by Gini Koch
My mind chose this moment to query as to whether I thought Lydia was hitting on my husband, suggesting a foursome, or, just for grins and giggles, if perhaps she knew about Eugene’s affair and wanted to go for a Tri-Couple Tournament. My mind also wanted to know if the Brewers might be thinking the same thing. Sometimes I hated my mind.
Before I’d met the Cabal of Evil I’d never entertained thoughts like this. Sadly, so many of them had suggested so many different “fun” ideas during Operation Assassination that I now associated them equally with World Domination Dreams and Triple-X Porn.
While I wondered if brain bleach really existed, Eugene moped at me and Lydia and Nathalie continued to check Jeff out. Brewer continued to do the same with me while talking to Jeff about wine and how Christmas differed in D.C. from California—not as much snow in Brewer’s part of California was the shocking reveal. Jeff shared the equally shocking news that it was the same in our parts of Arizona and New Mexico. Wondered if they had some Bro-Coded Message thing going, or if they were both somehow enjoying this conversation.
Right before I was ready to call the Poofs and ask them to eat everyone, the evening got just that much better. Guy Gadoire and his husband, Vance Beaumont, moved into the salon and shoved Eugene aside.
Gadoire was a lobbyist for the tobacco industry. Vance spent his time lounging around in fashion-forward outfits ripped right out of the pages of GQ. Unlike Reader, he didn’t carry them off perfectly, but he made do. To say they weren’t my favorite couple was, potentially, the understatement of the year.
“My darling Missus Martini,” Gadoire said as he grabbed the hand I wasn’t offering and did his customary slobber-fest that passed for kissing in his world. Gadoire spoke in a French accent all of us were sure was faked—he sounded far more like Pepé Le Pew than Maurice Chevalier. He didn’t possess an iota of the charm either one of those famous French actors had, either. That Nathalie hadn’t called him on his faking being from her native country was either a testament to her kindness or lack of interest.
“All Over the World” by ELO ended and “Sexy and I Know It” from good old LMFAO came on. I knew I hadn’t put it onto the mix, so I assumed Kyle had told Walter to play it in honor of “Monsieur Love” as I called Gadoire in private. Made a mental note to hurt Kyle later while I did my best to control the Inner Hyena.
Somehow during Operation Destruction Gadoire and Vance had convinced Senator Armstrong and themselves that they were my besties. They still seemed to believe it, all evidence of my dislike to the contrary.
Vance broke protocol, pulled me away from Guy, and gave me a big hug. “Kitty, you look gorgeous.”
Before I could escape or reply, Vance bent down and whispered in my ear. “Something’s going on, something bad, and I think we’re all in danger.”
CHAPTER 13
THE LAST TIME Vance had shared a dramatic “we’re all gonna die” message with me had been during Operation Assassination. He’d actually been right, even though it had been a ploy to get me to “share a bed of love” with him and Gadoire.
I didn’t get a chance to ask Vance any questions, though, because Senator Zachary Kramer and his wife, Marcia, moved up for their Happy Hellos. They were the remainder of the Cabal and were both clearly displeased with being last in the Shake the Paws line.
“Your dress is amazing,” Marcia said to me without preamble. “I don’t know what you’re paying that designer, but she won’t design for anyone else in the Beltway.”
“Akiko’s very loyal.” She was. A-Cs had plenty of money, the Diplomatic Corps in particular—since we were the showcase and lobbyist faction for the entire A-C community—and we paid well. Akiko wasn’t on an exclusive retainer to our Embassy, but she was particular about the clients she took, and she’d told me in private she didn’t care for Marcia. Needless to say, I felt Akiko was a girl of taste and refinement.
Marcia sniffed. “Well, we should all be wearing black.”
“We should?”
She nodded. “Poor Wendell passed away an hour ago.”
Had no freaking idea who Wendell was. Now had the entire Cabal staring at me, obviously waiting for me to say something appropriate.
“That’s too bad.” It was lame, but at least coherent and hopefully didn’t give away the fact that I had no clue as to who or what we were talking about. Times like this, I really missed killing superbeings for a living. It was so much easier.
