Buffalo West Wing (11 page)

My stomach dropped to my shoes precisely as Peter Sargeant’s prediction jumped to my brain.

Expecting to hear that I was being officially reprimanded for Cyan’s actions, I steeled myself. “Don’t beat around the bush,” I said. “Just tell me.”

Paul’s hair had always been a distinctive salt and pepper, but for the first time I noticed that the white had seriously overtaken the dark. Much like the way presidents age quickly in office, Paul was showing signs of the stress he dealt with every single day. He licked his lips, taking precious seconds to answer me. Whatever he was about to say was not easy for him.

“An official announcement is about to be released ...”

Could my throat get any drier? I swallowed and it hurt. “About the kitchen?”

He nodded.

I wished he would just get on with it. “Please, Paul. I’m sweating here.”

“The president and Mrs. Hyden are bringing on a new chef.”

My knees went soft. “I’m being let go?”

“No,” he said quickly. “This person will be joining your staff.”

I was shaking my head before I could form all the questions running through my brain. “Then why do you look so upset? Is this new chef supposed to take Bucky’s position? Is he or she replacing Cyan? Is that it? Is Cyan being fired?”

“The new chef is a ‘he,’” Paul said. “His name is Virgil Ballantine.”

“So he’s
already
been hired.”

“Virgil will be brought on as the Hyden family’s personal chef.” Paul’s hands came up. “He will manage the family meals himself. But technically he will report to you.”

I had no words. My staff and I would no longer prepare meals for the First Family? Sargeant was right: I was on my way out. “What do we do while he’s taking care of the Hydens?” I asked. “Are Bucky, Cyan, and I supposed to sit around and twiddle our thumbs?”

“Please don’t read anything into this. I spoke with Mrs. Hyden directly and asked her point-blank if she intended for Virgil Ballantine to replace you and she said she had no such plans.”

“Of course she said that,” I said, my voice rising, “what else can she say? She’s smart. She’ll bring this Virgil fellow on and then once the hullabaloo of the inauguration dies down, she’ll quietly hand me my walking papers.”

“Ollie, calm down. Mrs. Hyden has no reason to let you go. You’re overreacting.”

I wasn’t and he knew it. “Look at it from her perspective. Not only did we have that utterly disastrous breakfast, but the Secret Service seems all too willing to throw me under the bus. Until someone tells Mrs. Hyden that the chicken wings delivered here for her kids were poisoned, all she knows is that I denied the kids a favorite treat. Can you blame her for planning to get rid of me?”

“She’s not planning to get rid of you.”

“Can you promise me that?”

Paul’s eyes clouded. “The announcement is going out Monday. I’ll leave it to you to inform your staff.”

I worked hard to compose myself, to focus on the facts. “Who is this guy anyway? Do I at least get to see his resume?”

“I’ll see that a copy is sent to you directly.”

I stared at the painted bowling pins and let my gaze wander down to the picture of the White House at the far end of the alley. What an inauspicious place to receive such devastating news. A long moment of silence hung between us as I brooded over the new information, feeling wounded and suddenly vulnerable. I didn’t want to return to the kitchen yet. I didn’t want to move until I knew what my next course of action should be. But I knew Paul had a thousand other things he ought to be doing. “I’m sorry for getting upset,” I said, “and I appreciate you taking the time to tell me yourself.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he said, his face taking on a bit of brightness. “And I truly believe you have nothing to worry about. As soon as the First Family gets to know you, you’ll be just as valued as you were with the Campbells. The Hydens are simply accustomed to having a personal chef.”

And what was I? Chopped tuna? “Thanks,” I said and moved to take one of the seats along the back wall. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to sit here for a little bit before I go back to the kitchen.”

“Of course.” Paul patted my shoulder. “Just remember one thing. Nobody could ever replace you, Ollie.”

Although I appreciated his compliment, one thought kept running through my mind: Did the Hydens know that?

CHAPTER 10

BY SATURDAY MORNING, I WAS DETERMINED not to let this news about the personal chef deter me from running my kitchen the best way I knew how. I still hadn’t broken the news to my team, and though I rationalized my reasons, I knew it was because saying it aloud would make it more real. I wasn’t ready for that. Cyan had the day off to be with her mother, but she and I had made plans to meet later for dinner. I had a feeling she might need a friend today to listen. I know I did.

My mind was on breakfast, but my eyes were on the salsa mixture in front of me. I’d come up with a new recipe for huevos rancheros, but wasn’t quite sure it was up to presidential standards. If this didn’t fly, we had a backup meal planned, and Bucky was already hard at work across the kitchen. I was beginning to believe I’d gone too heavy on the onions for a morning meal, and reached up to grab a tasting spoon to test that theory.

My hand came up empty. “Aargh!”

Bucky turned to me. “Are we out?”

“Again,” I said.

We were running out of basics right and left. The absence of our stricken laundry ladies and butlers was creating a ripple effect through all departments. Several butlers were now pulling double shifts, and a few of the dishwashers were pitching in with laundry duties. That meant plates and silverware moved more slowly through the process than we were accustomed to, and we were obliged to dip into our vast store of duplicates to keep the kitchen running smoothly. Tasting spoons and other flatware were becoming a big problem. Because we had two extra tasters hanging around, we were flying through utensils like butter. I was constantly sending runners to the dishwashing area to replenish our stock.

We had no runners in the area at the moment so I decided to make my way to the dishwashing area myself. “I’ll get what you need,” Gardez said. He turned to Nourie. “Can you hold the place down while I’m gone?”

Nourie laughed and waved him away. Over the past few days, the two agents had begun to relax just a little. They let us know that they, and the two agents assigned to Marcel’s area, had been taking a lot of ribbing about how lucky they were to snag this detail. Cyan and I had discovered that neither of the two handsome guards assigned to us was married, and from what we could tell, only Gardez had a girlfriend.

