Buffalo West Wing (27 page)

“We will be bringing in Service by Agreement chefs—assistants—Wednesday morning. But I’m curious why you’re asking.”

She smiled a bit too hard. “We might need Virgil for a few hours on Wednesday.”

“For what?”

“I’ll let you know,” she said. “But that’s not important now. Let me get out of your way so you get everything done on time.”

A moment later she was gone. “How much you want to bet our buddy Virgil has another photography shoot in his future?” Bucky said. “And what was she trying to suggest anyway? That there’s a chance we wouldn’t get everything done on time without him? We’ve been staging state dinners since she was in diapers.” He looked at me and at Cyan. “Well, at least I have.”

Cyan jostled his shoulder. “Diapers, Bucky? Come on. You’re not that old.”

A smile curled one end of his mouth. “High school, then.” He shrugged. “Okay, maybe college.”

 

Bucky left for the day shortly after Virgil handed dinner off to the butlers to serve. While Virgil cleaned up his area, Cyan and I made notes about what we’d spent the afternoon working on. Not only would these notes help us remember where we left off when we consulted them in the morning, they would be critical as we prepared dinner Wednesday night. Cyan and I planned to go over everything meticulously, no matter how long it took.

“Good evening,” Valerie said from the doorway.

The White House was always quieter at night and her voice, a sudden high pitch in the soft silence, made me jump. She must have realized it, because she spoke in more subdued tones as she continued. “How much later do you plan to stay this evening, Virgil?” she asked.

He glanced at the clock. “Ten minutes.”

She tilted her head. “Could you stick around just a bit longer?” she asked. “We need to ask you something.”

He put down the bowl and spoon he’d been holding and wiped his hands. “Go ahead.”

“No, no,” she said, “this is a very special request. And we need you to stay for just a teensy bit longer.” She put up her thumb and index finger to indicate just how “teensy” she meant.

“Sure,” he said absentmindedly. “I’ll be here.”

A half hour later, Virgil was pacing the kitchen, clearly annoyed. The constant looks at the clock, his watch, and the door weren’t my only clues. His deep, resigned sighs came at intervals so regular I could almost predict them.

“How much longer do you think they’ll be?” he asked.

Cyan and I shared a glance. “No idea,” I said. “But I’m sure they wouldn’t have asked you to stay if it wasn’t important.”

He grumbled.

“Abigail wanted you to come out to Camp David to cook for her sleepover. Maybe it has to do with that.”

“I hope not.”

“I thought you wanted to go. After all, Camp David is beautiful,” I said. “You’d really like it there.”

He stopped pacing long enough to join us at the computer station. “I would enjoy it if I were preparing a feast for the president and his wife,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Their children are fine as far as kids go, but they don’t have cultured palates. They would be happier with store-bought chicken wings than they would with any of my specialties.” He gave me a pointed look. “It was a mistake for you to refuse to serve those wings to the kids, if you don’t mind me saying so. I think that if you’d have let the kids have their treat, their mother wouldn’t have been so insistent about me coming here.” He affected a sad look. “She’d approached me right after the election, of course, but after the chicken wing incident, she was positively adamant.”

Cyan looked as miserable as I felt. Why hadn’t I dumped the box the moment it showed up in my kitchen? Because I’d wanted to give the giver time to make himself or herself known. What I wouldn’t give to be able to go back in time and handle the situation differently. Of course, if I had, Secret Service would be unaware of the threat against the First Family. Had all this played out for a reason? Maybe the added protections Tom had implemented and that Gav was now overseeing were doing exactly what they were designed to do: Protect President Hyden and his family.

Slightly less vexed with myself after my reasoning, I said, “It is what it is.”

“Yes,” Virgil agreed, “but just think about it: If Mrs. Hyden hadn’t absolutely insisted that I come here, we would both be a lot happier right now.” Virgil wandered into the refrigeration room. “I’ll be in here checking inventory if anyone needs me,” he called.

“Oh, Ollie,” Cyan said. She kept her voice low. “This really is all my fault.”

“No one died, remember,” I whispered back, adding, “This may have ultimately been the best thing to have happened.”

She shot me a skeptical look and I shared my theory about how all this may have happened for a reason. How we wouldn’t have known about the threat if the chicken wings had been disposed of.

“You always know how to put a positive spin on things,” she said when I was finished.

I was about to answer her when Valerie returned to the kitchen, accompanied by Mrs. Hyden and Josh. “Good evening, Ollie,” Mrs. Hyden said. “Is Virgil around?”

Cyan was already heading to the refrigeration area and in moments returned with Virgil, who greeted our visitors with more warmth than I’d ever seen the man display. “What can I do for you?” he asked Mrs. Hyden.

“It’s what you can do for Josh,” she said. Nudging her son, she prodded, “Go ahead, honey. Ask him your question.”

I anticipated another request to work in the kitchen. I hoped it wouldn’t be for this week because we would be swamped. But Josh’s eyes were so bright that I knew it would be hard to turn him down no matter what the request. Still, I was unprepared for what came next.

“Chef Virgil,” Josh said solemnly, “my school is having career day on Wednesday. All the kids have to do a project on what we want to be when we grow up. I want to be a chef, just like you.”

“Thank you so much, Josh,” Virgil said. “I’m very flattered.”

Mrs. Hyden nudged Josh again. The little boy continued. “We’re supposed to bring in a person to school who does the same job. I want to bring you.”

Virgil’s bottom lip dropped. He shifted his attention to Mrs. Hyden with a “This is a joke, right?” look, but she was smiling down at her son and missed it entirely.

“I don’t know what to say, Josh,” he began.

