All the President’s Menus (7 page)

Once I’d settled myself sufficiently to be able to mask my unease around the visitors, I departed the Map Room and returned to the kitchen. Not that anyone would have cared whether I was upset or even bothered. No one seemed to notice when I slipped back in. Bucky was talking with Kilian and Tibor, while gesturing toward a simmering pot on the massive stovetop. All three had their backs to me.

Hector and Nate had teamed up across from each other at the far end of the center countertop. They’d returned to working with leaves of cooked cabbage, filling them one at a time and wrapping them up. This dish reminded me of Polish cabbage rolls, or
golabki
, but featured a far spicier mix.

The rolls themselves, according to Tibor, who had been our main instructor before Sargeant’s arrival, were to be folded and rolled tight so that they could be placed in neat, uniform rows in a pan to bake.

Tibor had given us a quick lesson, impressing me with his quick movements and obvious expertise. The four rolls he’d produced in less than a minute each told me that he’d made this dish many, many times in his life.

Before Sargeant’s interruption, no one else had attempted to put one together. With Bucky, Tibor, and Kilian at the stovetop, the filling process had been left to Hector and Nate.

Hector dug a cabbage leaf out from the pile, ripping it in two. As yet unaware of my presence, he smirked and flung the wet, droopy leaf at Nate, who was spooning rice mixture into a leaf of his own.

The projectile hit Nate straight in the nose. He looked up with instant anger that, a half second later, morphed into amusement. Grinning now, he blurted out a couple of words in Saardiscan and reached for the offending leaf, intending to throw it back.

When he spied me in the doorway, however, he hesitated. He shot a snarly look at Hector, then placed the leaf next to the partially filled one he’d been working on, as though that had been his plan all along.

Hector bit his bottom lip, grabbed a new leaf, and began stuffing it with filling. Both men seemed determined to pretend they hadn’t been horsing around, but the quality of their rolls fell short of those Tibor had made.

By this point, Bucky and the other two had turned around. “You’re back,” Bucky said unnecessarily. His tone was cheery but his eyes were filled with questions. Not something I was ready to deal with right now.

“What are we doing?” I asked, glancing at the stovetop. It was clear to me that the three of them had begun another concoction that had nothing to do with the wrapping assembly going on behind me.

Bucky hesitated. “I suppose that’s up to you. We were about to embark on stage two of the traditional Saardiscan celebration meal, and I’d asked Kilian about preferred desserts.” He gestured toward the other man.

Kilian hadn’t had the chance to utter a word when Tibor spouted a strangled cry. He slammed his hands against the sides of his legs and bolted away from our small group. A second later he was practically on top of Nate, banging the steel countertop and shouting in Saardiscan.

Taken aback, I turned to Kilian. “What’s happening?”

Kilian’s face reddened. “Nate is not performing properly.” He nudged my arm with his elbow. “Neither is Hector, but it seems Tibor hasn’t yet taken notice of him.”

I leaned forward to see better, as Tibor’s flying fit tapered off into angry scolding. The four expertly wrapped rolls Tibor had made sat in the baking pan, waiting for the next step. Outside the pan were Hector’s and Nate’s attempts to duplicate Tibor’s efforts. Eight cabbage lumps lay there in an uneven pile. They weren’t as perfect as the samples, but they weren’t so bad as to warrant such a scene.

“Not pretty,” Bucky said.

I didn’t know whether he was referring to the rolls or to the fit Tibor was throwing. “He’s worse than Virgil,” I said under my breath.

I thought I heard Bucky say, “No, he isn’t,” but I couldn’t be sure.

I strode across the room to take Tibor by the arm. “Enough already.”

He spun.

“Stop,” I said. “That’s not how we do things around here.”

He shrugged out of my grasp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

We’d caused sufficient commotion to draw the attention of ground-floor Secret Service agents. “Is there a problem, Chef?”

“We’re fine here, thanks,” I said, even though that wasn’t entirely true.

The minute the two men raced into the kitchen, Tibor went pale. By the time the agents disappeared around the corner again, the Saardiscan’s attitude had transformed. He waved his hands over the misshapen rolls and backed away from the worktable. “These will be fine. I am in error.” He ducked his head. “My apologies.”