Right now I turned to Nourie, who was eyeing the salsa from afar. “Do you two ever get a day off?”

“Sure we do,” he said. “But until all these new protocols get established, Agent MacKenzie wants to keep us at our posts for as long as possible without interruption. He will probably assign our relief in the next couple of days.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“Hey,” he said casually—a bit too casually, “your assistant Cyan has been working here for quite a few years, hasn’t she?”

“She has. That girl will have an amazing career. Mark my words: She’s a genius.”

“Yeah,” he said with awe in his voice. “I tried some of that sauce she put together yesterday. Wow.”

What was that they said about the path to a man’s heart? “She’s pretty incredible,” I said. At that point I half-expected him to ask if Cyan was seeing anyone, but Gardez returned with a supply of spatulas and tasting spoons. He’d brought dishtowels, too.

“Thought I’d pick these up while I was near the laundry,” he said.

“Good thinking.” I turned to Nourie to finish our conversation, but he’d gone back to his unobtrusive corner and acted as though he hadn’t said a word while his partner had been gone.

 

Later, as we cleaned up after lunch, I thought about what this new Virgil Ballantine might be like and how his presence would change the tenor of this kitchen. Next week might very well be the last week I prepared regular meals for the First Family.

“I don’t smell anything,” Bucky said.

I looked up to find him staring at me. “Excuse me?”

“Never play poker, kid. You’re either smelling something rotten or you’ve been dealt a bad hand. And since there’s nothing going rancid in here ”—he opened his arms to encompass the entire kitchen—“I have to assume you’ve got troubles.”

I heaved a great sigh and Bucky, surprisingly, looked concerned. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Virgil Ballantine.”

Bucky shook his head. “Who?”

I’d been hoping to talk with Bucky and Cyan privately and individually, away from the constant scrutiny of our omnipresent guards, but there never seemed to be a moment when one of them wasn’t around. The two men were pleasant enough, but bringing on a new chef who would be solely responsible for the family meals was a very big deal, and something I would have preferred to discuss one on one with my staff. I would see Cyan tonight, but Bucky and I were stuck with babysitters. “We’re getting a new chef.”

Bucky squinted at me. “You hired someone?”

The two guards didn’t seem to much care about our conversation. I hoped it would stay that way as I moved closer to Bucky and lowered my voice. “The Hydens are bringing their personal family chef to Washington.”

Rendered speechless as he so seldom was, Bucky’s mouth gaped. He started to say something, then turned away, his shoulders jerking as though he was in the midst of a silent argument with himself. Knowing Bucky as well as I did, I waited. In a minute he was back again. He kept his voice down. “Is this what Paul pulled you out for yesterday?”

“Yeah. The new guy is Virgil Ballantine. Paul sent me his resume yesterday. Ballantine’s worked at a handful of really great establishments. Pretty impressive.”

Bucky glared. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“He’s been the Hydens’ personal family chef for the past three years.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped. “So this isn’t a ‘Let’s try him out for a while’ endeavor. This is a ‘Let’s bring our guy to Washington’ move.”

“Pretty much,” I agreed.

“You worried?”

“Of course I am.”

“But you’re the first woman in the job of executive chef here. Don’t you think it would be political suicide for them to get rid of you?”

“I’d hardly think it would make a difference at this point. President Hyden is here for the next four years. Wouldn’t this be the perfect time to bring a new person on board and replace me as soon as the media storm dies down? Think about it: If the First Lady cut me loose three and a half years from now, the backlash might make a difference. But if they get rid of me a few months from now, nobody’s even going to remember by the time the next elections come around.”

“True,” Bucky said. Hardly a cheerful reply. “And with all the trouble you’ve gotten into over the past few years—I mean, I know the papers are always playing up your exploits—the Hydens have all the ammunition they need if someone criticizes their decision to let you go.”

“Thanks Buck,” I said. “I’m feeling so much better now.”

He waved away my sarcasm. “I’m just saying what you’ve already figured out for yourself.”

He was right, darn it.

“Maybe it’s good that Mrs. Hyden doesn’t know that the chicken wings were given to the laundry staff,” I said. “This way, she doesn’t know about my involvement. She’s probably heard plenty of stories about things that happened during the Campbell presidency. Maybe if I keep a low profile this time, I’ll have a better chance at keeping my job.”

“You? Keep a low profile?” Bucky barked a laugh. “Not in this lifetime.”

“Your support is overwhelming.”

He fixed me with a look. “I know you don’t want to talk about
why
you and Tom broke up, but I have my suspicions. You’ve got to be true to your nature, Ollie, and you usually are. But don’t for a minute underestimate the challenges you’re stuck with because of it.”

That was one of the longest sentiments Bucky had ever expressed to me. Again, he was right and I told him so. “Thanks, Buck,” I said. “Now, let’s plan to make dinner so incredible and delicious that they tell this Chef Ballantine his services are no longer needed.”

I caught Gardez and Nourie exchanging a look that told me they’d heard the entire conversation. Nourie lifted his chin and said, “The new guy doesn’t stand a chance.”

While Bucky prepared a marinade for tonight’s beef entrée, I peeled potatoes for a new side dish we planned to introduce. Deep in our respective tasks, we didn’t pay attention to the noise in the hallway and only looked up when Mrs. Hyden and the children walked in.

Mrs. Hyden was tall, with shoulder-length dark hair, a trim build, and a quick smile. “Good afternoon,” she said.

Bucky and I both stopped what we were doing and wiped our hands on our aprons. Gardez and Nourie straightened and greeted her with silent nods.