Valerie seemed to be the only other person in the room besides me and Cyan aware of Virgil’s exasperation. “I think the best thing to say is that you would be delighted to participate,” she said.

“But ...” Virgil stammered. “You mean to tell me that every child in your class is bringing in a professional of some sort?”

Josh nodded enthusiastically.

Mrs. Hyden continued to smile. “Josh’s class is small, and this school provides a very forward-thinking environment. That’s part of the reason we chose it. They’ve run this particular program for the past ten years with great success. Which is why we support Josh’s request.”

Her words were soft, but her message was clear. Virgil had no choice.

“I would be delighted,” he said. Turning to Josh, he added, “Thank you for asking me.”

Josh was all smiles. “Great,” he said. “It’s on Wednesday. And because I have all kinds of bodyguards and stuff, my teacher said I could go last that day. You don’t have to be there until kinda late.” To Valerie, he said, “Did we get the time from my teacher yet?”

How young kids learn the power of power.

She nodded to Josh and smiled at Virgil. “I’ll send you the schedule as soon as I get back to my office.”

“Thanks,” Virgil said as they left.

The moment they were gone, he uttered an expletive.

“Be quiet, they may hear you,” I said.

“This is ridiculous,” Virgil said.

Cyan and I returned to our note-making. Virgil started pacing again, but this time right next to where we were working. There was no way I was going to put up with his growling and muttering behind us for who-knows-how long.

“Listen,” I said, turning to him, “Josh looks up to you and that’s pretty special. You should look at this opportunity as a gift. You can do some good here, and if you stop complaining for half a minute, you’ll see that maybe you can do yourself some good, too.”

“You don’t understand,” he said. “I am not comfortable around kids.”

Cyan held her hands up, “You took this job—why?”

He gave her a “Duh!” look. “For the prestige, the glamour.” Pointing at me, he went on. “Remember, I expected to have her job. I had all sorts of wonderful events planned. But no.” To me, he said, “You get to do all the big events with printed menus and big coverage in the society pages.” Throwing up his hands, he went on, “What am I talking about—society pages? You have big coverage on
front
pages. That’s what I wanted. Not to play nursemaid to some kids. And certainly not to be brought in for show-and-tell.”

“It’s career day, not show-and-tell,” I said.

“Can’t
you
do this for me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he asked you. And Mrs. Hyden wants you. And,” I added, just because this once I couldn’t resist being snotty, “I’m busy. I have one of those big front-page events to work on that day.”

 

I called Gav on the way home, but his phone went right to voicemail. After our discussion last night and Tom’s cryptic “He’ll be fine” this morning, I was worried for him. I couldn’t quite understand how Gav had gotten under my skin so quickly, but he had. Plus, there was nothing wrong with a friend calling to check up on another friend.

Over the past couple years, he and I had chitchatted now and then, but it was seeing him again last night that had made my heart flip-flop. I didn’t know what kind of investigative work he was doing right now. For all I knew, he was in a meeting with the president and top staffers and had, understandably, turned his phone off.

But I couldn’t shake the worry.

I alighted from the elevator on my floor, not terribly surprised to see Mrs. Wentworth waiting for me. “Did James tell you I was on my way up?” I asked her.

“Of course he did. You have an interesting life, Olivia Paras. I expect you to share it with us.”

I laughed.

“Want to come in for a little bit? Stan’s busy downstairs and I’ve got
Jeopardy!
on my DVR.”

“Some other time, Mrs. Wentworth.”

She’d inched out into the hall. “Who was the new fella?”

Not wanting to get into specifics about Gav’s role at the White House, I said, “I introduced him to you ...”

She wiggled her cane impatiently. “That’s not what I mean.”

“He’s just a friend.”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly seeming more like Yoda than a sweet old lady, “but there’s more to that one, isn’t there?”

I didn’t have an answer.

“How old is he?”

This one I could answer honestly. “I’m not sure. A little older than I am.”

“My first husband was seven years older than me.” She nodded, clearly pleased to be imparting wisdom. “Perfect age. Too bad he died so young.” Shaking her head, she said, “My second husband was ten years older.” Making a so-so motion with her hand, she said, “Not so good. We had different experiences growing up, different outlooks. I divorced him.”

“And Stan?” I asked, referring to our building’s electrician and her near-constant companion.

She winked. “Seven years. Perfect again.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“That fella from last night looks about seven years older. Ask him next time you see him.”

“Will do,” I said.

I let myself in and tried Gav’s phone again. Straight to voicemail again. Mrs. Wentworth’s words bounced around in my brain, making my stomach curl in on itself. Why was I so worried for Gav’s safety? He’d been out of the country for nearly a year and I’d only given him the occasional passing thought. Now I wondered where he was and when I’d have the chance to talk with him again.

CHAPTER 23

MONDAY BLEW BY IN A BLUR—WITH BUCKY OFF, Cyan and I barely had time to breathe, and before we knew it, it was Tuesday. I’d called Gav’s cell several times over the past day and a half. I’d even left a couple of messages.

On Tuesday, Virgil’s complaints about his upcoming commitment to Josh ramped up several notches. His nonstop whining made me wonder how he’d ever made it to adulthood without someone beating him up. I glanced over during one of his rants. Maybe they had.

Bucky worked next to the giant mixer across the kitchen from us. When Virgil stomped by him for the fourth time, Bucky snapped.

“Get over it already,” he said over his shoulder. “You work here, you check your ego at the door. It’s about time you understood that.”

Virgil stopped in his tracks. I probably should have intervened at that point, but right about now I was thinking that Virgil deserved whatever he was about to get.