Eggsecutive Orders

CHAPTER 6

WHEN I GOT TO THE LIBRARY, BUCKY AND CYAN were waiting for me. Bucky stood up. “How long do we have to stay here? We’ve got work to do.”

“No,” I said, “we don’t.”

Cyan opened her mouth to question, but I held up a hand. “We’re out of the kitchen until further notice.”

“What?”

“Here’s where we stand,” I said, lowering myself into the wooden armchair Bucky had just vacated. “Until it can be absolutely proven that Carl Minkus didn’t die as a result of our kitchen’s negligence, we are forbidden to prepare food in the White House.”

Bucky paced. “We couldn’t have done anything. I mean… there’s no way. We read his dietary requirements.” He dragged the back of his hand against his forehead. When he turned to me, his face was pale and his voice cracked. “This has never happened before.”

I stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. Surprisingly, he didn’t move away. “We did nothing wrong.”

Bucky shook his head. “This is terrible.”

For the first time, I actually let the truth sink in. A man was dead, possibly as a result of something we’d fed him. Although we’d followed every protocol, the fact remained that our kitchen could be guilty of negligence. I’d been adamant about our innocence, but what if we had been negligent? Then Carl Minkus was dead prematurely. And, as executive chef, blame fell squarely on me.

Bucky practically choked his next words out. “Did you think about botulism?”

I was about to answer when he pushed me aside. He covered his mouth and hurtled himself through the adjacent door.

Cyan jumped to her feet. Disregarding the fact that he had disappeared into the men’s lounge, the two of us followed Bucky in. He’d made it to the lavatory and into one of the stalls just in time. The sound of retching carried through the door. I tapped on the wood paneling. “You okay?”

We heard him cough and spit. “Yeah.”

“Bucky,” I said, “this wasn’t your fault.”

He sniffed, noisily. “I know.”

I held up my hands in a helpless gesture. Cyan shrugged. “Then come out.”

There was a long moment of silence, where we heard nothing but the faint rushing of water through nearby pipes.

Finally, Bucky said, “This is my life.”

I leaned toward the stall door, not knowing how to answer that.

“We’re always so careful,” he said, his voice plaintive. “I’ve never worked anywhere with such stringent guidelines. And I like it that way. I want to stay here.”

“Nobody’s kicking us out, Bucky,” I said, trying for levity. “Yet.”

When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. “What if they let us all go? What if they say we were negligent-even if we weren’t? Then I’ll never get a job anywhere. My entire career will be down the tubes.”

To punctuate his words, he flushed the toilet. Cyan and I exchanged a glance, and stepped a little farther away from the door when we heard the lock turn.

Bucky emerged, looking less sweaty and pale. He wiped a handful of bathroom tissue across his forehead and offered a wobbly smile. “I’ve worked my whole life to get here,” he said. “When I think of how easily it can all be lost…”

Bucky’s eyes glistened and he turned away from us toward the sinks, where he turned on the tap and avoided looking into the mirror.

“Listen,” I started to say.

He shook his head. “The two of you don’t understand. You can’t. I worked hard to get here. I put in the best years of my life-before either of you came to the White House. And I thought I would be named executive chef someday.”

I stood behind him to his right, and in the mirror I could see the weak smile turning sour. He gave me a quick glance. “Instead, they gave it to you.”

There wasn’t much for me to say. This position wasn’t a “gift.” I knew I had earned it and I knew exactly why Henry had chosen me as his successor over Bucky. But I couldn’t say that. Not now.

“Being the first female White House chef is a coup,” he continued. “I get that. I understand that the First Lady had a point to make. But now I see the writing on the wall.” This time his glance was for Cyan. “Ollie is grooming you to take over when she gets rid of me, isn’t she?”

Cyan looked to me for answers. I had none. It was true that Cyan had really come into her own over the past year, but Bucky was a valuable member of my team. I said so.

“I’m not planning to let you go, Bucky. We’re a team.”

“After this fiasco, maybe we’re all gone.”

His face went pale and damp again and he looked like he wanted to make another mad dash for the stalls. Squeezing his eyes shut, he held tight to the countertop for a moment before splashing cold water onto his face. He turned off the water, then patted himself dry with one of the nearby linen hand towels.

Once he calmed himself, I asked Cyan to excuse us. She left the men’s lounge and I waited until I heard the door close.

“Bucky, I have no intention of ‘getting rid’ of you. None whatsoever.”

He stared down at the draining water. “Henry favored you from your first day on the job. And now you favor Cyan.” I watched his hands flex. “I’m a middle-aged white guy. Nobody wants me. Maybe I should resign. But… where could I go?”

