Oath of Office (14 page)

The quintessential grandmother.

Lou had begun wiping off the boy’s pallid cheeks.

Millie knelt next to him, mindless of the blood. “The ambulance is on the way,” she said to no one but Lou, a genteel Southern lilt in her speech. “If you’re not a doctor, son, you dang well should be. I’m Millie Neuland.”

“I guessed. Lou Welcome. I’m an ER doc at Eisenhower.”

“Lucky us. Oh, Joey! Can you hear me, baby? You got a doctor right here with you.”

Joey’s eyes fluttered open. “Hi … Ma.”

“Your son?” Lou asked.

“Might as well be. His name’s Joey Alderson. Been here at the restaurant for years. Looks twelve, but he’s near twenty-five.”

“Ma, I really messed up this time,” Joey managed in a hoarse whisper.

“How bad?” Millie asked Lou. There was emotion in her voice, but her tone was that of a woman used to being in charge and dealing with crisis.

“He put his hand under a knife that was chopping carrots. My father, the guy over there in green, and I were sitting just a few feet away.”

“How bad?” the restaurateur asked again, encouraging no mincing of words.

Lou glanced down at Joey, who appeared to have drifted off. “Reimplantation,” he said, sensing the word was one that the youth was unlikely to completely understand. “We have some wonderful hand surgeons at Eisenhower Memorial. I can make some calls and we can get him over there.”

“I don’t know you, and I don’t know any of the doctors at Eisenhower Memorial,” Millie replied, “but since you work at one of the big hospitals in the city, you might know that many folks out here consider a referral to there tantamount to a death sentence. We’re very proud of our hospital here. My restaurant is one of its biggest supporters. In fact, the surgical suite is named for me and this place. Joey’s a little … limited in some ways. He may frighten easily. The doctors at DeLand know him well. They know how to be sensitive to his needs.”

“I understand,” Lou said, now measuring every single word carefully. “The metropolitan hospitals in cities like D.C. all have the reputation you spoke about—mostly because people who are referred in are usually quite ill.”

From the distance, they could now hear the siren of an approaching ambulance. Lou knew that, assuming his concerns about DeLand Regional were on the mark, time was running out on his chances to get Joey Alderson into the city.

A frontal assault seemed to be his only option.

With the approaching siren getting louder, he met Millie Neuland’s gaze with his, and held it. “Millie, I promise to explain my feelings later,” he said, “but I have my reasons—very strong reasons—and I am begging you to allow me to bring Joey into Eisenhower Memorial.… Begging you.”

The woman, clearly nonplussed by the force behind Lou’s words, studied his face.

The siren, now in front of the restaurant, cut off. Moments later, they could hear the voices and commotion from the direction of the main entrance.

Lou felt his heart sinking. There was nothing more to say.

“Well,” Millie said finally, “if Joey’s going to be trucked into the city, then I’m going with him.”

CHAPTER 18

There was a time Kim Hajjar and her three closest D.C. friends met for drinks once a week. But more and more, their good intentions were being eroded by their professional lives. Their meeting spots seemed tempered as well. Gone were the margaritas at Chi-Chi’s and Scorpion Bowls down at the Hong Kong. The group of women now preferred quieter watering holes where they could commiserate about jobs, kids, husbands, or in Kim’s case, the dearth of quality men.

Darlene would have been a welcome addition to the group, but the Secret Service, along with concerns about paparazzi, made it impractical for the First Lady to join their periodic early-evening revels. Having been to Bar None with Darlene just a few days ago, Kim suggested it would make a good kickoff spot to enjoy a cocktail before dinner at the Blue Crab Grill, the much-hyped new restaurant on Connecticut Avenue.

The women were rarely on time for their own gatherings. Two of them were lawyers, and like Kim, worked hours bordering on the cruel and unusual. Candice, an ob-gyn, was often held hostage by the biology of her patients. Usually, though, the group managed to carve out a few good hours, always ending with the pledge that when the time came for their next gathering, their friendship would override all but the most dire considerations.

That night, Kim showed up at Bar None on time, knowing the others probably would not. Having spent an exhausting day making final preparations for the visit of the President of Ireland and his family, she was happy to have a quiet interlude before the gang arrived.