I exchanged a glance with Bucky, who looked as confused as I was. “What’s going on here? How can you be outraged one minute and timid the next? I don’t understand.”

Tibor didn’t look at me. He shifted his shoulders and edged sideways to get past without touching me, eager to get back to Kilian’s side. “I made an error,” he said again.

Kilian patted his colleague on the shoulder. “Perhaps it would be best if you, Hector, and Nate took one of those breaks.” He shot me a look, giving me the sense that he wanted to talk with me, but not in front of the other men.

“Taking a break” had been another American tradition they hadn’t understood. While Bucky and I were usually too busy to take breaks, we endeavored to be mindful of our guests’ needs. At first, they’d been astounded by the idea of sanctioned time to relax, but once they got the hang of it, seemed to enjoy the custom.

“That sounds good,” I said. “Bucky, why don’t you take everyone to the Navy Mess for coffee or whatever anyone wants.”

Bucky gave a quick nod. “Let’s go, guys. We can come back and finish up here shortly.” He turned to me. “What do you think? About ten, fifteen minutes?”

I glanced up at the clock. We had plenty of time before needing to prep for lunch. “Perfect,” I said.

Bucky led them away. Kilian followed them to the door, patting the other men on the back and speaking what sounded like encouragement. He turned to me when they’d exited. “I apologize for my friend,” he said. “We are finding life in the United States to be far different from what we expected. You are very . . . open . . . here. Surprisingly talkative.”

I waited, not sure where this was going.

“Even when we are in our hotel rooms at night”—he gestured vaguely in the direction of where they were staying—“we can’t believe the freedom we’ve been granted here. No one comes to check on us.”

“Why would they? You’re adults, professionals.”

His soft face creased into a wide smile. “There is much that is different between our cultures. We heard rumors that America was a place where one could say and do whatever one wanted, but I confess I didn’t believe it. I don’t think my colleagues believed it, either. From the time we’re little children, we’re taught that the activity and happiness we see coming from the United States is all propaganda.”

Again propaganda. Not for the first time, I wondered why—if Saardisca was as extreme in controlling their citizens as it seemed—these men had been allowed to come here to work. And for two weeks. There was certainly no way to shield them from American ideals, from our culture, or from our freedoms while they were immersed in it. If the Saardiscans were as anti-freedom as they seemed to be, then what had persuaded the government to send a delegation here to visit?

I asked Kilian that. He pondered the question. “I believe our government has begun to sense that there is change in the world. I think they are worried that if they do not send envoys out to test the waters, they will suffer later.” He gave me a wry look. “Or it is, perhaps, a test of our loyalty. They may suspect that some of us are not happy with the rules and regime.”

“Are you one of those people?”

He glanced both ways and peered into the corners of the kitchen where the walls and ceiling met.

“There aren’t any cameras in here,” I said. “No microphones.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Very.”

Kilian took a deep breath. “Tibor is a man with much grief to bear. He does not wish to see the happiness here in America.”

“Why not? How can our lives here possibly affect him?”

“His mother and father were outspoken rebels. Both parents were arrested and incarcerated when Tibor was a mere child. He never saw them again.”

“
Were
they criminals?”

Kilian shook his head. “They were not terrorists, if that’s what you’re asking. They simply attempted to bring people together to effect change. Unfortunately for them, and for Tibor, they were not successful.”

“That’s terrible.”

Kilian got a faraway look in his eyes. “Tibor became a ward of the state at a young age. As such, he was indoctrinated into the government’s belief systems. He is a product of this regime. That is why he was allowed to enter into the field of his choosing.”

“The culinary arts?” I asked.

Kilian nodded, clearly on a roll. “He has been granted privileges that others only dream of, and he has been elevated to his position due to his drive and eagerness to defend the tenets we are required to uphold. He believes it all.” Raising his hands, Kilian encompassed the room, but I realized what he was really doing was encompassing all of the United States. “What we see here makes us question what we have been taught.”

“What about you? How are
you
allowed to visit here? You seem to have adapted better than your friend Tibor. What do you think of America?”

Kilian smiled warmly. “I come from a long line of distinguished chefs. I was born into this life,” he said. “It is a good thing that I love what I do.”

