by Julie Hyzy
“Sorry,” I said.
She blew raspberries at me and tightened her grip around her belongings. With a huff, she stood and wobbled away with an uneven gait. She kept glancing behind as though to make sure I wasn’t following her.
Sargeant had come to stand next to me. “Do you always rush into danger like that?” he asked. “No wonder you get into trouble.”
“She’s harmless.”
“You didn’t know that until you got this far,” he said. “What if it was the guy who followed you the other night, hmm? What then?”
“I knew it wasn’t…the body shape and the movement were different. Besides, I don’t like people watching me from shadowy corners. I just had to see for myself who it was…” I let the thought hang as I took a look at the surrounding area. I stepped deeper into the alley. “Do you see this?”
“I’ve seen plenty of detritus in my life. Let’s go. The doorman is waiting for us.”
“No, look,” I said. “This alleyway is bad enough, but do you think Doug realizes how decrepit the building next door to Jean-Luc’s is? I didn’t even notice it on our first trip here.” Graffiti covered the irregular walls and broken equipment sat just outside its doors.
“Of course not. Our job isn’t to inspect the neighborhood, it’s to determine the viability of a location for our purposes. Why would we notice this?”
“No reason. It’s just…” I put my hand up against the brick wall. Mortar crumbled out. “This is pretty bad.” Skirting scraps of bent and twisted metal, I gingerly walked a few feet farther to face a set of scratched and graffiti-covered black metal doors. One was ajar. “This place looks like it hasn’t seen civilization in twenty years.”
“Its neighbors have. They’re using it as a dump.”
“It’s a terrible background for photo ops. Not to mention a security risk.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’m beginning to see why you generate so much controversy. If it makes you feel better, you can talk to your friends in the Secret Service about your concerns. But right now we have a job to do and I, for one, would like to get this over with as soon as possible.”
“Fine,” I said, following him back to the sidewalk.
When we finally made it up the steps, the doorman wore a look of apprehension. “Is there a problem?”
I pointed. “What is that place?”
“Originally it was a bank. Like, way before your time. Before my time even. Over the years it’s had a bunch of different owners, all trying to make a go of it. The location is great, but it just seems the place is cursed with bad luck.”
“Did something bad happen there?”
“Picked up on that, did you?” He grinned. “All hearsay, of course. Back when it was first opened, decades ago, maybe even nineteenth century—I don’t recall—couple of robbers stormed in and demanded money. The teller refused. Robbers shot everybody in the place. Just like that.”
“That’s terrible. Were they caught?”
He squinted. “Yeah. Cops caught up with them. Had a shoot-out, and both thieves were killed. The money was returned, but still so many dead. Such a waste. To this day, they say that the teller who refused to give up the money haunts the place because he feels guilty.”
“That’s a sad story.”
He held a hand toward the abandoned building. “Could be why no tenants stay longer than a year. I’ve worked in the surrounding area all my life and I’ve watched businesses come and go. That place has been almost everything—a restaurant, a business office, a health club. Nobody can make it work.”
I thanked him and started inside with Sargeant.
“Why do you care about the building next door?” he asked the moment we were out of earshot.
“I was just curious. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Of course not. But now we know there are ghosts next door. You think that’s helpful?”
“You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Peter?”
“Certainly not.” He waited a moment, then said, “But I can’t help but think there might be two haunting Lexington Place now.”
Inside, our young host, Barb, took us through the spacious lobby to the main reception area, eventually leading us into the banquet hall. With so many shiny, flat surfaces and no one there besides us, our shoes clicked loudly wherever we went. Inside the banquet area, Barb was quick to point out the balcony, where security could oversee the entire affair, and the space’s many amenities. Jean-Luc’s could easily handle the seating we required. “Great,” I said. “Can we get another tour of the kitchen and work areas?”
“Of course.”
“You know the Secret Service will come out and do their own reconnaissance,” I said. “They’ll be in touch as soon as we get them this preliminary information.”
She giggled. “I can’t imagine how crazy things will be here once the Secret Service steps in.”
Sargeant wore a sour expression. “No, I don’t believe you could imagine it.”
Geez. Couldn’t he tone it down just once? I sent Barb an apologetic grin as she led us into the kitchen. The prep space was more than adequate. Although it was not quite as spacious as Lexington Place’s, it nonetheless benefited from being dead-body free.
I was in the middle of examining the refrigeration area when Barb’s cell phone rang. She answered it, spoke a few words, and hung up. “Your colleague just arrived,” she said.
“Who?” Sargeant asked.
“That social aide,” I said, “remember? Wyatt Becker?”
Sargeant pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, yes.”
Barb smiled. “You two take a look around. I’ll go get him and bring him here.”
As soon as she left the room, Sargeant said, “It’s bad enough we’ve been assigned these liaison duties. What are we supposed to do with him?”
“Tap into his expertise. He’s been to a lot more of these events than we have.”
“Then why not let him handle the whole thing? Why drag us into this?”