“We’d hoped Representative Holmes would have pulled through his illness,” Jeff said smoothly, with just the right amount of sorrow in his tone. The man was incapable of not being great at any job you gave him. What a pity his wife wasn’t as smooth.
“Ah, yes,” I agreed, desperately hoping my tone matched Jeff’s. “Should we cancel the party?”
“Oh, no,” Marcia said with a tiny laugh. “The show must go on.”
“Must it?” Whoops. My brain had allowed my mouth to share what I was really thinking.
Kramer nodded. “Wendell would understand, and want it that way.”
“He would?”
“Oh, yes. Wendell served for decades—he, better than most, understood how the process can’t stop just because we’ve lost a valued member.”
We faced death on a regular basis, so I’d given this idea some thought over the past couple of years. Upon my untimely, or even long-awaited, death, I expected my friends and co-workers to be sad, and sobbing uncontrollably while tossing themselves onto my coffin wouldn’t be going too far. In all the “my death” daydreams I’d ever had, seeing the gang partying had never entered the picture, but then again, I wasn’t a career politician.
Saved by the bell. “I must move you lovely people on,” Pierre said. “I’m sure the Ambassadors will find time to converse with you once the party’s in full swing.” As Pierre indicated the door, “Get the Party Started” came on, so, per Pink, she’d already handled that for us.
Several A-C agents—recognizable in their black Armani suits, crisp white shirts, and all-around hotness—escorted the Cabal to their next stop. Wasn’t sure if this meant Pierre had called in reinforcements or if the agents were always on the roster. Pierre tended to keep the little things from me, which I appreciated.
“Jeff, while we have a moment alone, Vance just shared that the game was afoot and we were all in danger.”
Jeff sighed. “I didn’t get fear from him. I got excitement.”
“Oh, so it’s his usual ‘I’ll concoct a wild danger theory so Kitty will be so impressed she’ll sleep with me and my love, Le Pew’ ploy?”
“I’d assume so. But I had to put my blocks up so—”
Before Jeff could finish the next folks to arrive were ushered in. Making for a nice change, it was people we’d always liked and who I was glad would be around at least two more years—Senator and Mrs. McMillan. “Ambassadors, good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too, Don.” Jeff grinned as they shook hands while Kelly—who was, though older than me, a sorority sister—and I did our sorority’s not-so-secret handshake and such before we hugged each other.
McMillan laughed. “I’m sure it is. You ladies done with your high-fiving?”
“For now,” Kelly replied. “Who’s assigned to ensure we’re enjoying ourselves?”
“That would be Michael.” Caroline, who was McMillan’s Girl Friday, joined us. Now probably wasn’t the time to tell her that Peter the Dingo Dog had fond memories and wanted me to say “hi” for him. I’d save that for a bathroom trip or something. “He’s waiting for us. Impatiently.”
“He can wait a minute longer,” Kelly said with a sly grin. “Good to keep him on his toes.”
Caroline laughed. “I suppose.” Now that she was here, the three of us did the sorority secret stuff required for three or more. Hey, it was a rule, and one of the few I liked to follow all the time.
“Love the music,” Kelly said when we were done, as “The Farm” by Aerosmith came on. Hey, just because I couldn’t have it be
all Aerosmith all the time didn’t mean I couldn’t make it a lot of Aerosmith with other cool songs added in.
“And I love you for loving it.”
“Kit-Kat always has the best tunes,” Caroline said.
“And the best clothes,” Kelly said with a laugh. Unlike Marcia, she didn’t seem bitter about it, but then, she looked gorgeous and was a more normal, secure person than Marcia. Not that this was hard to achieve.
“Sometimes I clean up nicely.”
Caroline snorted. “You look great. And I know I do, too. I love being considered part of this Embassy—Akiko’s awesome.”
“Caro Syrup, you’re so modest these days. Must be from having the A-C Player of the Year panting after you.”
Caroline grinned. “That never hurts.”
