The next day, Karen made a point of seeking the president out, which got her invited to the meeting with Gus and Jean that afternoon.

“This could be a real problem,” Mark told them. “I know Sharon is great PR, but I can’t afford her losing credibility because everyone sees her as my arm candy. We’ve got to find a way to get the press off the dresses.”

Karen and Jean looked at each other and nodded.

“Actually, we were about to suggest the same thing,” Jean said slowly.

Karen nodded. “It’s that blond thing. She’s female, she’s attached to you, it must be about the pretty looks.”

“So what do we do?” Mark asked.

“Two things,” said Gus. “Why not set her up on the pundit rounds? She could even do that comedy channel’s news show. Put her in a position to talk about what we’re doing to build our foreign relations and someone’s going to notice that she’s got brains. You might even want her on… What’s his name’s show, the big mouth. She’ll make mincemeat of the turkey.”

“That’s if we can get her to do it,” said Karen. “She’s not joking about preferring a lower profile.”

Jean shrugged. “I think Gus can talk her into it. But what’s the second point?”

“Keep her off the photo lines,” Gus said, shifting in his chair. “Meet her inside the venue.”

“She’ll like that,” said Mark. “Okay. Let me think about it. As for the pundit rounds, keep it light. She’s pretty busy. And come to think of it, so am I. Do we need to discuss anything else?”

The others didn’t and the meeting was dismissed. Outside the Oval Office, Karen and Gus decided to talk to Sharon together. Sharon, not surprisingly, declined. Until Wednesday.

The first day of the baseball season wasn’t that big a day for Mark in many respects. What happened on the mound when he threw out the first pitch would have no permanent ramifications. His political career would be largely unaffected. Nonetheless, most of the Advisory Board was in the presidential box by the time batting practice started, along with some of the press staff and Johnnie and her husband, Tyrone.

June had seen to it that everyone had jerseys and hats from their hometown teams. Although since Karen didn’t care and Sharon did, Sharon got the Dodgers jersey and Karen wore the Angels. Oddly enough, Sharon was the one who had lived, for a time, in the shadow of Anaheim stadium and Karen not far from Dodger stadium.

As Sharon entered the box, she smiled at the preponderance of Minnesota Twins jerseys. Both Eddie and Johnnie were from Minneapolis. June, of course, was decked out in Twins regalia. But Sharon noted an average-sized man standing next to June who looked vaguely familiar, also sporting a Minnesota jersey.

June waved Sharon over. “Come here and meet my dad!”

Thomas Jerguessen was considerably shorter than June and Mark, but he had passed his green eyes and square jaw onto his son. Sharon marveled at how little June resembled her father.

“How do you do, Mr. Jerguessen?” Sharon asked, shaking his hand.

“Fine, thanks, and call me Thomas,” he answered, his smile both warm and rather familiar. “So I hear you’re one of June’s latest B- Whaddya call it?”

“Dad,” June laughed. “BFF – Best Friends Forever.”

“Right,” Thomas said. He turned back to Sharon. “I’m glad. June deserves good friends.”

“I’m doing my best.”

Thomas glanced at her jersey. “National League, huh?”

“’Fraid so,” Sharon said.

“Ladies and gentlemen, will you please rise and join in our national anthem,” the loudspeaker announced.

Sharon went to the viewing platform in the box, followed closely by June and everyone else. Thomas noted with satisfaction that Sharon remembered to take her hat off. June was startled by Sharon’s excellent singing voice, as she harmonized with Eddie, Gus and Karen.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice crashed over the cheers from the end of the anthem. “Throwing out the first pitch of this year’s baseball season, the President of the United States, Mark Jerguessen.”

The crowd cheered loudly as Mark trotted out to the mound wearing a Nationals jersey and cap.

“It’s a good thing he doesn’t have any buttons on his sleeves,” June muttered to Sharon as Mark waved to the crowd.

“He doesn’t look all that nervous,” Sharon said. “But Al and I had a briefing with him earlier today and I don’t think he heard five words.”

“He threw pitches at Dad last night for two hours,” June said. “He wasn’t this stressed on election night.”

Mark went into a full wind up from the pitcher’s mound, with the catcher crouched and ready behind home plate. Sure enough, the ball slapped into the mitt with a solid thunk and the crowd went wild. On the television in the box, one of the sportscasters noted that Mark had pitched in college. The board flashed the pitch’s speed – 79 miles an hour.

“Not bad for an amateur,” Gus said, nodding.

Sharon happened to glance over at June and Thomas and caught the nervous look between them. When Mark entered the box later, mid-way through the first inning, he greeted everyone with a smile, but Sharon noticed he was not happy.

