Affairs of Steak

by Julie Hyzy

  Bucky came in fifteen minutes after me. “Can you believe the crowds out there?” he said as he peeled off his coat. “I could barely get past them. One of the uniforms had to physically restrain this one girl who tried to tackle me. For an update!”

  “What happened to her?”

  “No idea. Don’t these people have any sense of decorum?”

  I sighed. “It gets worse.” I told him about the prior night’s adventure on the Metro.

  “When was the last time you took a vacation?” he asked.

  “Time off is a luxury I can’t afford right now.”

  Bucky pulled out a bag of potatoes, emptying the spuds onto the countertop with a soft thud-thud-thud. Their earthy smell filled the quiet kitchen, and if I closed my eyes I could pretend it was just a normal day. Just me and Bucky, making breakfast for the president. But I knew better. Virgil was upstairs doing that. I looked at my watch. Or maybe not. Chances were, the president had already finished and was on his way to the West Wing.

  “I don’t know.” Bucky hefted a potato and began to peel. “I think you can’t afford not to. Look at how tightly wound you are.”

  “If it weren’t for Virgil trying to take over—”

  “Don’t give him power he doesn’t deserve.”

  I glanced over at my second-in-command. “I don’t.”

  “Sure you do. He’s good, and he’s got the First Lady’s ear, but you’re making a name for yourself with this family, too.”

  “Thanks, Bucky.”

  “Just telling the truth. He’s good. You’re better.” With a cock of his head, he added, “I’m better.”

  I started to smile, but it died on my face as Doug Lambert came in. He looked as though he hadn’t slept all night.

  “How did it go?” I asked him.

  His voice was hoarse. “You know about the press briefing, but there’s a change,” he said. “Before talking about the tragedy at Lexington Place, the president will allow Secretary of State Quinones a few moments at the microphone. He will be accompanied by his wife and father-in-law. Quinones wants to thank the public for helping bring his wife’s father home safely. After that announcement, the president will discuss the double murder, announce what arrangements are being made to help the victims’ families find justice, and finally take questions. It’s going to be a rough one. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

  I thought about what Ellis had said last night. “It’s almost as though the White House is under siege.”

  Doug seemed to slump. I was sorry I’d opened my mouth.

  “At least the kids and First Lady are away for this. When will they be back?”

  “We’re in discussions about that right now. Until we know more, the president is suggesting that his wife and kids stay out of Washington. They’re with family in Florida but are due back tomorrow.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Mrs. Hyden is scheduled for a goodwill trip to Africa. As far as we know, she will return for the funerals, take the kids to Camp David for a few days, then continue with her African plans.”

  “Will the kids go with her?”

  “We’re thinking of having the kids’ Grandma Marty accompany them to Camp David, where they will stay until all this is cleared up.”

  “What about their schooling?”

  Doug looked like a beaten man. “We’re working on it.”

  I was sorry to keep bothering him. “No one is aware of my involvement, right? In either of these situations?”

  “Officially,” Doug said with a meaningful glance, “Mr. Bettencourt was found by police in Crystal City. Unofficially, the Quinones family is very grateful to you.”

  “They didn’t need to know it was me.”

  Doug swallowed loudly, then massaged his throat. “They insisted. Mr. Quinones wants to thank you personally.”

  Anything but that. I started to protest, but Doug’s pitiful expression stopped me. Belatedly I realized that arguing did little more than make his job harder. “I would have preferred otherwise, but since they know, I’ll cooperate. Whatever works for you.”

  Doug gave a lopsided smile. “Thank you.”

  “Go gargle with saltwater or something,” I said.

  He waved and was off.

  Cyan arrived a few minutes later. “Do you have any idea how bad it is out there?”

  “Crowds or weather?” Bucky asked.

  “Both. How can that many people stand to wait outside in this mess? I could barely make it through. I thought I’d be crushed.”

