Eggsecutive Orders

CHAPTER 11

THE AFTERNOON DID CLEAR UP, AND WHEN the sun came out, so did some unseasonable warmth. My mom tied her pale blue jacket around her waist and pulled out her sunglasses as we strolled along the National Mall. Nana kept her pastel pink-striped jacket on, but she’d unzipped it, not just because the day was warming up nicely, but because it gave her easier access to her fanny pack. She, too, wore sunglasses-the wraparound kind to protect her recently repaired cataracts. Trailing behind my mom by a couple of steps, she studied the pamphlet we’d picked up at one of the Smithsonian buildings.

“There’s a lot we’re missing,” I said, as we walked west from the Capitol building. “Don’t you want to see the National Air and Space Museum?”

My mom shook her head. “It sounds a lot like the Museum of Science and Industry at home,” she said. “We can do that on a rainy day. Today I want to be outside and enjoy this beautiful scenery.”

Nana, shuffling behind us, said, “I want to see the Washington Memorial.”

“That’s Monument,” I said gently. “It’s the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. I made that same mistake when I first got here,” I said. “But a kind woman named Barbara set me straight.”

My mom turned around. “Do you and Tom come out here very often?”

I took a look at the blossoming trees, the clear blue of the sky, and the crowds milling around out enjoying the gorgeous day. When was the last time he and I had spent a day together just enjoying the beauty that surrounded us in our nation’s capital? I shook my head. “Not often enough.” There was so much here to be thankful for-so much to appreciate, and yet he and I were constantly pulled apart by our conflicting schedules. The last few times I’d been out here, I’d been on my own.

“Is that a carousel?” Nana asked, pointing behind us.

“Yeah,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t want to go for a ride.

“I bet the little kids love that.”

I thought about my own experiences with that carousel-and witnessing a murder-as I made a noncommittal reply. “It’s a long walk to see all the memorial exhibits. You sure you’re up for it?”

We stopped a moment to stare out toward the Washington Monument. “Says here it’s over 555 feet tall,” Mom said, taking her turn with the pamphlet. “Guess how much it weighs?”

“Weighs?” Nana asked. “Why? You planning to pick it up?”

“Take a look,” I said, pointing. “See that line? Where the color changes? They started building it in 1848 but ran out of money. It sat here for twenty-seven years before they started work on it again.”

The three of us stared at the tall white obelisk. With the sun almost directly overhead, we all had to squint. Tall, spare, stark, and circled by snapping American flags, it was a breathtaking sight.

“Hello again, ladies.”

We turned. My mom made a funny noise, halfway between a teenage squeak and a gasp of surprise. “Why, Mr. Kapostoulos,” she said. “How nice to see you.”

He smiled. “Please call me Kap. All my friends do.”

Kapostoulos had sidled up to us-sidled up to my mom, I should say-and was smiling a bit too much for a man whose best friend had died just three days before. I struggled to remember his first name-heck, I would have struggled to remember what “Kap” stood for. But Mom sure remembered.

“Nice to see you again,” I lied.

He nodded acknowledgment. Wearing a navy blazer, khaki-colored pants, and a blue striped tie, he looked more like a cruise director than someone in mourning.

“Enjoying our beautiful sights?” he asked, but before we could answer, he continued. “Have you been to the Lincoln Memorial yet?”

“Not yet,” Mom said. “Is it as pretty as this is?”

“Each of the sights near here has its own beauty,” he said, with a meaningful gaze at my mom. “It’s worth spending time getting to know them all.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but there was no one to appreciate my discomfort. Nana had stepped closer to him, and I could tell she was sizing him up. I was disheartened by the deepening smile lines on her face.

“We should get going,” I said. “Lots to do, you know.”

“Perhaps I could accompany you,” Kap said, moving toward me. “It has been a while since I have had time to appreciate the magnificence of this area.”

“I thought you lived here,” I said.

“But I’ve been out of town for a long time.”

I couldn’t help the brusqueness in my tone. “I would think you’d be spending time with Ruth and Joel Minkus.”

