Home of the Braised (12 page)

BUCKY WASN’T THRILLED WITH THE NEW
arrangement.

“Here’s the thing,” I said. We were in the refrigeration room, a short walk to the kitchen, but fairly safe for a private conversation. “Life here in the kitchen can’t continue the way it’s been going. Virgil’s behavior has become intolerable.”

“So you decided to reward him?” Bucky asked. “Don’t you see that by giving him more responsibility instead of less, you’re sending the message that he’s your go-to guy?”

“That’s not the message, and you know it.”

Bucky ran a hand along his bald head, back and forth as though trying to massage away tension. “Maybe I know better, but does he? What about Sargeant and Mrs. Hyden? If Virgil gets to be the diva with the family’s meals
and
special events, there will be no stopping him. He’ll be your go-to guy by default, at least in everyone else’s mind. Before you know it, he’ll be coming after my job.” Bucky faced the ceiling, frowning. “What am I saying? He already is.”

“He will never have your job. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Mark my words: Once he has my spot, he’ll come after yours, too.”

“Bucky.” I laid a hand on his arm.

He shook me off, turning away. “Maybe you know what you’re doing.” He scratched his head again, harder this time, frustration leaving white lines that turned red as his fingernails pressed back and forth. “You’ve turned this department upside down since Henry left.” Facing me, he quickly added, “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean it as a slam.”

“How
did
you mean it?”

He put his hands out as he explained. “Henry was great. A big personality, a big heart. One of the best bosses I’ve ever had. When he picked you to succeed him, I wasn’t too happy about it.”

“I remember.”

“And yet . . .” Bucky wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “You were exactly the right choice for the job. I gave you grief at first.”

I remembered that, too, but kept quiet.

“You turned me around,” he said. “You even turned Sargeant around, and to this day I have no idea how you managed that.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “Your decision to include Virgil more instead of less goes against every fiber of my being. I can’t stand that guy. I want him gone, not up in my business every minute. And you know he will be.”

“There may be some bumps in the road,” I agreed. “With a personality like Virgil’s, I’d expect quite a few.”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered me absentmindedly. He clearly had more to say. “What I’m getting to is this, Ollie. I don’t agree with you, but I trust you.” He shrugged. “You’ve earned that.”

My heart warmed so much that I almost pulled Bucky into a hug. The only thing that stopped me was knowing how much that would embarrass him. “Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot to me.”

He pointed at me. “Don’t think I’m going to go extra easy on him or anything.”

“Virgil has had a chip on his shoulder from the start. Maybe if we work hard to treat him as a friend instead of an interloper, he’ll come around.”

Bucky gave a wry frown. “I wouldn’t count on it, Ollie. In fact, I think this may be your toughest challenge yet.”

• • •

CYAN TAPPED A PEN AGAINST THE SIDE OF HER
head as she studied the chart on the counter before her. “There is so much information here. What did you call this file again, Ollie?”

“It’s our spreadsheet of fun,” I said.

She looked up. Her contacts today were such a dark chocolate brown that their depth took me aback. “You’ve got a warped sense of amusement,” she said. “Did you see all the new people who’ve been added to the guest list? I don’t have dietary information on any of them.”

I came around to look over her shoulder. Bucky was at the computer, pulling up new entrée options for us to consider for the Durasi state dinner. Virgil was busy preparing lunch for the First Lady and her staff. Butlers lined up as Virgil ladled savory tomato-basil soup into a large tureen to be served tableside. As soon as that was done and sent along, he plated the meal: wedge salads sprinkled with crumbled blue cheese. Not bad, I thought. Virgil often served odd combinations, but today’s choices were some I might very well select myself.

Both Josh and Abigail were out for the day with their grandmother. The president had chosen to take lunch in the West Wing’s Navy Mess, so Virgil’s responsibilities were a little lighter than usual. A perfect opportunity to bring him into our discussion.