  “They’ll probably be there all day,” Bucky said, “ready to greet us when we leave for the night.”

  Cyan shuddered. “They were all asking me for a statement. Like what could I know?”

  Bucky smirked. “Maybe they know you have an in with”—he gestured with his chin—“the person who found the bodies.”

  “Let’s hope no one makes that connection,” I said.

  Bucky said, “This morning I got so angry at all the people with microphones, I told them to…well, let’s just say I told them off.”

  Cyan giggled. “I’ll bet you did. Me? I just pretended

  I didn’t speak English.”

  At that I laughed out loud. “Red hair…” I peered to see what color contacts she was wearing today, “blue eyes, and they believed you?”

  “I held up my hands and kept repeating Nein, nein. I didn’t know how to say anything in Gaelic, so I pretended I was German.”

  Bucky snorted. “I’m sure that fooled them.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Breakfast was wonderful,” Virgil said as he bustled into the room carrying two huge bowls and what looked like a set of fuzzy red, white, and blue slippers. Except there were three of them.

  “What in the world are you carrying?” Cyan asked.

  He set the bowls down. “These take up too much room in the family’s kitchen. There are plenty of other suitable choices up there. I figured we could use these oversized versions down here.”

  “Not those,” Cyan pointed to the fuzzy things, “those.”

  He looked at her as though she were a simpleton. “Golf club covers.”

  Bucky waved a potato in the air. “And we need them because…?”

  Virgil expelled a sigh of annoyance, but the look in his eyes was gleeful. “They are a gift. The president received them from a well-wisher, but he already has a set he prefers. He thought I might like these.”

  Before any of us could respond, he made sure to add, “You know the president and I golf together occasionally.”

  “Yes, we remember,” I said. “They’re very nice. You may want to put them away before they get splattered.”

  “Whatever you say.” He tamped down his smile with obvious effort, picked up his fuzzy gift, and started out.

  “Uh-oh,” Bucky said.

  I looked up. Sargeant blocked Virgil’s path and for several seconds the two of them did that dance-in-the-doorway thing until Virgil eventually stepped aside. “Fine!” he said.

  Sargeant didn’t seem to notice the assistant chef’s irritation. Instead, he made a beeline for me. “Why were you escorted in today? Do I need an escort, too?”

  I told him everything that had happened on the Metro the evening before. With only Bucky and Cyan in the kitchen, and because Sargeant and I had discovered the double murder together, I thought it appropriate to warn him about my encounter with Brad. I even told him about the man looking for a restaurant.

  When I was finished he almost smiled. “I guess I should be grateful that my face isn’t on the front page of the newspaper as often as yours is. At least no one would recognize me.”

  “My face hasn’t been in the paper recently,” I reminded him, “yet Brad knew I was involved. How could he if he wasn’t involved himself?”

  Sargeant bit the insides of his cheeks.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to be careful,” I said.

  Sargeant sniffed. “You and I still need to submit
our reports about the other three venues,” he said. “When do you want to discuss our findings?”

  “Discuss? With you?” My question took him aback and I softened my response immediately. “Sorry, Peter, I didn’t mean to snap. I just assumed you and I would submit our recommendations independently. I should have mine ready soon, though I don’t imagine party plans are very high on Doug’s agenda today.”

  “Do you have a copy of the guest list?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “The kitchen doesn’t get the list until it’s finalized and until the invitations are written out. That way we don’t prepare special menus for guests who don’t make the final cut.”

  “Oh,” he said with a smug lilt. “That’s where your responsibilities and mind differ. I get all the guest lists. Every one. In fact, if I so choose, I can recommend names to be cut.”

  Only when it’s known that certain guests don’t interact well with others, I thought. That’s what a sensitivity director should do, but I didn’t want to deny him his happy little moment of one-upmanship. “Good for you. Now, if there’s nothing else, we need to get back to work.”