Kim felt lucky to have nabbed a spot at the bar, but after downing a beer in fewer swigs than she would ever admit, she now needed to use the ladies’ room. She loved working for Darlene, but always appreciated the ease with which she could move about when unencumbered by her entourage. There were no advance teams to pass judgment on the premises beforehand, no agents chatting inconspicuously in the corner, and best of all, no one following her to the restroom.

When she returned to the crowded bar, Kim was not surprised to find her place occupied by a woman in her twenties, dressed to attract. Several preppy swains had already picked up the scent and were beginning to circle. She moved downwind to the only empty stool. Unfortunately, the occupants next to her were an attractive couple with lovey-dovey eyes and exploratory hands. Kim sensed the all-too-familiar pang. She had had her chances over the years—a couple of engagements, and even a brief marriage to a man who was all shiny on the outside, but on the inside was searching for Mommy. Now, any man who wanted to learn who she was and what mattered to her would have to do some serious digging.

Might need something stronger than an Amstel Light,
she thought.

Kim was working to avoid staring at the happy couple and to keep from lamenting her uninspiring love life, when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning, Kim came face-to-face with Nicole Keane’s stunning beauty. The two women embraced with genuine affection.

“I thought you said you were trapped in some sort of deposition,” Kim said.

Nicole, olive complexioned, with dark, seductive eyes, was as statuesque as any runway model. And although none of the friends could be considered at all unattractive, she was the most hit upon. To the dismay of her would-be suitors, she was also the woman with the oldest marriage license and most number of kids—three.

“Deposition over and done,” Nicole said. “It is so weird having the absolute goods on someone, and sitting in a deposition listening to them lie.”

“A-gree,” Kim said. “I’m as big a baseball fan as the next person, but to hell with a grand slam home run or a no-hitter. Lying under oath is the true Great American Pastime.”

“And I am now absolutely ready to participate in the other Great American Pastime.” She caught the bartender’s eye with little trouble. “Wild Turkey, neat.”

“Oooh! That kind of day, huh?”

“Loooooong,” Nicole said as her drink appeared on the bar.

Kim could not resist another glance at the touchy-feely couple, and Nicole caught her looking. “Do you think they’re really happy?” Kim asked.

Both women watched as the couple kissed lightly.

“I wouldn’t say they’re
unhappy,
” Nicole said. “But I remind you of the first rule of Pepsi Generation sanity.”

“I know. I know. Never go around comparing your insides to everyone else’s outsides. I think we need to start importing more men. Is it just my imagination, or is every guy in D.C. married, or gay?”

“There are still some eligibles rooting about. It’s not like you weren’t a former beauty queen, darling,” Nicole replied. “You just don’t flaunt it.”

“I don’t think my eighty-hour workweeks have done much for my overall desirability, that’s for sure.”

“Trust me, you’re still a stunner,” Nicole said.

Kim gave her friend a hug. “Flattery, my dear, will get you another drink.”

“And a little cleavage on display will get you half a dozen.”

As if on cue, the bartender motioned to Kim and guided a bottle of Amstel Light down the crowded bar to her.

“I take it back,” Nicole said. “With a face like that, you can keep your cleavage in the henhouse.”

“You sure you got the right woman?” Kim asked the man.

“He was very clear it was for you.”

“He, who?” Kim asked, looking over at a pod of perhaps a dozen and a half eager twenty- and thirty-somethings beginning the evening’s hustle.

“I … don’t see him.”

“Well, what did he look like?”

“I didn’t really notice. He looked like … all of them. What can I say? I think he wore glasses. Maybe dark hair. I do know when he passed me the drink, he had slid money for the beer and an extra two bucks between the bottle and the coaster.”

“Two bucks?” Nicole exclaimed.

The bartender chuckled. “If it had been a five, I might have remembered him better.”

Kim turned the screw top of the bottle and wondered if it had been loosened before. Nothing like a couple of years in the White House to fan any spark of mistrust into a conflagration.

“Throw it away,” she said after a moment’s thought.

The bartender had watched her test the bottle. “Here,” he said, exchanging the Amstel for one from the fridge. “You’re ready for a fresh one anyhow.”