“What about the other two?” I asked. “Hector and Nate?”

“The provinces they come from are less industrialized, less modern. Tibor and I have met and worked together on several occasions. Hector and Nate have not been schooled to the same extent and have not had the opportunity to apprentice the way Tibor and I have.” He gave a resigned shrug. “They are doing well enough, considering their backgrounds.”

I took a deep breath. “Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate the insight.”

He nodded.

I realized Kilian hadn’t answered one of my questions. “What do you think about all you’re experiencing here? I understand that some of what you’re seeing must be eye-opening, but how is that affecting
you
?”

Again, Kilian looked around as though certain someone was spying on us.

“If you’d rather not talk about it, I understand,” I said.

“No, it is not that.” He pulled his lips in and in the quiet couple of seconds that followed I sensed he was coming to a decision. When he did, he pointed at me. “As we have discussed, in Saardisca, it is very unusual for a woman to be the boss.”

“Does it bother you that I’m in charge here?”

He made a so-so motion with his head. “At first, yes, I admit that it did. But I am seeing you not solely as a woman, but differently. I can’t explain why, but I am less uncomfortable than when we first arrived.”

“Go on.”

“Tibor is less uncomfortable, too.”

“He certainly doesn’t show it.”

“No,” Kilian said. “The way he is acting today tells me how uncomfortable he is about
not
being uncomfortable.” Tilting his head, he asked, “Am I conveying my meaning correctly?”

“You are,” I said. “And now that you’re not uncomfortable—and you believe your colleagues may be settling in as well—what does that mean for all of you?”

He got a wistful expression on his face. “The government has been very good to my family for generations. And yet.” He sighed. “I long for more. You have so much to offer here in this country.”

“What about Kerry Freiberg?” I asked. “If she wins the election, she promises sweeping changes.”

When he laughed, it was a sad sound. “She will not win. This I know.”

“Then why have they allowed her to make this trip to the United States? Is it all for show?”

Kilian dropped his voice. For all my assurances that we weren’t being listened to, he still opted to take no chances. “That is exactly why she is here. For show,” he said. “You do not understand how things work in my country. Our leaders desire to be respected by other countries—a goal they have yet to achieve. Ms. Freiberg’s revolutionary position sends a message to the world that Saardisca is open to change and growth.”

“But it isn’t true?” I asked.

He winced. “There is much unrest in Saardisca. The government would have you believe that all is well and the people are fed, happy, and enjoy fulfilling lives. That is true for only very few of us. I’m one of the lucky ones.” He looked around the room and sighed again. “And yet . . .”

Acting on a hunch, I asked, “You wouldn’t consider requesting asylum, would you?”

His gaze flew to mine.

At that moment Bucky, Hector, and Nate returned.

Kilian’s glare was razor sharp. He leaned in close and whispered, “Do not ever say that word aloud again. Please.”

I left Gav sleeping, but made sure that his alarm was set. He had to be in for training by eight. He was in for a long day because he’d missed so much by going out to see Erma and Bill.

I was excited to get to the White House this morning. Marcel had called to tell me that he was returning to work, causing yet another adjustment to our plans for the Saardiscans. This time, however, I welcomed the change. It would be great to have him back.

I’d been asleep when Gav had gotten home the night before, but I’d roused myself enough to hear him say that everything was okay, and that he was tired. He promised to bring me up to speed when I got back home tonight. I was really looking forward to our time together. After so many years of living alone, I’d expected that adjusting to life with another person to be difficult. What I’d discovered, instead, was that the more time I spent with Gav, the more I wanted. Best of all, I knew he felt the same way. We’d taken so long to find each other that we didn’t want to miss a single minute.

I drew a deep breath as I stepped into the White House kitchen. I appreciated the silence—the solitude. Making my way into the dark room, I turned on the light and inhaled the faint scent of disinfectant. The surfaces were swiftly cleaned between projects and left sparkling every evening. Preventing illness from food-borne germs was of utmost importance.

Making my way to the cabinet where we kept fresh smocks and aprons, I donned mine for the day and surveyed the quiet scene with a sigh, longing to get back to normal with Bucky and Cyan. And yet, after Cyan’s admission the other day, I knew the three of us would never again experience the same carefree normal we’d had. The impending loss of my spunky assistant weighed heavily on my heart.