  Sargeant left, but our blessed respite turned out to be only temporary. He returned a short while later, waving a manila folder. “These are my venue impressions and the notes I made on our visits. You can check to see if there was anything you missed.”

  “No, really?” Bucky clapped his hands in front of his chest. “You would do that for Ollie?” To me: “Wasn’t that thoughtful of Mr. Sargeant to come all the way down here just to help you out?”

  “Knock it off, Bucky,” I said under my breath. Sargeant was about the last person I wanted to work with, but we’d been assigned a job and I intended to get it done to the best of my ability. There was a chance, however slight, that he might have picked up on a problem with a venue that I’d missed. “Sure,” I said to the sensitivity director, “I have time now.”

  We’d just gotten started when Doug came in. “There you are,” he said. We all turned. His tie was off center, the left side of his hair was disheveled, and his cheeks were even pinker than normal.

  “Who are you looking for?” I asked.

  “You,” he said. “The press briefing is in less than an hour.”

  Sargeant’s eyes went wide. “You have been invited to the briefing?”

  “Nothing of the sort. There’s just…” I didn’t want to explain about Secretary of State Quinones’s insistence on thanking me personally. “I have to talk to someone who will be there, is all.”

  Doug continued, “I came to give you a heads up. Keeping everything moving today has been”—he started walking away—“challenging.”

  I wondered why he hadn’t simply picked up the phone or sent an e-mail. As though I’d voiced the question, he said, “There are too many people in my office. Explaining why I need to bring you to Secretary Quinones would just open up a can of worms. It’s going to be tough enough to get you to talk with him one on one without anyone noticing.” He started for the door again. “I’ll be back in a bit to escort you upstairs, Ollie. I’ll figure something out in the meantime.” I thought I heard him mumble, “I don’t know how Paul stayed so calm all the time.”

  Sargeant started after him. “Just a moment, Doug.”

  He turned.

  Sargeant pointed toward me. “We’re working on our venue recommendations for Secretary Quinones’s birthday party. How soon would you like them on your desk?”

  I thought Doug might reach over and smack Sargeant upside the head. The look on the chief usher’s face was one of total disbelief. “No rush on that, Peter,” he said. “I’ve got a lot more pressing issues to juggle today.”

  Sargeant nodded. “Yes, of course. How silly of me to even ask.”

  Doug was out the door without another word.

  Bucky sidled up to me to whisper, “Very sensitive of Sargeant, wouldn’t you say? He’s just so perfect for this job.”

  I jabbed Bucky in the ribs but had to admit it was funny.

  “Get him out of here,” Bucky said. “He’s in the way.”

  “Why don’t we work on this later?” I said to Sargeant. “I need to make sure I’m presentable enough to be seen upstairs.”

  Sargeant would not be dissuaded. “I can keep working here for a while. When you get back, you can read my notes and see what I’ve included.”

  Bucky’s level of exasperation was at an all-time high. “Don’t you have something else to do? New protocols to memorize or something?”

  Sargeant pulled himself up to his full height. “I have more to do than you could ever hope to appreciate.”

  Bucky pulled out a tray of shrimp to be cleaned. “I have no doubt.”

  Sargeant’s nose twitched. “I will speak with you later, Ms. Paras. Until then.”

  The moment he was gone, Bucky wiped his hands on his apron. “That’s the most civil he’s ever been to you. He was almost pleasant. What’s going on?”

  “I think he’s scared,” I said. “He and I happened across a horrific scene and I bet he can’t get the images out of his mind. I know I can’t.” I thrummed my fingers on the countertop. “He and I are in the exact same boat. I think he believes that if we stick together, we’ll stay safer that way.” I thought about it. “Or should I say, he hopes he will stay safer that way.”

  Cyan laughed. “Just what you need, Ollie, Peter Everett Sargeant as your best bud.”

  “Just lucky, I guess.”

  When Virgil returned, Bucky’s mood still hadn’t improved. “Where did you go to put those club covers? Maryland?” he asked, mimicking Virgil’s comment to me the day before.

