Eggsecutive Orders

“We always serve food at the event. That’s part of the draw,” I said. “I’m sure now that we’re here, everything will start getting back to normal.”

Bucky shook his head, scowling. As he turned away, Cyan’s expression asked me where the pleasant fellow from yesterday had gone.

Paul greeted us from the doorway. “Welcome back.”

We spent the next few minutes exchanging greetings and comments about being glad to be at work again. I mentioned to Paul the need for the kitchen to bring on a couple of SBA chefs and expressed my preference to have Rafe, and our recent recruit, Agda, as part of the team. With our workload, we would need a few more temporary chefs, too.

“Ah,” he said. “Other than the three of you, and Marcel and his staff, we’re not bringing ‘unknowns’ into the kitchen until the entire Minkus investigation is complete.”

My mouth opened in disbelief. While we could handle the day-to-day meals with ease, we could not-by any stretch of the imagination-handle Monday’s anticipated crowd by ourselves. “How are we going to feed all the partygoers at the Egg Roll?” I asked. “Rafe and Agda have worked here before. They’re not exactly unknown. And even with them we’ll be severely shorthanded.”

Paul waved away my concerns. “I understand. Let me explain. There has been a change in plans.”

Bucky gave me a look that said “I told you so.”

Paul took a deep breath. “After much discussion, the president and First Lady have decided that it would be in the best interests of all if we limited Monday’s events. We will hold the Egg Roll as scheduled, but no White House party afterward.”

If a person could look smug and unhappy at the same time, it was Bucky.

“But…” I didn’t know what else to say. “Why?”

“Coming on the heels of Carl Minkus’s death, the aspect of a formal party that evening might be construed as unseemly. In bad taste. But no one would disagree with keeping the Egg Roll for the benefit of the children.”

Bucky’s warning made me believe there was more to it than keeping up appearances. For his part, Bucky had turned his back while Cyan and I waited for Paul to finish.

“You have to understand that the president and First Lady believe in all of you. They wanted you back here as quickly as possible. This”-he held his hands aloft-“is a testament to their belief. Don’t underestimate it.”

We nodded, but were silent. Paul patted me on the shoulder on his way out. “Things will start to get better soon. I’m sure of it.”

He left, and we set to work on di

Welcome back, Ollie-to you and to your staff. My husband and I are very much relieved to know you’re back in charge. Thank you for your patience during these trying times.

I shared the note with Cyan and Bucky who, respectively, were cheered and unfazed. Tonight’s di

After we got the bruschetta topping started, I turned to Bucky. “I haven’t spoken with the Secret Service yet about picking up the eggs.”

He raised his head in acknowledgment but didn’t respond.

“I’ll talk to them as soon as we’re settled here. But I’m sure they’re going to want specifics. Do you have a good time I can ask them to be there? Will Brandy be home?”

Bucky’s head snapped up. He made an imperative, unintelligible noise-halfway between a gasp and a “Shh!”

“What?” I asked, not understanding.

He gestured the two of us closer, his eyes wide with anger. “Do not say another word,” he said, his voice menacing. He looked about the kitchen but there was no one else around. Keeping to a whisper, he said, “You will not refer to her in any way that might bring notice to our… our…”

“Relationship?” I prompted.

His glare darkened. “It does not exist.”

“Uh…” Cyan ran her fingers over her lips. “What?”

Again the unintelligible noise. “The relationship you refer to is private. It does not exist”-he jammed a finger onto the countertop-“here. You will not refer to it, or to her, in that regard. We refuse to make ourselves a spectacle.”

Perhaps reading the expressions on our faces, he quickly added, “We want to keep things private.”

“Sure,” I said, but his words hit me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. As I went back to preparations-cleaning the asparagus and baby greens-Liss’s not-so-subtle threat to make my relationship with Tom public sent a shooting pain of fear up the back of my throat.

“What’s wrong, Ollie?” Cyan asked. “You’re pale.”

To tell the truth, I felt pale. A sadness I couldn’t reach sickened me. And I knew this queasy dread wouldn’t go away until I could make things right. The question was, how? I took a deep breath. “I need some air,” I said. “Give me a minute.”

Even as I strode out of the kitchen, I was pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. I made my way outside into one of the courts that flanked the North Portico. “Tom,” I said when he answered.

“What’s wrong?”

The fact that he could tell so quickly that something was wrong was not lost on me. He and I had gotten to that point where we could often anticipate what the other would say. Comfort. We’d had that. For a while, at least.

I wanted to talk. But I knew this wasn’t a conversation for the phone. “Something’s come up.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes.” Gosh, I was not handling this very well. “Everyone is fine. But Liss-Howard Liss.”

“You’re back in the White House, aren’t you? I heard you got the all-clear today. I wanted to call, but I’m in training today.”

“Oh, you’re busy?”

“We’re on a break right now. Your timing is phenomenal.”

“At least something is.”

“Talk to me, but make it quick. We’re being called back in for the next session.”

There was no way to put this in a thirty-second conversation. “Just do me a favor and call me when you get out, okay? Call me first before you do anything. Will you do that?”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I cringed. That was a lie. “It will keep until you call me.” I hoped that was the truth.

“Ollie, you’re making me nervous.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you later. But it’ll be okay.” I felt a swift stab in my heart. “I have it all figured out.”

He gave a short laugh. “I don’t know if that’s good news or bad news. But I do have to go. I’ll call you later.”

“As soon as you get out, right?”

“That very moment.”

I rolled my shoulders but didn’t feel any better. That queasy sensation was still there. I stared up at the sky from between the court’s side walls. Overcast today. I shivered. It was cold outside, but I just noticed it now. My sorrowful mood did not have its genesis in Liss’s threat. Liss had only exacerbated an awareness that was already there. I knew what I needed to do. But I wondered if I had the strength to do it.

The sky above held no answers, so I made my way inside to the kitchen’s warmth, where life always felt safest.

Marguerite Schumacher, the White House social secretary, met me in the hallway. “I was just coming to talk with you.” Pert and dark, she had limitless energy, and a tenacity that I admired. “Have you heard about the plans?”

I told her I had. “I’m just disappointed that they’re cancelling the post-party. Everyone always looks forward to that.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I have to tell you, at first I thought canceling the party portion was a bad idea. But after talking with Mrs. Campbell, I understand where she’s coming from.”