He went out to the viewing platform to watch the game. Sharon came up to his side.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

Mark glared down as the National’s batter whiffed at a fast ball. “I should be.”

“That was one sweet pitch,” Sharon said. “Right on the inside corner.”

“Maybe.” Mark nodded at the batter. “But even he could’ve knocked that out of the park.”

“At seventy-nine miles an hour?”

Mark glared. “I wanted at least eighty.”

“Hmm.” Sharon tried not to laugh. “Okay. It sucks that you didn’t do as well as you wanted. I get how that feels. But your not-so-good was still miles better than what most of us could do. Including the team.”

Eddie came up. “Hey, Boss – I guess if this presidential thing don’t work out, you could tear up minor league ball.”

Mark chuckled as a whoop went up behind him from inside the box. Sharon looked up and saw a close up of her and Mark standing together at the rail. She couldn’t quite hear the commentary, but had a good idea of what was being said from the way Karen glared at Al. She retreated into the box, annoyed because she wanted to watch the game.

A minute later, she pulled Gus and Jean together and told them to set up a few appearances on some news shows.

Thomas, for his part, quietly watched the goings on, especially Mark. Later, as Thomas and Mark finished dinner together back at the White House, Thomas sat back.

“Good job on the mound today,” Thomas said quietly.

Mark shrugged. “I was clocking over 80 in practice.”

“Yeah. I heard.” Thomas played with a wine glass. “Sounds like you’re trying to impress everybody again.”

“Nah.” Mark winced, then sighed. “Maybe. I thought I was just trying to beat my personal best.”

“I’d say that’s legit except that you’re still sulking about it.” Thomas chuckled. “You’d think being president would be impressive enough.”

“Not if I want another four years,” Mark sighed. “Randler, over at the party headquarters, is already talking about the next election.”

“Throwing an 80-plus mile an hour fast ball isn’t going to get you a second term and you know it,” Thomas said.

Mark made a face and debated going back to work. Thomas stopped him.

“Mark, one of the things I’ve always admired about you is the way you keep trying to best yourself all the time. But we both know how that can get out of hand and we both know why it happens to you.”

“Look, I haven’t needed her approval since I was in high school.”

“Not intellectually, no. But sometimes it does get to you.” Thomas shrugged. “And it’s too bad. You did a hell of a job today and you couldn’t enjoy it because you had it in your head that you could have done better. So, I’m telling you to cut it out. Okay?”

Mark smiled awkwardly. “Yes, sir.”

“All right then. You promised me a game of chess, didn’t you?” Thomas got up and stretched.

Early Monday afternoon, June called Sharon from New York.

Barely missing a beat as she typed furiously on her laptop, Sharon hit her the button on her headset.

“Hey, June, what’s up?”

“Just checking in,” said June. “Five o’clock okay for your make up and hair for tonight?”

“Not even.” Sharon sighed and stopped typing. “I’ll just do my own in my office. I’m swamped, what with going home next week and the Mexico trip after that.”

“You sure?”

“It’ll have to do, June. But thanks.”

“Okay.” June hung up reluctantly.

But Sharon was relieved that June didn’t press the point. The formal dinner that night at the Russian embassy had originally been just a meeting with the ambassador. However, since the event at the South Korean embassy almost two weeks before had been such a success, the Russians had decided they’d better go one better. Sharon was glad her mother had shipped out all Sharon’s party clothes and formals the week before.

The dinner, itself, turned out to be beyond boring. Sharon was seated next to the ambassador, as dictated by correct seating. The only problem was that Mark was seated at the other end of the very long table next to the ambassador’s wife, whose English was not as good as she thought it was. Even more disturbing, after the dinner, as Mark and Sharon left the embassy, there were the usual questions about Sharon’s dress.

“This is ridiculous,” she grumbled as the presidential limo left the embassy.

“What?” asked Mark.

“All these stupid questions about what I’m wearing,” Sharon groaned. “Who cares? Nobody asks you who designed your formal wear. And I don’t even want to think what Jean’s going to say tomorrow.”

“Why would Jean say anything?”

“Because I have no clue who designed my dress,” Sharon replied, testily. “I didn’t say so, but I got it off the rack my first year out of college when a whole bunch of us were sent to a company retreat, and then told we had to dress for dinner.”

“It’s a very nice dress,” Mark said, feeling somewhat wary. It was a very nice dress, strapless and straight in apricot silk with a jeweled belt. “But why are you so prickly about it?”

Sharon sighed. “Because our honored guest from Russia kept making eyes at me all through dinner. I tried to talk to him about some of our talking points, but he kept blowing me off. He didn’t say anything, but it just felt like he didn’t want to talk business with the president’s date.”