With Bucky’s talent, and his White House résumé, he could go almost anywhere he chose. Instead of saying that, however, I assured him, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You just keep me on because you haven’t figured out my replacement yet.”

“Not true,” I said. “Bucky, damn it, look at me.”

When he did, my heart broke for him. Bucky, my acerbic, temperamental, yet brilliant assistant was terrified of losing his life’s work. I’d never seen him this vulnerable, and for possibly the first time, I understood that Bucky wasn’t ornery because he wanted to be. He made things difficult because he felt he didn’t fit in with the rest of us. And it was true. His personality kept us distant. But for him to think that he didn’t belong in our White House family was anathema. He was as much a part of the team as anyone, and more so than most.

In that split-second I realized I hadn’t been as effective a leader as I’d hoped to be. Henry had tolerated Bucky’s occasional tantrums and quick criticisms, and I’d been trying to emulate Henry since I’d been promoted. But maybe this was an opportunity to do even better.

“What?” he said when several seconds passed and I hadn’t said anything. “Feeling good about yourself now that you made me admit my failings?”

I kept my voice low, but strong. “You want a guarantee that you’re not going to be fired? I can’t do that.”

If he had expected me to speak soothingly and to bolster his ego, he was mistaken. I read the surprise on his face. Bucky knew my need to keep people happy as well as he knew that his prickly nature kept most people on guard. But I decided the best way to get through to my first assistant was by speaking the language he knew best.

I continued. “Every four, sometimes eight, years all of us have to be prepared to be released by a new administration. That’s the way this particular job works. And that’s what we all signed on for. And if that happens, it happens. It isn’t because we aren’t the best chefs in the world-it’s because the new family has different preferences. And if we tender our resignations to a new First Lady and she accepts them-there’s no shame in that.”

Taking a breath, I plunged on. “There would be shame in our being fired because a guest died. Huge shame. But we would all be in the same boat. We would all be faced with such a damaging mark on our records that we couldn’t go anywhere and hold our heads high. It would be like starting over.”

“But you’re younger-”

“Not by all that much.” That was a stretch. Bucky was at least fifteen years my senior. But aging-like seasoning-was often a good thing. “And if we go down, we go down together. You know that none of us would ever endanger one of our guests.”

He nodded.

“And I believe the First Family knows that as well. I’m convinced that no matter what the medical examiner finds out, we will not be held up for ridicule on our own. I do not believe that the president or the First Lady will throw us under the bus.”

He grimaced.

“Listen. You are my second-in-command. If you try to sneak out of here before all this gets settled-”

“Sneak?”

“The way you’re talking, you’re planning to put your résumé out on the market as soon as they let us out today.”

“I’m being practical. If somebody’s head is going to roll, I know it’ll be mine.”

“Bucky,” I said, and waited for him to look at me again. He was afraid that I would throw him under the bus. But telling him that he was the most valuable chef I had on staff would be pointless now. He wouldn’t believe me. He’d think I was just trying to be nice. “Pick yourself up. Nobody is going to be fired today.”

He gave a snort. “Until they decide we poisoned Carl Minkus.”

“And if they do, then you know exactly whose head will roll. Mine.”

He said nothing, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that I was finally getting through.

“I’m the one on the chopping block here,” I said. “I’m the executive chef and, by definition, everything that is served is done so with my approval. Until they find evidence that we had nothing to do with Carl Minkus’s untimely demise, I can’t even access the kitchen to help prove that we’re innocent. But I’ll be depending on you and Cyan to remember every single detail from the dinner preparations last night.”

“Can’t you figure out some way to get insider information from the Secret Service?” he asked. “I mean, can’t Tom help you out a little bit here?”

I shrugged. “He was ordered to go home. I have no idea what’s coming next from them.”

Bucky wasn’t his normal self again yet, but he did seem to be mulling over the problem. “I’ll write down some notes.”

“Careful,” I said. “Make sure nobody has access to them except you. You never know what can happen when things are taken out of context.”

He rubbed the corners of his mouth downward, kept his hand there as he asked, “What about Suzie and Steve?”

“They’re already on the list to be investigated.”

“You think there’s any chance one of them did something wrong?”

“I certainly doubt it.” My hand covered my mouth as a thought occurred to me. “You don’t think someone did this on purpose?”

“Oh, hell. I never thought of that.”

The door banged open and the two Guzy brothers came in, taking up more than their fair share of space in the small room. Their jaws dropped as they took in Bucky’s startled glance, both our hands over our mouths, and the fact that we were standing in the men’s lounge.

Guzy One looked a little confused, but his voice was brusque as ever. “When you two are finished being sick, we need you out here.”

The two agents pivoted and left the bathroom.

If the situation hadn’t been so miserable, I might have found it funny.

