Oath of Office

CHAPTER 6

Bar None was three blocks from the Capitol. The upscale lounge served unusual cocktails that seemed to appeal to congressional aides more than to their stodgier, older bosses. At this hour, it was as safe a place as any for Darlene and Kim to escape to for a drink. They waited outside under an awning while a team of Secret Service agents checked out the interior.

With them on the sidewalk was Victor Ochoa, a tall veteran agent with salt-and-pepper hair and dark, narrow eyes that appeared to be on constant alert. He stood a respectful distance from the two women until sudden static from his radio announced a transmission.

“Cobra here,” he said.

“All clear for Buttercup and Wildcat, Cobra,” a woman’s voice replied.

“Buttercup and Wildcat,” Ochoa echoed.

By tradition, the three members of the First Family each carried a radio code name beginning with the same letter. The president, Bronco, had chosen B for them. Darlene had adopted the name of her heroine from the novel and movie The Princess Bride, and Lisa, now twenty-one and a totally independent sophomore at Yale, chose Bullfighter. Kim, to no one’s surprise, had gone with the Kansas State mascot.

“Safe in there for a drink, Victor?” Darlene asked.

“So long as you keep away from the Fireball Gimlets, you’ll be fine.”

The agent escorted them. The space was dimly lit and modestly filled. A jukebox in one corner of the bar played alternative rock songs at a volume that permitted conversation without shouting.

Darlene smiled up at Ochoa and patted him on the arm. “I’m guessing you’d like us to sit over there,” she said, pointing to an empty booth that was closest to the emergency exit.

“I knew you’d eventually get the hang of this, Madam First Lady,” Ochoa said.

“Victor, it’s Darlene. Please. I’d rather you call me Princess Buttercup than Madam First Lady, and you’re wrong. I don’t think I’ll ever fully get the hang of this role.”

Ochoa laughed warmly. “Our guide to protocol is thicker than the D.C. phone book. No excessive familiarity, including no first names, even though you’re about the most down-to-earth, approachable First Lady I’ve worked with. Tell you what-I’ll be saying ma’am and thinking Darlene. How’s that?”

“That’ll be fine. What does your protocol guide say about my going grocery shopping without an advance team clearing the cereal aisle first?”

“It says that isn’t going to happen … ma’am.”

Darlene followed Ochoa, Kim, and another agent beyond the bar, smiling and shaking hands with surprised patrons as she passed by. Then she asked Ochoa for two vodka tonics and settled into the booth, sitting directly across from her friend.

“I’ll be the second to admit the constant attention gets tiresome,” Kim said. “But at least after shopping, we won’t have to lug any of our purchases back home.”

“That is a plus. Alas, it was one thing when Martin had an approval rating of sixty percent. Now we’re in free fall. The depression or recession, or whatever it is, has seen to it that even shopping is unpleasant for me. Imagine what it must be like for those poor folks who suddenly don’t have a job.”

Moments later, Ochoa materialized from within the crowd, carrying two tall vodka tonics, each garnished with a crescent of lemon. The women clinked glasses more out of habit than over anything to celebrate.

“I wonder if Victor had to sample our drinks before he brought them over,” Kim said.

Darlene took a sip of hers, which she quickly followed with a much longer swallow. The sting of Martin’s behavior abated some.

“How did you know this is what I needed?” Darlene asked.

“Honey, it doesn’t take Sigmund Freud to figure out that you’re stressed out. Look at those circles under your eyes. You’ve got a social schedule that would exhaust a rhinoceros. On top of that, you’re working every spare moment trying to change the eating habits of three hundred million Americans, while keeping the fragile ego of their president appropriately stroked. Sometimes, I don’t think you realize just how much you’ve taken on.”

“Well, maybe it’s time I put my agenda on a diet.”

Kim took a healthy swallow and set her glass firmly on the table. “Nonsense,” she said. “Just because the president of the United States acts like your work is irrelevant doesn’t make it so. You just have to pace yourself better, that’s all-a little more shopping, a little more spa time, a few more vacations, an extra hour at the gym. Sweetheart, you’re changing things out there. You’ve read the reports. You’re like the pediatrician to the nation, and people are starting to pay attention to your message.”

“Sure, they’re starting to listen, but change is coming very slowly. And if we don’t get reelected, any chance of making much of a difference will be gone.”

“Meal by meal, isn’t that your war cry? Keep pushing, Dar. Just don’t push yourself over a cliff. Blow off steam when the pressure gets too intense, and for God’s sake, don’t let that galoot you’re married to get away with not giving you or your cause the respect you deserve.”

Darlene clinked Kim’s glass with more enthusiasm. “You know, Hajjar, I think you’d make someone a great chief of staff. Are you looking for a job?”

“Depends,” Kim answered, her rich brown eyes gleaming playfully. “Will I have to keep reminding you how terrific you are?”

“Absolutely,” Darlene said.

“Well, then, count me in.”

Just then, Ochoa came over to their table, leaned down, and spoke softly in Darlene’s ear. “Madam First Lady, Russell Evans is upstairs in the private party room. He asked if you two would be willing to join him for a drink.”

Darlene took a hard swallow of her V amp;T against the tightness that had developed in her chest. She flashed Kim a surprised look.

Evans, former Secretary of Agriculture, had been one of her husband’s first cabinet appointments. His resignation, in disgrace, had been responsible for at least some of the drop in Martin’s numbers. The scandal had been especially hard on Darlene. She and Evans went back to their childhood years in the Kansas plains town of Dubuque, where their farming families were neighbors even though they lived several miles apart. In fact, Martin had first met Evans through her, not long after the three of them started at Kansas State, and often used him as an adviser during his climb up the political mountain.

“Russ Evans is upstairs,” Darlene whispered.

“Goodness.”

“He wants to speak with us.”

“You okay with that?”

“Are you?”

“Part of me still thinks he was set up, if that’s what you mean.”

“I feel the same way,” Darlene said, “but so far, the way the facts are stacking up, things look pretty bad. Still, he never was anything other than helpful to me. Victor, we’d be happy to speak with him.”