As I wiped down the kitchen surfaces in anticipation of preparing breakfast, I forced myself to focus on the positive. Marcel was coming back. Even if he didn’t have the use of both hands to prepare his fabulous desserts, he would be another stabilizing presence here. Another set of eyes.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, Bucky,” I said. “You’re in early.”

He pulled out a smock and apron. “Pot calling the kettle black?”

“I guess we both need a little quiet time before today’s fun, don’t we?”

He finished tying on his apron. “Have you ever noticed that things are never really quiet around here for long? I mean, we’re in the middle of a government sequester. Shouldn’t this be a time when nothing happens? And here we are, entertaining a brigade of foreign chefs who don’t even seem to like us very much.”

I stopped wiping things down. “Have you noticed that we work in the capital of the United States, reporting to someone who could arguably be considered the most powerful man on earth?”

“Peter Everett Sargeant?”

Laughter burst out of me, spontaneous and loud. “Good one,” I said. “But I was referring to a man who might
actually
hold the power. I didn’t mean the man who only believes he does.”

“Oh,” he said with a smirk, “my mistake.”

We talked a little bit about Cyan’s future as we pulled together ingredients for the First Family’s breakfast. The president always tried to make time to enjoy the morning meal with his family on weekdays before the kids went to school. We had about an hour before the butlers would arrive to pick it up. Plenty of time.

“She was anxious about telling you, Ollie,” Bucky said. “It wasn’t easy for her.”

“It wasn’t easy for me to hear.”

“What do you think she’ll do?”

Preparing to make a veggie frittata, I broke eggs into a wide bowl. “She can probably do anything she wants. After working here, she could find a position as executive chef at any number of top restaurants or hotels. She could write a book. Make speeches. Go on tour.”

“Is that what you plan to do when you’re finished here?”

I held an egg aloft, stopping myself from cracking it as I mulled the question. “I can’t say that I’ve thought that far ahead.”

“You? Not think ahead?” Bucky dug out a cast-iron skillet and began warming it on the stovetop.

I struggled for the right words, “I’ve never planned for more because this really is the job I’ve always wanted. In fact, it’s more than I could have hoped for.”

“You can say that again. Speaking of which, what did you and Kilian talk about yesterday?”

As I beat the eggs, I thought about everything Kilian had said. “Sounds to me as though their government is a lot more oppressive than we know.” Because Kilian had spoken to me in confidence, I didn’t reveal what he’d told me about Tibor. Nor did I bring up Kilian’s reaction to my mention of seeking asylum.

Granted, I knew little about the actual process of requesting political asylum. For all I knew, Kilian lived a happy, productive life in Saardisca and it was simply a passing interest in our culture that led him to appear so wistful. And yet, I sensed that there was more beneath the surface.

“
Oppressive
isn’t the word I’d use. Hector was telling me a little about life in Saardisca,” Bucky said.

“They’re from four different provinces. I get the feeling that life can vary greatly from one area to the next.”

“I’ve gotten that impression as well, but I have to tell you that Hector and Nate don’t seem to have any complaints. They’re more lighthearted than the other two.”

I got the feeling that Kilian could be lighthearted in the right circumstances. “More than Tibor, that’s for sure.”

“What is up that guy’s craw, anyway?” Bucky asked. “You’d think that two weeks in a different country would be a vacation for him. Or at least a new experience he’d choose to embrace. I get the feeling he doesn’t care for the United States in the least.”

“His loss.” Tempted to speak on the man’s behalf, I held my tongue. If what Kilian had told me about Tibor was true, I was willing to cut the guy a little slack. As much as I didn’t abide a bad attitude, given Tibor’s past, I needed to exercise patience when dealing with him.

Bucky wasn’t looking at me, but wore a thoughtful expression. “What if he’s got family back there that he misses?” Now he looked up. “A wife. Kids. You know, people he cares about. I could see how two weeks away might not be such a coup after all.”