My mom shot me a look from behind Kap. It was meant to reproach, but I didn’t care. Who was this guy? And why was he bothering us?

“Although Carl and I knew each other for many years, there is no love lost between me and Ruth.” He held out his hands as though in supplication. “But Joel and I get along very well. In fact, he informed me about how Ruth treated you yesterday when you saw her at Arlington.”

I started to scoot away, but Mom and Nana didn’t move.

“I would like to offer my apologies,” he said

“For what?”

“On Ruth’s behalf. She’s under considerable strain, and I’m sure she didn’t mean-”

“First off, no apology necessary,” I said. “Families in the midst of shock and grief aren’t always responsible for what they say”-I didn’t let him interrupt-“and second, I think it’s rather presumptuous of you to apologize on behalf of someone who you just admitted doesn’t care for you very much.”

He smiled. That bugged me.

“Now,” I continued, “we have to be going.”

“Ollie!” Mom said. She looked like a seventeen-year-old who was just informed of a ten thirty curfew.

“We have a lot to do,” I said.

“But if Kap wants to come along with us, I think it would be nice,” Mom said.

Nice?

As if given a great gift, Kap’s smile grew. I wanted to ask my mother what was wrong with her all of a sudden, but the words died on my lips. Kap pointed to something in the distance, which immediately captured Mom’s full attention. They started walking south, and I fell in behind them with Nana.

“What the heck just happened?” I asked.

She leaned in toward me. “Your mother’s been going through a tough time.”

“She has?” I stared down at her. “What kind of a tough time?”

Nana linked her arm through mine. “I’d call it a delayed midlife crisis, but that sounds too pat. She’s been moved out of the counselor job she loved at the women’s shelter into a position that’s far below her skills. They’re downsizing, or so they say. What’s really happening is that they’re pushing the older, well-paid workers out or into lesser jobs so that they get disgusted and quit. She used to be excited to go to work every day-to help people. Now she just sits at a desk and makes phone calls to raise money.”

“They made her a telemarketer?”

Nana nodded.

“She never told me.”

“Of course not.” Nana slid a look at the two of them in front of us. “And on top of it all, she’s been lonely, Ollie. Very lonely. I’m not the most exciting company, you know.”

“Nana…”

“It’s true. I’m still pretty active and I still volunteer at the hospital, but when your mom comes in from work I can see the dejection in her eyes. There’s nothing for her to look forward to anymore.”

“She has friends…” The image of Mom sitting in a dark room lit only by the flickering television flashed through my mind. “Doesn’t she?”

“Most of them are married, and they do couple things.” Nana shrugged, and then answered my unasked question. “Even though your mother has been on her own for a long time, things have changed for her now. It’s as though when she lost her job she lost a part of herself.”

I didn’t know if I could talk around the hard lump that had suddenly lodged in my throat.

Ahead of us, my mom laughed. Kap laughed, too, their heads leaning toward each other.

There was something about him that didn’t seem authentic, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. The two of them laughed again and my mom smiled at Kap in a way that made her look ten years younger.

Nana whispered-close to my shoulder. “This trip out to see you, Ollie, was all your mother talked about for weeks. It gave her something important to look forward to.”

I nodded, not knowing what else to say.

“In some ways, it’s nice that you don’t have to work while we’re here.”

I felt the now-familiar stab of disappointment. For fleeting moments, the horrible specter of Minkus’s death disappeared. But then it all came rushing back with a sharpness that made me suck my breath. “I wanted so much to show you the White House.”

“Your mother wants so much to spend time with you. Maybe all this is working out for the best.”

Nana’s arm in mine felt small, yet it was a comfort. She patted me. “Sometimes we just need to wait and see. Time will tell and before you know it, you’ll be back in the White House kitchen again, and everything will be back to normal.”

I bit my lip. Weren’t those the exact words I’d used to reassure Bucky just this morning?

“Thanks, Nana,” I said.

My mom hummed as she made us a late lunch back at my apartment. I’d offered to do the cooking-after all, that was what I did for a living and I wasn’t doing much of it these days-but she insisted. Said she wanted to take care of me while she still had the opportunity to do so. A pointed look from Nana warned me not to argue.