  Virgil smiled, showing teeth. “You’re hilarious. You should be on television.”

  I knew what was coming.

  Virgil went in for the jab. “Because then I could shut you off.”

  “Boys,” I said, “let’s not get out of hand. We’ll probably be feeding a lot of people again tonight. There’s no time to waste.”

  “Speaking of time,” Virgil said. He waited for us to bite.

  No one did.

  “Time magazine will be interviewing me.”

  Okay, that caught our attention.

  “Don’t tell me,” Bucky said, “Man of the Year?”

  “Ha-ha. Not exactly. The piece isn’t for Time magazine itself,” he amended. “It will appear in one of its sister publications.”

  “Congratulations, Virgil,” I said.

  “I’m not sure when the interview is to take place, but they definitely want pictures of me at work on the First Family’s meals.”

  “You know you’ll have to clear that with Doug,” I said. “Plus, it would be nice if we had a heads-up so we can make this place presentable.”

  “Not down here,” he said. “They want pictures of me working in the family kitchen. Upstairs.”

  “Good,” I said, “then it doesn’t really affect us.”

  “Except you’ll have to handle the First Family’s meals while I’m tied up.”

  “I thought that’s what they were here to document.”

  “I’m not making myself clear. They’re coming here to do a story on me and on what I do day to day to feed the First Family. I won’t actually be preparing their meals that day. I’ll be demonstrating my kitchen prowess.”

  “Oh,” I said, “my mistake.” With so much on my mind, the last thing I needed was to worry about Virgil’s not-ready-for-Time interview. “Just let us know when you’ll be gone. Fair enough?”

  Doug appeared in the doorway. “Ollie, we’re ready for you.”

  “So soon?” I asked. I hadn’t had time to change my smock, but it looked presentable enough. I untied my apron and threw on a sweater to make me look less kitcheny. “Okay, let’s go,” I said and followed him out the door.

  We made our way to the press briefing room via a different route than I expected. I’d been worried about how we would get past the press in their cubbyholes if we took the direct route throug
h the Palm Room. But Doug veered outside along the West Colonnade, taking us back into the West Wing near the Cabinet Room before doubling back to the briefing room from the other side.

  As we stood just outside the doorway that led to the Brady Press Briefing Room, I shivered from being outside, even for that short walk. This was the doorway where all the big shots always stood before facing the cameras. What in the world was I doing here? I felt small yet ridiculously conspicuous.

  I couldn’t see around the doorway to watch the goings-on, but I was okay with that. If I couldn’t see the press, they couldn’t see me. Here in this bustling back room they had plenty of monitors; I staked a spot near one of them to watch as the president and Quinones family took the podium. President Hyden, looking very somber, talked about the goodness of strangers and how Secretary Quinones’s father-

  in-law, Mr. Bettencourt, had been returned to safety because people in this world care enough to look out for one another. At that point, he turned the lectern over to the secretary of state.

  Quinones was a large man—tall and muscular but not fat. His features were well-defined and his hair still full and dark. I guessed him to be about fifty-five years old. While he’d once been President Hyden’s political rival, the two now worked together on foreign policy with the fervor of lifelong friends. One of the reasons Mrs. Hyden was organizing this big birthday bash was to cement their new friendship. According to all pundits, President Hyden had chosen well for this position. Quinones was a powerful ally, universally loved by his constituents.

  He didn’t speak for very long. He simply offered sincere thanks for the safe return of his father-in-law. The camera angle widened to encompass the secretary, his wife, and her father. If there had been any intention of having Mrs. Quinones take the microphone, those plans were quickly scrapped. Holding on to her father’s arm, she tried without success to fight back sobs.

  Quinones finished, then stepped aside for President Hyden to take the lectern. “We are all very pleased that Mr. Bettencourt has been returned home,” the president said, “but now I must turn the discussion to a very grave matter…”