I tossed chopped bell peppers into a frying pan, causing the bits to sizzle and jump, releasing the vegetable’s sweet, green aroma. Stirring, I said, “We don’t really know anything about these men. The Saardiscans provided resumes about their work and no more. They may
all
have families.”

“Nate’s a single guy who lives on his own,” Bucky said, looking pleased to be a source of information. “I guess he got lucky to get a culinary internship. The state of cooking in Saardisca, at least in his province, is way behind that of Kilian’s and Tibor’s. Hector and Nate are both surprised at how much more we can do here than they can there.”

“That’s good that you’re getting to know them. Good that they seem eager.” I was curious as to whether Tibor talked about family, knowing what Kilian had told me. “Did Hector and Tibor talk about their backgrounds, too?”

Bucky shook his head. “Tibor was tight-lipped. Hector talked about his younger brother, who apparently also works in the culinary arts. I guess there is a little sibling rivalry going on because only one chef per province was allowed to come here. Hector’s brother worked hard, but ultimately washed out. Hector seems really proud of the kid.”

I poured the beaten eggs into the frying pan and stirred until the bottom was evenly coated. “They’re going to be here for another week and a half. If the past days are any indication, we’re in for a bumpy ride. The more we get to know these fellows, the more we’ll discover common ground.”

Sounds of movement rolled in from the corridor and two Secret Service agents escorted our four guests in for the day.

“Good morning,” I said to them.

“Good morning,” they chorused in heavy Saardiscan accents. Hector and Nate smiled and raised their hands in greeting. Kilian, behind them followed suit. When he met my eyes, I could have sworn he was silently asking if I’d kept his confidence. I gave what I hoped was an assured smile and a quick nod. Tibor must have caught the movement because he scowled at me.

The group opened the cabinet, grabbing their share of today’s smocks and aprons, just as Bucky and I had done when we’d first arrived. I liked the fact that we were establishing routines.

At that very moment the butlers arrived to take breakfast up to the First Family. Bucky and I put the finishing touches on the dishes, plated and garnished everything, and sent the food on its way. Perfect timing. Good omen.

For the first time since the new people arrived, I felt optimistic and confident.

Sargeant stepped into the kitchen, this time without his faithful assistant in tow. “Good morning,” he said. A genuine smile creased the chief usher’s features, making me instantly wary.

As everyone responded, I took a preemptive step forward, hoping to halt him from making any more pronouncements without informing me first.

“Peter,” I said, effectively blocking his way into the rest of the room, “what brings you to our kitchen this fine morning? Something we need to discuss in private?”

“I understand that Marcel is returning.”

“You understand correctly.”

His gaze was direct, slightly impatient. I knew he wanted me to move, but I didn’t budge.

“We will be having a visitor today,” he said.

“Oh?”

He gave me a pointed look, clearly asking me to step out of the way. “May I?” he asked.

Grudgingly, I obliged him. “Be my guest.”

He placed his hands together, fingers close to his lips, as though praying. “We have received word that the esteemed Saardiscan candidate for president, Kerry Freiberg, will be arriving this morning to meet with President Hyden.”

The Saardiscan chefs murmured their surprise. From what I could tell, all but Tibor were pleased.

“Are we preparing lunch for them?” I asked.

Sargeant continued. “No need to stop what you’re doing. Ms. Freiberg will be dining in the West Wing, with the Navy Mess providing meals for all guests. And yes, the Navy Mess has already been notified.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

Addressing the group, he went on. “Ms. Freiberg has expressed her desire to come visit you.” Sargeant spread his hands out, gesturing toward the four Saardiscans. “Because she wasn’t expected to visit for several more days, we don’t have an exact time for her arrival yet. I wanted you to be aware, however, that at some point during her visit today, she will come down here to see the kitchen. I will keep in touch with Chef Paras to update her as needed. If you have any questions you can direct them to her.”

Eyes sharp, Sargeant turned to me. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It could have been worse,” I admitted. “What changed?”

“She’s chosen to add a stop in Philadelphia to her itinerary, after her visit here but before New York. It was easier to adjust the first few days of her schedule than to rearrange everything else.”

“Anything else I need to know at this point?”

“You may have very little advance notice,” he said. “It’s unfortunate, but we’re all scrambling. Be prepared.”

“You got it,” I said.