“You really think it’s already been opened?” Nicole asked.

“Probably not, but weirder things have happened.”

“You’re right there, sister.”

The kiss-happy couple gulped down their last swallows and headed for the door. Nicole slid onto one of the vacated stools. The other women were later than usual, she observed. Perhaps it was worth calling.… The moment she said the word, the bar phone began ringing.

“The all-powerful Nicole,” Kim said before she could begin wondering why whoever it was hadn’t called on one of their cell phones. “Wanna guess which one of them it is?”

The bartender listened for a few seconds, then hung up. “It was for you,” the bartender said to Kim. “It was the guy who bought you the beer.”

“Inventive,” Nicole said.

“Creepy,” Kim responded.

The jukebox had begun playing a song Kim knew by the band Green Day.

The bartender leaned toward them to be heard over the increasing din. “He told me to tell you to look under the drink coaster.”

“Intriguing,” Nicole said.

“Double creepy,” Kim replied.

Her brow furrowed as she flipped the cardboard coaster over so that only she could see. Nicole and the bartender waited. The note was written in a small, neat hand. Kim read it and felt her stomach knot. Her heart rate accelerated like a drag racer as she scanned the restaurant.

“Do you see him?” she asked the bartender, now with some urgency. “Are you sure he’s not here?”

The man glanced about again, but shook his head. “Like I said, I really didn’t take a good look at him. In this place, guys are always buying drinks for pretty women they want to connect with. It’s like the coin of the realm. I remember what the women look like more than I remember the men.”

The noise level in Bar None had elevated as more people filtered in. The bartender waited until it was clear he wasn’t going to learn the contents of the message, and then headed off to tend to other customers.

Nicole scanned the room. “Okay,” she said finally. “I give up. What’s it say?”

“Nicole, I detest pledging people to secrecy,” Kim said grimly, “and the last thing I want to do is upset you. But I need to keep this one to myself—at least for the time being.”

“You can’t be serious. I tell you about my damn sex life. The good stuff, too.”

“Believe me, baby, if I had a sex life, I’d tell you all about it, too. But this is business—company business. If Darlene says it’s okay for me to talk with you about it, the first thing I’ll do is get you on speed dial.”

“Good thing I love you,” Nicole said.

Kim embraced her. “Good thing you do,” Kim said.

*   *   *

THE OTHER
two women arrived together, just a couple of minutes later. Per her agreement with Kim, Nicole led them to the far end of the bar so that Kim could speak to a man who seemed interested in her. The new arrivals, giddy to be drifting away from the responsibilities of their lives, acted as if they had just been told of their friend’s engagement.

As soon as the three women had melted into the evening crush, Kim moved back from the bar, slipped the coaster from her purse, and read it one more time.

Sec’y Evans has been framed. I must speak to Darlene Mallory in secret. If you agree to help arrange the meeting, go put a dollar in the jukebox.

Kim nodded to no one in particular, replaced the coaster in her bag, and moved slowly across the room toward the jukebox. There was no sense in trying to pick out the writer of the note. Kim was convinced now that he was clever enough to keep himself disguised or concealed until he was ready to disclose himself and his purpose.

It felt strange to know that he was out there someplace, watching. Clearly, he had done his homework. Darlene was the one closest to the president who might be willing, at least, to listen to what this man had to say.

Kim made her way to the jukebox, taking several furtive glances over her shoulder. What if the note was true? What if Russ Evans had been railroaded into resigning? She approached a man leaning up against the brick wall, drinking a Heineken—tall, intelligent, with razor-cut chestnut hair. He looked at her unabashedly as she neared. A chill ripped through her. Their eyes met. She was just about say something, when a flashy blonde in a tight white sweater came and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He gave a
What can you do?
shrug, and Kim slunk back into the crowd.

It had been foolish of her to suspect the man. Whoever wrote the note was frightened enough to take these sorts of precautions. He wouldn’t be standing around making eye contact with her.

More people had crammed into the darkened lounge area, making it impossible for her to observe them all. She stopped in front of the wall-mounted jukebox, rifled through her purse, and pulled a crisply pressed dollar bill from her wallet.