“So what did you and Mr. Kapostoulos talk about, Mom?”

He’d accompanied us to the Vietnam War Memorial and to the World War II Memorial, which Nana had particularly wanted to see. He spent most of his time chatting with my mom, leaving me and Nana to wonder about their conversation. At the World War II Memorial, after we’d walked around the expansive structure, he thanked us for sharing part of our day with him and he spoke briefly to my mom, alone.

“He prefers to be called Kap,” Mom said.

“Right.” I wondered if my smile looked as disingenuous as it felt. “So what did you talk about? Did he want to know all about your life history?”

“Not yet, not all of it,” she said with a sly smile. “But he did tell me that he encouraged Ruth to call and apologize to you for her outburst at Arlington yesterday.”

“He didn’t.”

“It seemed important to him.” She glanced at her watch, then at her purse on the counter.

“That’s all I need,” I muttered. A thought occurred to me. “Did he ask for your phone number?”

“Ollie. I don’t even have a phone number here. He knows I live in Chicago.”

“You have a cell phone.”

She turned away and went back to humming. Nana warned me with her look to stop asking questions. But I couldn’t let it go. “Did you give it to him?”

Finally, Mom turned. Her hair was pulled back, and her face was flushed, but she was smiling. She looked so pretty, so vivacious and so full of life. Kap had put that sparkle in her eyes just by paying her some attention. I sighed, knowing I should let it go. But I couldn’t.

“Yes, I did,” Mom said in a tone that dared me to object. She placed three bowls of tortilla soup on the table. They steamed with freshness and a hint of spice. I started in on mine and was immediately rewarded with a taste of home. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Nana kicked me under the table. I took another sip of soup and pretended not to hear.

Mom waited. Nana kicked me again.

“Nope,” I lied. “Not at all.”

“Good, because he and I are going out Friday.”

I opened my mouth in protest, but a third swift kick to my shin shut me up. Bending my head, I concentrated again on my soup.

“That’s wonderful, Corinne,” Nana said. “Where is he taking you?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Mom,” I said, putting my spoon down, “we don’t even know this man. How do you know it’s safe to go out with him? He could be a masher.”

“A masher!” She laughed. “I used to use that line on you when you were a teenager.”

“Mom, I’m serious. You know nothing about him.”

“He was good friends with Carl Minkus,” she said. “A very famous NSA agent.”

“Yeah, and that famous agent is dead.”

She shook her head, but kept smiling. “You sound like an overprotective parent.”

“But you just met him.”

“In fact,” she added mischievously, “I think you’d make a great parent.” She fixed me with a glare. “Exactly when do you plan to give me grandchildren? I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

She always knew what buttons to push to circumvent an argument. I’d only finished about half my soup, but I stood up. “I’m sorry, this is great, but I’ll have it later. I promised to stop by Bucky’s house, and then I have dinner plans with Suzie and Steve.” I carried my bowl to the side to cover with plastic wrap before placing it in the fridge. “And I need to call Tom.”

Excusing myself, I blew out a breath. My mother knew we were on dangerous ground here. Marriage and babies were not something I cared to discuss. Not now at least. Maybe not ever. I didn’t see myself toting around tots anytime soon. My chosen career was in a male-dominated field and while all the rhetoric claimed that women could have families and maintain careers, too, I knew that in this extremely competitive arena I needed to hold tight to every edge I could wrap my enthusiastic fingers around. I’d been top chef here for a relatively short time. And as soon as the next administration took over, I could be out of a job. Kids were not on my horizon. The topic wasn’t open for discussion, and Mom knew it.

Her bringing it up when I pressed her about this Kap fellow was her attempt to strongarm me into silence. For now, it worked. But I’d figure out a way to talk with her about him. There was something about the guy I just didn’t trust.

I thought about my upcoming visit with Bucky. He and I would have to discuss the situation. If the Easter Egg Roll were to be permanently canceled, the press would have a field day. There would be no way to recover from such a public-relations nightmare. I thought about calling our contact at the American Egg Board, Brandy. Effervescent and eager to help, she was just the sort of person who could get things rolling.