Cyan hadn’t reacted well either when I’d forewarned her about Virgil’s new involvement. Arms crossed, she’d pressed her lips and pronounced that this plan was a bad one. Unequivocally bad. Where Bucky had been willing to cut me some slack, Cyan told me flat out that she thought this was a terrible idea. “I’m a team player and a good worker,” she’d said, “so I’ll cooperate. But nothing will help with that guy, Ollie. I don’t know how you can’t see that.”

Such rousing support. Buoyed by my belief that there was good in almost everyone—even someone as difficult as Virgil—I waited until the last butler had taken off for the First Lady’s luncheon in her East Wing offices before rallying the troops.

I gathered them all together to talk. Bucky, Cyan, and I leaned forward, elbows on the chilly countertop, huddled around the information we’d assembled thus far. Virgil stood to Cyan’s right, drying a handful of forks, watching us with disdain.

I started our impromptu meeting with an overview. “We all know that this upcoming state dinner may very well turn out to be the most important one President Hyden has ever hosted in his presidency.”

“Assuming it goes smoothly,” Virgil said.

“We will make sure it does,” I said. “Moving on and maintaining a positive attitude, let’s work with what we know so far. In addition to most of the regular guests, for which we’ve prepared dietary dossiers, we’ll be required to prepare for the entire Durasi contingent. Do we have information on their individual needs yet?”

Cyan pulled a sheet out from beneath several others. “Sargeant told me to count on at least forty Durasi dignitaries. At this point we have updates for three of them.” She made a face. “That’s the bad news. The good news is that none of them have any dietary restrictions.”

“Three down, thirty-seven to go. You’ll stay on top of this?” I asked her.

“I never thought I’d say this,” she said, “but Sargeant is a lot easier to work with than I’d have expected. He’s been in the job, what, a couple of days? Already he’s got lists and charts . . .”

“Spreadsheets of fun?” I teased.

She gave me a sardonic smile. “He’s on top of everything. What a relief, after the Doug fiasco.”

Across from me, Virgil reacted with a frown. He was still drying the same set of forks, and doing so with such fidgety energy that I was afraid he’d wear them away to shiny toothpicks. “Doug had a lot of ideas for change around here,” Virgil said. “Too bad he never got the chance to prove himself.”

“We have Sargeant in charge now, and that’s all that really matters,” I said. “Now, getting back to the topic at hand, I’m glad to hear that things are working well for you, Cyan. I’ve found that Sargeant always strives to do his best. Mind you, I’ve had occasion where I’ve disagreed with his methods, but we’re getting along better now.” I waited for her to make eye contact with me. “And who’d have ever predicted that?”

Cyan got my message. She bit the insides of her cheeks as she slid a glance toward Virgil. He remained oblivious.

I turned to Bucky next. “Any changes to the menu we need to discuss?”

“There’s news of another listeria situation coming from some farms down south. We’re going to need to reconsider some of our fruit options. I’m working on that today.”

“That’s not good news, but I’m glad you’re on top of it.” Still leaning forward, I turned my attention to the final member of our group. How many times did he need to wipe down those forks? Was our arrogant chef nervous? “I was thinking that you might want to participate with the tasting, Virgil. Bucky is running it. We’re facing a quicker time frame than we’re used to, but Mrs. Hyden agreed to hold it tomorrow ”—I shuffled through the papers to see the note I’d scribbled—“at three o’clock. That’s cutting it close with a Thursday dinner, but everything about this one has been last-minute.”

Virgil took a few steps across the kitchen, placed the hyper-dried forks in an upright container on the far side, then rejoined our circle. He gave Bucky a quick glance before asking me, “I’ve done many, many tastings with Mrs. Hyden before she became First Lady. They weren’t these über-structured events like those you run here. They were more casual and, if I may be so bold, more enlightening. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that I could handle this on my own with no problem.” He glanced at Bucky. “No offense.”

Bucky pushed off from the countertop, rolling his eyes at me as if to say, “You see?”