“You and I are senior staff members in the White House and have been through enough of these events to do them in our sleep.” That was an exaggeration, but by bolstering Sargeant, I helped convince myself. “We should be able to handle it. I’m just glad we don’t have to worry about preparing the guest list or deciding the entertainment. That would be a nightmare.”
“It already is.” He ran a finger along the edge of the stainless steel sink and examined it. “Not bad.”
“I think this Wyatt fellow will do us some good. According to Doug, he’s here to help us. We’re supposed to be able to rely on him for anything we need. Let’s use our resources wisely.”
Sargeant started grumbling again. “You don’t know Wyatt…”
“Yes?” Wyatt Becker strode into the room, followed by Barb. “I heard my name. Was there something you needed, Mr. Sargeant?”
Sargeant looked ready to spit. “No,” he said. “Olivia, what’s next?”
Ignoring Sargeant, Wyatt stepped over to me, extending his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Paras. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
Though not bad looking, Wyatt wasn’t particularly handsome, either. His features were soft—rounded nose, wide cheeks, and high eyebrows that made him look as though he were in a constant state of surprise. Still, he was trim and tall, as social aides are required to be. Best of all, he had bright eyes and an expression that suggested he was eager to help.
He carried a clipboard, which he shifted as we shook hands. I guessed him to be in his early thirties. I realized I’d seen him around the White House. In fact, he’d been one of the busy people present the other day after the president’s news briefing. I just never knew who he was. “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Wyatt. I’m surprised we haven’t met before this.”
“I’m usually on the main floor,” he said, his smile never wavering, the eyebrows never relaxing. “The other social aides retreat to the ground floor more often than I do to eat and relax. I prefer to remain w
here I can be of the most use.”
“That’s…commendable,” I said for lack of anything else. “I understand you’re here to help us get things organized for the secretary of state’s birthday.”
“Exactly.” Turning to Barb, he said, “I think we’ll be fine here. We’ll call if we need you.”
Sargeant and I exchanged a look.
“I thought you had a broken wrist,” I said with a glance at Wyatt’s arm.
He waved it. “Cast just came off, but the doc wants me to take it easy for a couple more weeks.”
“I don’t anticipate any manual labor, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Yes,” he said without inflection. “From what I understand, this party is not a surprise to the secretary of state, am I right?”
“That’s our understanding as well. Secretary Quinones is fully apprised of our plans.”
“Good. Makes things so much easier that way.” He consulted his clipboard. “With all the official dinners and events I’ve taken part in, I thought it would be helpful to share my insights with both of you. After all, you both perform your duties in the background, but as one who has actually participated as a guest, of sorts, I believe my help will be invaluable. I’ve taken the liberty of compiling a list of what needs to be done over the next several days.” If it were possible, he smiled even more brightly.
Sargeant snorted.
“Excuse me, Mr. Sargeant, do you disagree?” Wyatt asked.
“You act as though we’re the assistants and you’re in charge. It’s the other way around, young man. You’re here to help us.”
Wyatt’s smile never dimmed. “I never meant to imply otherwise. I just want to do my best to offer my help in the most efficient way possible. My duty is to the White House, same as yours.” He tapped his clipboard. “Shall we begin?”
After an hour, I was seeing the myriad benefits of having a social aide on our team, but I found myself wishing it was anyone but Wyatt. I hated to admit that Sargeant had been absolutely correct in his assessment of the guy.
“Lastly,” Wyatt continued, pointing toward the stage, “when dinner is complete and you both are released, the entertainment will begin. It’s too bad you won’t be here to enjoy it. We social aides have so much fun when the entertainer is a big name. Who do you have performing this time?”
“Doug didn’t tell us yet,” I said. “I’m not even sure it’s been settled. Usually one of the First Lady’s assistants handles it, but obviously…”
“Oh,” Wyatt said, “no idea? That’s a shame. Do you know if any of the former First Ladies are attending?”
Sargeant fielded that one. “As a matter of fact—”
“Because they always ask me to escort the most important female guests. I’m the first choice for that duty and I take great pride in it.”
Sargeant mumbled under his breath again. I was about to start doing so myself. We’d been treated to Wyatt’s stories about how he had been in charge of keeping Barbara Bush company for several hours during one major event. She’d recently suffered a minor spill and wasn’t up to dancing, so Wyatt had been assigned to keep her company in the Red Room for the entire night. Poor woman. “Mrs. Bush was an absolute delight,” he said, not for the first time. “She wanted to know all about my service record, my family life, and how I got to be the top social aide. She got me talking about myself for hours. She couldn’t get enough of me.”
Next to me, Sargeant murmured, “I’ve certainly had enough of you.”
I decided to steer the conversation away from either of them. “How about we finish up here so we can all get back to the White House? Let’s review our to-do list, shall we?”
“Of course,” Wyatt said. “By the way, did you know that Mrs. Campbell almost named her cat Denise? One of her kids wanted Patches instead. Good thing, huh? Wouldn’t that have been terrible to have the new First Lady share a name with the prior First Lady’s pet?”