McMillan chuckled. “I approve of Mister Gower so much more than anyone else you’ve shown an interest in, Caroline.”
“And your approval is the deciding factor,” Kelly said with a laugh. “Don, you’re such a romantic meddler.”
“Hey, he was right not to like Peter the Dingo Dog.” Hoped I said this with the right joking, casual tone, and in a way that didn’t indicate I’d seen said Dingo only a couple hours earlier.
Caroline nodded. “I’d rather date someone you approve of, Senator.”
“And that’s why she’s indispensable,” McMillan said. “Our Caroline thinks I’m always right.”
Kelly winked. “I pay her extra for that service.”
We all laughed, then they headed off to find Michael, Caroline leading the way, as Pierre brought in the next arrival. “Ambassadors, I believe you should move into the general areas now,” he said as he handed off a man about my age. He had the typical younger politician look, but I guessed his heritage as Latin/Mexican and American Indian.
Because of this instruction from Pierre, I knew who we were talking to. “Representative Reyes, it’s so good to finally meet you.”
Reyes flashed a smile worthy of Jeff or Kevin. “Please, Ambassador, call me Santiago. I prefer to be on a first name basis with the most important constituents from my District.”
Reyes was the newest member of the House of Representatives. The former rep from New Mexico’s 2nd Congressional District had died in office a few months ago. The only new elections allowed this year were to fill seats opened due to the death or disablement of a congressman. Reyes had won the special election and had arrived in D.C. at the start of December.
Normally that would have meant he’d have had about two weeks to unpack and shake hands and then head back to New Mexico for the holidays. But of course this year, no one in the world was functioning on “normal.”
An additional presidential decree—added as a coda to the main suspension of general elections decree—and plain old common sense had held all of Congress in Washington for most of the year, holidays included.
Congress hadn’t complained, much, because they knew without a shadow of a doubt that all the planets in the Alpha Centauri system were watching us, along with God alone knew who else. The last thing the U.S. or other world governments wanted was to look like they weren’t busy, efficient, and, most importantly, paying attention. Stable and hardworking, those were the current Earth Government Watchwords.
“Oh, I don’t know that we’re the most important, Santiago,” Jeff said as he and Reyes shook hands. “But it’s always nice to be appreciated.”
Pierre’s unsubtle hint was also to remind us that Reyes was our “assigned” politician. Now that he was here, we could stop being the Reception Committee and focus on our one dude. Reyes had run on the “Aliens Are Our Friends” platform, and we wanted to be sure he still felt that way after the party.
We left the small salon and joined the others in the dining room, exchanging the usual chitchat that was expected in these situations. Jeff excelled at it, God alone knew how. Me, I focused on smiling a lot and not allowing my body to move to the beat. Hey, Pitbull’s “International Love” was on.
Pierre and the Elves had moved things around so the room now looked easily as nice as any fancy hotel ballroom. A-C agents, both male and female, were mingling with the guests, some in serving capacities, some functioning as our version of Booth Babes at a trade show, all focused on security. We had a complement of Security A-Cs around, too, but they were being very obvious. The agents were blending in nicely. So far, so very good.
One of the agents who was on server duty came by with fruit juice cocktails. Pierre and the Elves had come up with a variety of drinks that were so good you didn’t really care that they didn’t have vodka or rum in them. “Tempt you to something completely nonalcoholic, Congressman?”
“Santiago, please, Ambassador Katt-Martini. And yes, thank you. I don’t drink, either. It’s nice to be at a party where that’s celebrated.”
Personally, I missed having a drink now and then, but I’d gotten over it. Kissing Jeff was so much better than any alcohol in the world.
“Okay, Santiago,” I said, as we sipped our drinks. “And it’s Kitty.”
He smiled. “I’d been told you weren’t the, ah, formal type.”
We were being eyed by the Cabal. Tried not to feel like a zebra being appraised by a pride of lions, or a pride of perverts, which was probably a more accurate description. Failed.