After another interminable wait, followed by questions from every possible branch of law enforcement, Cyan, Bucky, and I were released. I glanced at my watch and my stomach bubbled. Two fifteen. My mom and nana’s plane had touched down hours earlier. I berated myself again for forgetting my cell phone at home. I could just picture them sitting on hard airport seats, dialing me at home, dialing me on my cell, and getting frustrated by the unending shifts to voicemail. They would have given me the benefit of the doubt until about ten in the morning. By now, they would have just felt sad and forgotten.

As we started for the East doors, the Guzy brothers swarmed us. Even though there were only two of them and three of us, their size and authority made us feel small and surrounded.

Guzy One held up a hand. “Not so fast.”

The day’s frustrations had taken a toll and my tone was less than accommodating. I was, in fact, snippy. “They told us we could go.”

“Too many reporters outside.”

“What, you expect us to hang around here all night?”

Guzy Two shook his head. “We’re driving you back.”

“What about Cyan and Bucky?” I asked.

“We’re taking all of you.”

I turned to my crew. Bucky shrugged. Cyan forced a smile. “At least we won’t have to wait for a train.”

As we made our way to the black limousine, we heard shouts from beyond the White House fence. I wanted to shroud my head so that the cameras couldn’t exploit my face on the evening news, but I didn’t. Neither did Cyan or Bucky. The three of us followed one Guzy agent, and his brother brought up the rear.

Cyan had been keeping tabs on my family issues and now she addressed Guzy Two. “You should drop Ollie off first,” she said. “She needs to get home.”

“No ma’am,” one of them said. “We have orders.”

“Orders to take us all home,” Cyan persisted. “But not what order to drop us off, right?”

“No ma’am,” he said again. “We have a specified route. Ms. Paras is our last dropoff because we have another stop to make in her vicinity after that.”

So much for that idea. “Thanks for trying, Cyan,” I whispered.

As Cyan and Bucky loaded into the limousine’s cushy backseat, I realized that was the most either of the Guzy brothers had said to us. I was beginning to see the brothers’ differences rather than just their similarities. Number Two had slightly darker hair, a slight lisp, and, apparently, more willingness to converse.

“What’s your name?” I asked before I got in. “Your first name, I mean.”

“Jeffrey.”

“And your brother?”

Jeffrey looked to his sibling for approval, but Guzy One had already slid into the driver’s seat and didn’t acknowledge my question. “Raymond.”

For some reason I expected them to be named Mark and Michael, or Dan and Don, or John and Joe.

“Is there any way at all you can get me back to my apartment quickly?” I asked. “My family is in town. That is, I hope they still are. I haven’t heard from them and I need to grab my cell phone.”

When Raymond half turned and cocked an eyebrow over his recently donned sunglasses, Jeffrey gestured me into the car. “No.”

They’d confiscated Cyan’s and Bucky’s cell phones during the interrogation. Now, using Cyan’s recently returned cell, I dialed my mom’s phone about a hundred times on the ride back. No luck. I wanted to ask Raymond Guzy what his affection for the brake pedal was all about. The drive this morning had been at lightning speed. The trip back this afternoon was so slow, I swore I could watch roadside cherry blossoms blooming.

I’d never been to Cyan’s or Bucky’s homes and I was surprised and dismayed that Cyan lived so far outside of D.C. proper. To save time, I was half tempted to invite them both back to my apartment and then worry about getting them to their respective homes later. Tempting as it was, that wouldn’t have been fair to them.

When it was finally just me in the backseat of the limo, I tried once again, this time in vain, to get Jeffrey to talk.

I sat in silence for the long ride back toward Crystal City, watching the world pass me by-slowly-unable to find beauty in the burgeoning spring just outside my window. Of course, poor Carl Minkus wasn’t appreciating the fresh greenery either.

I thought back to my conversation with Bucky and wondered if someone had done Mr. Minkus deliberate harm. I had to believe the Secret Service and the Metropolitan Police were asking the same question.

I should let it go.

I had enough on my plate figuring out how Carl Minkus died. I had to worry about the Easter Egg Roll on Monday, the welcoming event afterward, and about my mom’s and grandmother’s welfare. Where were they? The fear of not knowing overwhelmed me.

The morning’s weather had shifted and the storms had moved out of the area. Skies were clear without a cloud. Clear enough for takeoffs.

I watched a southbound plane traverse the solid blueness above and gave silent thanks. At least I knew they weren’t on that one. With the direction this one was going, it was probably headed for Atlanta, or Orlando. I allowed myself a small smile. Find blessings where you can, I reminded myself.

And then the plane turned. Headed west.

I stared at the back of the driver’s head and tried not to think about missed opportunities.