I started to look up her number, but stopped myself. Tom would probably consider that “meddling” in the situation. Anger rumbled up from deep in my throat. I was thwarted, no matter which way I turned.

I dialed Tom’s cell but hit “end” when I heard my house phone ring. Geez! I hadn’t gotten this many phone calls at home in the past year. I picked up the kitchen phone because it was closest. “Hello?”

A woman asked, “Is this… Olivia?” Familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the voice.

“Yes.”

“I… that is… this is Ruth Minkus.”

Fortunately I was right next to a chair. I sat. “Hello,” I said, and because I couldn’t come up with anything better, “How are you?”

She sucked in a breath, but didn’t answer. “My husband’s ‘friend,’ Mr. Kapostoulos”-her emphasis on the word “friend” dripped with sarcasm-“suggested I call you.”

My face must have conveyed my pure shock because both Mom and Nana stopped eating to stare at me. Mom pantomimed, “Who is it?”

“He suggested you call me?” I echoed into the receiver. Then pointing into it, I mouthed back, “Ruth Minkus.”

They exchanged looks of horror and both started mouthing questions at me. I couldn’t follow them and pay attention to Ruth at the same time, so I averted my eyes. I chose to stare at the ceiling, hoping its blankness might aid my concentration. My brain couldn’t absorb the fact that Ruth was calling me. And, based on the stammering on the other end, she didn’t quite believe it either.

“I suppose I mean to apologize for my behavior yesterday.”

I was quick to interrupt. “There’s no reason to-”

“Kap said I offended you.”

“Kap’s wrong,” I said, with more than a touch of vehemence. Movement from my right caused me to look over. My mom made a face and got up to work at the stove. Nana stayed put, watching me. I returned my gaze to the ceiling.

“I was not at all offended. I understand completely. You’re going through a lot of strain right now.”

“I am,” she said in a tiny voice. “It’s been so much pressure. I’ve been working hard to help my son, Joel, in his bid for the senate seat and now this… I don’t think I’m handling it very well.”

I felt for her. She had just lost her husband and was being bullied into making unnecessary apologies. Embarrassed to have been pulled into this, I said, “I am very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

I was about to make another pleasant, innocuous comment-one that would allow me to segue into an excuse to get off the phone-when she said, “Joel thinks I was wrong to accuse you, too.”

“As I said, Mrs. Minkus, there’s no need-”

“Were you planning to come to Carl’s wake tomorrow?”

“Ah… no, I wasn’t.”

She made a tsking noise. “That’s because of my outburst, isn’t it?”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t-” I was about to say that I’d never had any intention of attending her husband’s wake, but realized how rude that might sound. Softening my response, I tried a different approach. “I know this has to be a very stressful time and I wouldn’t want to compound that tension. I’m sure my presence at the wake would be distracting.”

“Distracting? How?”

“Because…” I groped for a quick explanation. “My staff is still banned from the kitchen.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” she said. “I confess I’ve been trying to avoid reading the papers. It’s just too much, you know?”

I did know. “I want to express my sympathy again, Mrs. Minkus.”

“I would appreciate it if you would reconsider.”

“Reconsider?”

“It would mean a lot to me if you would come tomorrow night,” she said. “I feel just terrible about my behavior yesterday. In fact, I feel terrible about everything these days. I can’t go around burning bridges just because my life has fallen apart.”

I heard her voice crack. I didn’t know what to say, but she continued. “I mean, I have to think about Joel. He needs me to be strong right now. And I made him ashamed yesterday. Would you please come to the wake? Even if the rest of your staff can’t make it, it would go a long way to proving to Joel that I didn’t mess things up.” She sighed deeply. “I may not always agree with Kap, but this time I think he’s right. Please come, Olivia.” Her next breath seemed to shake, and I sensed she was close to tears. “I’d better go now.” With that she hung up.