Slow and steady
, I reminded myself. “We’re all sure you could handle the tasting, too, Virgil,” I said, doing my best to ignore Cyan’s huff of indignance. “The thing is, Bucky has already done most of the work—”

“No,” Bucky interrupted. “It’s okay. Yeah. Sure.” His words came out in sharp staccato as though he’d had a sudden brainstorm. “I think it would be great if you handled the tasting on your own.” Virgil missed the conspiratorial look that passed between Bucky and Cyan, but I didn’t. “How better to leave your mark on the event, right?”

I leaned back far enough to be able to watch both Bucky and Cyan at once. She’d caught Bucky’s eye for a confused moment, but then I practically saw the lightbulb flash on over her head. Her words were a half step behind her brain. “Oh . . . yeah. Yeah. Good idea. I mean, great idea.” She turned to Virgil with what was obviously a fake nod of approval. “Can’t wait to hear how it goes.”

What was going on? I narrowed my eyes at her, but she looked away, clearly avoiding me. We would revisit this later.

“Well then, Virgil. It’s yours if you want it,” I said. “You’re sure?”

“I could do it in my sleep.”

“Moving on,” I said, “let’s look at whose information we still need from the American guests who will be attending.” I picked up the list. “Is this the most recent version?”

Cyan studied it. “No. Sargeant sent additions in an e-mail about an hour ago. I didn’t print it because he said there were likely to be more. Let me go check.” She hurried to the computer. While she was gone, Bucky, Virgil, and I continued talking.

“Since you’re not doing the tasting tomorrow, Bucky, maybe you and I can sit down and figure out staffing. Have you thought about how many SBA chefs we might need to bring on for this?”

“I . . . uh . . .” It was not like Bucky to stammer at such an easy question. “I have given it thought. We’ll need at least eight. Twelve would be better.”

“It’ll be crowded in here.” Wouldn’t be the first time, wouldn’t be the last. “Let’s schedule an hour or so to go over specifics,” I said. Dragging out a printout of our combined schedules, I pointed. “Now that you and Cyan don’t have to worry about the First Lady’s tasting, you’re both free for a couple of hours between noon and two, right?”

Cyan hurried back with a freshly printed list. “No, I think we’re busy then, aren’t we?”

“Doing what?” I pointed to the schedule again. “You haven’t listed anything here.”

She scratched her nose. “Here, take a look at the updates.”

I was about to question her further about the schedule when a name caught my eye. “Tyree?” I said aloud.

“Do you know him?” Cyan asked.

How to answer? “We’ve met. Briefly.” I scanned the remaining names. Tyree’s friend Larsen had made the cut, too. “Baran,” I said.

“Who is that?”

“Alec Baran. Owner of Kalto.”

“The mercenary soldier company?” Bucky asked. “He’s coming to the dinner? I don’t get it.”

“Haven’t you read the updated dinner agenda?” I said. “Baran is scheduled to give a speech emphasizing how conditions in Durasi have so greatly improved that his company is no longer needed out there. As a matter of fact, I think at least one other Kalto official has been tagged for a speech that night.”

“Plus probably about fifty other people,” Cyan said.

I laughed. “Maybe not fifty, but I’ll bet at least a dozen. In fact, when I talked with Baran—”

“You talked with Baran? What’s he like?” Bucky asked.

It dawned on me that I’d forgotten to mention that I’d met him, too. “Charming. Handsome.” I shrugged, careful not to voice my suspicions about the need for additional security during the Durasi dinner. “The important thing is that Kalto is leaving Durasi. That’s what they’ll want to emphasize during the speeches. One of the fallouts of that decision, however, is that because the president has these contracted hours, he’s putting Kalto’s people to work here.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I don’t make the decisions,” I said. Turning to Cyan, I continued, “But none of this answers my question about the schedule. What’s going on? Why can’t I meet with you and Bucky?”

She held both hands up. “I forgot. Until just now. Bucky and I promised Sargeant that we’d confer with him.”

“About what?” I asked.