“Good thing,” I said. “About the list…”
“Another interesting tidbit you may not know is that the current secretary of agriculture’s great-uncle used to be a butler at the White House. Back in the day.”
Wyatt was an endless font of useless information. I expected Sargeant to pop a cork, but he remained surprisingly quiet. Wyatt not only went over the list we’d created—which was understandable to make certain we were all on the same page—but he also interspersed each to-do with a light reminder of his importance in the event’s success.
“When the food is prepared,” he said, “do the butlers take care to ensure that no guest is served an item he or she is allergic to?”
“Yes, of course. We have a lot of experience in ensuring food safety.” I thought back to one guest who hadn’t been so lucky. Fortunately for me and for my kitchen staff, that tragic incident hadn’t been our fault.
Wyatt jotted a note. “It would be helpful to know who we had for entertainment,” he said. “The First Lady has been vocal about how much of an Elton John fan she is. Do you think he might be our guest for the evening?”
“It’s not a good idea to speculate,” I said.
“One time—” Wyatt began.
Sargeant stepped to the far side of the room. “I need to check something over here before I forget.”
Yeah, right.
Oblivious, Wyatt went on. “We had Tina Turner come to perform in the East Room. That was with the Campbells, of course.”
“Of course,” I parroted, not really listening.
“Anyway, do you know Governor Pakled?”
“I know of him.”
“Turns out he had a friend who was this huge Tina Turner fan.”
“Okay…”
“Pakled was one of the few invited to meet with Ms. Turner right after the concert. You know all the big shots get perks like that. Pakled ran into this fan-friend at the dinner—a guy he went to school with who got invited because of his service to the community.”
“Where is this going?” I asked.
“Huge dustup right before the concert,” Wyatt said with no small amount of pride and no indication that he planned to get to the point soon.
Sargeant had disappeared. I wished I could disappear.
“Pakled wanted his friend to meet Tina. But his name wasn’t on the list.”
“What happened?” I asked in spite of myself.
“They started causing a bit of a scene and I stepped in to handle it. Pakled wanted his friend’s name added to the list, but I couldn’t do that.”
“What did you do?”
Sargeant reappeared. From behind Wyatt, he tapped his watch and made a “Let’s get moving” face at me.
“I handled it, of course,” Wyatt said. “I told him to meet me in the Entrance Hall right after the concert.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ms. Turner was meeting everyone in the Blue Room. There was no way the guy could get in there without me. And I knew he’d wait until I got there.”
“Go on, I can’t stand the suspense.”
“I left him there.”
“Waiting?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go?”
“I went downstairs to hang out in the coat room until the post-concert reception was over.”
I exchanged a look with Sargeant, who rolled his eyes.
“So how did that solve the problem?”
Wyatt seemed puzzled by my question. “He didn’t get to meet Tina Turner.”
“That’s not solving a problem,” I said, “that’s avoiding it.”
For the first time all day, the social aide’s expression turned sour. “I got the job done,” he said. “I know how to put people in their place.” He looked side to side, as though searching for Sargeant. He wasn’t aware that the sensitivity director was right behind him. “For instance, there are some people you and I both know—”
I couldn’t stand another one of his stories. “We’d better get moving,” I said. “Lots more to
do. Thanks for your help, Wyatt, but I think Peter and I can take it from here.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely,” I said, my brain screaming: Just go away.
When he saw Sargeant standing there, Wyatt blanched. I wondered what he’d been about to say that he hadn’t wanted our sensitivity director to hear. His discomposure was fleeting, however, and with a tip of his head, the smile was back. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, then.”
I could see Sargeant about to ask, “Tomorrow?” but I stopped him with a look. Any argument would just prolong Wyatt’s stay. He wasn’t a bad person, just incredibly self-absorbed. Not to mention dull.
As soon as he was gone, I turned to Sargeant, who stared at me with a smug expression on his face.
“Where did they pick him up?” I asked. “And how did we get so lucky?”
“He’s their top aide.”
I cringed. “He’s the best of the best?”
“I said he was the top, not the best. He’s moved up the seniority ladder. His father’s some big military hero. Lots of honors, lots of connections. Wyatt served in combat but never measured up.”
I looked out the way he’d gone. “He sure knows a lot of tedious detail.”
“I think it’s a job requirement. They have to memorize books of stuff.”
“They certainly chose well, then. That guy is a walking, talking White House encyclopedia.”
We returned to the White House prepared to head back to our respective departments, but as soon as we hit the guard entrance, we were told to report to Doug’s office. “What now?” I asked rhetorically.
“Maybe he wants to put us in charge of the budget deficit.”
Dutifully we headed straight to the usher’s office. Doug stood behind his desk with his back to us, talking on the phone as he stared out the window. “Yes, I understand,” he said. “It will be taken care of. Yes. Yes. With discretion. Yes.”
When he turned and hung up, he saw us standing there. He seemed to have aged ten years in less than a week.
“Tough day?” I asked.
“Have a seat, both of you.”
That didn’t bode well.
“Ollie,” he began without preamble, “that was Ethan Nagy on the telephone.”
