, “I’ll wait.”

I shook my head, but he either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

“Not good,” Ingrid was saying. “Mickey’s been acting strange since you were here to visit.”

“How do you mean?” I asked, giving Quinn a hand-brushing signal to please leave.

“He’s been different,” she said. “He doesn’t talk and he snaps at me when I ask him what’s wrong.”

That didn’t seem much different from the attitude I’d observed.

Quinn had pushed off the wall as though to heed my request. He looked at his watch, then up at me.

“What do you need from me?” I asked Ingrid, but Quinn seemed to think I was talking to him. He tapped his watch,
then pointed out the door that led to the State Dining Room. I nodded, eager to see him gone.

“Mickey gave me a box yesterday,” she said. “He told me not to open it. Said I wouldn’t like what was inside.”

Quinn closed the door behind himself and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Did you?” I asked. “Open it, that is?”

I could almost hear her shake her head. “He taped it shut.”

So much for trust. “Where is he now?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. He took off as soon as he gave this to me. Didn’t say when he’d be back.”