I stared at the receiver for a long time. What in the world had that been about? Kap had forced her hand, no doubt about it. But to what end? And why would Joel care whether his mother offended the executive White House chef? I was about to tell Mom about this bizarre conversation, but realized she had left the room.

Nana pointed to the guest bedroom, where I found my mom at the computer. “That was Ruth Minkus,” I said.

She turned toward me, arranging her body to block the screen from my view. “What did she want?”

“To invite me to her husband’s wake.”

Mom twisted, quickly minimized the window, and then returned her attention to me. I’d seen a tiny bit of the page she’d been viewing. “Were you reading the Liss Is More column again?” I asked.

Nervous laugh as she stood. “Why would I read that trash?”

“Then what were you reading?” I felt like a parent who just caught her teenager visiting inappropriate sites.

“Just silly stuff,” she said, trying to guide me out the door. “Nothing worth mentioning. Let’s go see what Nana’s up to.”

“Mom-”

Her shoulders dropped. “I wasn’t reading that crazy man, Liss,” she said. “But I found out that his articles are reprinted on the Internet and people can write in and make comments on what he wrote.”

“And?”

“There are some very odd people in the world,” she said. “I mean, I thought Liss was out of his mind, but people go off on the strangest tangents and say very mean, very cruel things.”

“Let me see,” I said, moving toward the computer.

She blocked me.

I laughed. “Mom, you can’t keep me from reading what’s out there.”

She suddenly looked so sad, my heart hurt.

“Did someone mention me?” I asked.

“Not exactly.” She bit her lip. “It’s just that people were asking about the Easter Egg Roll, and I knew how worried you were about that. I didn’t want you to see all the questions.”

“That’s not all you didn’t want me to see, is it?”

“Some people don’t know what they’re talking about.”

I made it around her and maximized the browser window again. I sensed her resignation both from her deep sigh, and from the hand she placed on my shoulder as I scrolled through the comments.

There were, indeed, a lot of strange people in the world. I wondered if these were the same folks who, for kicks, sent out indecipherable spam in their spare time. I started at the top-the most recent commentary-and worked my way through several screeds that had more to do with battling the writers’ own demons than Carl Minkus’s death. Seemed to me that the earliest posts stayed on topic and the more recent ones were lame attempts to discredit earlier posters.

“What about the Easter Egg Roll?” asked Theda R. from Virginia. “My kids have been looking forward to this all year! Can’t someone just boil a few eggs so the kids won’t be disappointed?”

From Sal J.: “What do we care if another bureaucrat is dead? He got what he deserved, if you ask me. Minkus was screwed up and whoever took him out deserves a medal.”

Yikes.

“These people have too much time on their hands,” I said, continuing to scroll. I stopped when I saw the next one. Blood rushed out to all my extremities, rendering me light-headed.

“That girl the president hired to cook for him-that Ollivia Parras-she’s nothing but trouble since she took over the job. She can’t cook worth a nikcl and she can always try seeing how she can get in the headlines. It’s all her fault your poor kids don’t get to roll their eggs this year. I say the president should fire her butt and fast!”

No matter that the writer of this little diatribe-R. I.-spelled so many things wrong, including my name. No matter that he, or she, was grammatically challenged. The message was clear.

“I can so cook,” I said unnecessarily. But the accusation stung.

“You see, this is all garbage,” Mom said. “I shouldn’t even have been reading it.”

I wanted to shake it off, but my eyes were scanning again. There were more postings questioning whether there was any way to keep the Egg Roll on schedule, a few that talked about Minkus and who might have wanted him dead, and a couple more that called for my immediate dismissal.

“Cheery stuff,” I said, trying to swallow a hot bubble of disappointment.

“They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

She was probably right, but the attacks were brutal. And they hurt.

I’d been on enough Internet pages like this to know that at the bottom there should be a form available to add your own commentary. But this time, no little box appeared. Instead, in red italics were the words: Please allow several minutes for your comment to post.

I spun. “You didn’t.”

Mom blushed, waving a hand at the screen. “I couldn’t let them talk about you like that and not do anything.”

I dropped my head into my hands, took a deep breath, and hit “refresh.”