“Depends on the situation, Santiago.” And my level of nerves, which were, on the scale of ten, heading toward eleven. Prayed I wouldn’t spill anything on my dress—it would make Marcia far too happy. Apparently, though, nervous meant I was giving the short, politically correct answers. Score one for nerves.
Reader and Tim, who were both in different parts of the room, came over as soon as they saw us. “Santiago, good to see you,” Reader said.
“I second that,” Tim said as Reyes shook their hands.
“Great to see you, James, Tim. Nice to get to visit how the other half lives.”
Reyes, Tim, and Reader chuckled over this. I took it to mean they already had an inside joke. Did my best not to feel a tiny bit betrayed and more than a little left out. If I’d still been the Head of Airborne, I’d be in on the joke, too.
It shouldn’t have surprised me that they all knew each other. Just because Reyes was newly elected didn’t mean he was new to dealing with Centaurion Division.
“So, Ambassadors, what do you think is the most important thing we can focus on to make your people feel more at home on Earth?” Reyes asked.
“Excuse me?” Jeff sounded confused.
“They’ve been here since the nineteen-sixties,” I replied. “They feel at home on Earth. Most of them were born on Earth, my husband included.”
“Ah, what Kitty means,” Jeff said, recovering quickly, “is that we just want to be accepted like any other residents of this planet.”
Reyes grinned. “James told me that would get a rise out of you.” He, Reader, and Tim all had another group chuckle.
“Yeah, thanks for that.”
Senator McMillan joined us, as did Senator Armstrong. Their wives were together, being entertained by Michael and Caroline. “Ambassador Katt-Martini has a good sense of humor, Santiago,” Armstrong said. “But you can’t blame her for being a little touchy.”
McMillan nodded. “We really need to get the latest alien issues settled, preferably once and for all.”
The men all looked somber now. Took the leap. “What’s just happened that all of you know about but I don’t? And I’d better not hear that it’s above my security clearance.”
“Never again on my watch,” Armstrong said seriously. Considering what had gone down during Operation Destruction, it wasn’t a total surprise that Armstrong was backing me on the clearance issue.
“We have some legislation being proposed in the House,” Reyes said. “The wording’s such that it could lead to restricted freedoms for ‘illegal aliens.’”
“Let me guess. The wording is also such that it puts into question whether or not the A-Cs on Earth are here legally, doesn’t
it?”
“I married the smartest girl in the galaxy. However, that bill’s a long way away from passing, at least from what I’ve been told.” Jeff looked at Reyes intently. “So, what haven’t I been told?”
CHAPTER 14
I PREPPED MYSELF for words of doom and destruction.
“Not much.” Reyes shrugged. “But anything can be sped through when the right incentives are given or applied.”
Managed not to say that Reyes really had a way with the anticlimax, but decided I was happier with his answer than the one I’d been expecting.
“Well, that’s all mysterious. Want to share what incentives are being tossed around, or are we just shooting the general blah, blah, blah right now so that Jeff and I get to spend the rest of the month not sleeping due to worry?”
“It’s the usual political maneuvering,” McMillan answered. “Some see the current state of affairs to be beneficial, some want to take advantage for their own reasons, both good and bad.”
As “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” from Tears for Fears came on, someone touched my elbow. Jeff shot an annoyed look at the toucher.
Turned to see a tall, slender, incredibly handsome guy with black wavy hair who looked Indian but I knew to be a pure-blooded A-C. I knew him in part because he was in the Armani fatigues just like all the rest of the A-C males, but mostly because we’d spent a lot of time with Rajnish Singh since Operation Destruction. He wasn’t full-time at the Embassy yet, but it was likely only a matter of time, because Jeff’s charm needed more of an assist than the rest of the Diplomatic Corps were providing on a regular basis.
The A-Cs had the same number of skin tones and body types as humans did. When they’d arrived on Earth they’d all been housed in the U.S. Once world governments were advised and the right approvals given, the A-Cs expanded out and created bases all over the world. The A-Cs with the most appropriate looks and body types went to the countries they’d blend in with the best, took appropriate names and surnames, and increased each host country’s overall hotness level. Raj was from New Delhi Base.