“You may have a point.” Mark frowned.

“It probably wouldn’t be so bad if I got asked substantive questions on the press line. But all they want to know is who I’m wearing.”

Mark nodded and pulled his iPhone from his pocket. “All right, I’ll make a note to talk strategy on this with Jean and Gus. Do you want in on the discussion?”

“Can’t even if I wanted to,” Sharon said, pulling out her Blackberry. She kept one eye on it as she scrolled through her email and messages. “I’m trying to get on top of several things, including that Mexico trip. Plus we’ve probably got a situation in Nigeria developing and you don’t want to know what a mess the Middle East is again.”

Mark winced. “You’re right, I don’t. But I’ll probably have to soon enough.”

“Well, you’ll get it in your national security briefing tomorrow.” Sharon paused as she read an email. “Good news, it doesn’t look like it’s going to break out in open hostility.”

“Good.” Mark shifted and rubbed his left shoulder.

“You okay?” Sharon asked.

“Oh, yeah. Just a little stiff. It’s been a few years since I pitched overhand.”

“Pitched?”

“I’m throwing out the first pitch of the season at the National’s game on Wednesday.” Mark grinned. “I’ve been working out with their pitching coach.”

Sharon snorted. “Given their bullpen, you’d have done better with a Little League coach.”

“Very funny.” Mark chuckled. “He clocked me at 83 miles an hour.”

“In the strike zone?” Sharon grinned.

Mark shrugged. “Mostly.” He looked at her again. “You’re a baseball fan.”

“Yeah. It was Dad’s way of keeping us in touch with our U.S roots since we were living everywhere else. I’ve been rooting for the Dodgers all my life.”

“Hmmm.” Mark grinned. “This could be a problem. You realize that June and I are big Minnesota fans.”

“I suppose I could cut you some slack on that.” Sharon smiled, as well.

At Sharon’s townhouse, Mark walked her to her door, but didn’t go in.

In California, Cameron Dykstra was trying to hold onto her temper with both hands.

“Toby, you can wait until after you finish college,” she said through gritted teeth. “Hollywood will still be there.”

Cameron was a tall woman, almost as tall as her ex-husband, Michael Wheatly. She had the same blond hair as him, with deep blue eyes and a willowy build, although the hips were getting somewhat padded as the years wore on.

“Like I don’t know that!” Toby hollered back. “It’s not about waiting. It’s about me being bored out of my skull for the next six years just because you want me to be normal.”

“I never said I wanted you to be normal,” Cameron growled back as she watched her elder daughter pace the living room. “I want you to have a normal life. You need to be grounded before you try to work in that industry.”

“But I am grounded, Mom. I’m not going to do drugs or get pregnant or drink and drive. I know better.” Toby stopped pacing just long enough to face her mother down.

“And I know how easy it is to get caught in that nonsense. I’ve seen it happen too many times.”

“Dad didn’t do it and you can’t say he didn’t have the chance.”

Cameron bit back her rage. “You leave your father out of this.”

“Why? Are you still angry at him? Is that why you’re forcing me to be some normal person? Just so you can prove I’m not him?”

“Tabitha Marie, I said to leave your father out of this.” Cameron felt the tears rushing to her eyes, but decided she wasn’t going to give in. “He agreed that the best thing for you girls was to give you as normal a life as possible. That is why you live with me. And that is why you are not going to the High School for Performing Arts.”

“I have an audition, Mom!” Toby shrieked. “Do you know how hard those are to get?”

“An audition you applied for without my permission.” Cameron felt her voice rising and tried to calm it, but it was too late. “Or your father’s, I might add. Weren’t you grounded long enough when you called that agent?”

“She called me.”

“And I told you not to call her back. Period. End of sentence. Frankly, I have had it with your end runs and your constant attempts to defy me. You are going to your room and you are going to stay there for the rest of the weekend. Do you understand?”

Toby glared at her and stomped off. Cameron went back to the kitchen, sniffling.

In her room, Toby slammed the door shut, then pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

“Daddy?” she asked when Michael answered.

“Hey, Tobester, what’s up?”

“I want to live with you!” Toby sobbed. “Mom hates me. I just want to act and she won’t let me do anything. I even got an audition for the High School for the Performing Arts in New York and she’s all mad just because I sent the application in.”

Michael took a deep breath. “You must be feeling really angry.”

He glanced over at Inez, who lifted an eyebrow. He shrugged.

The odds were fairly good that Toby was not telling him the whole story. But at the same time, Michael had been feeling increasingly uncomfortable with Cameron’s philosophies of late. The situation was going to take some delicate maneuvering.

Toby complained on. Michael smiled weakly at Inez. She’d gone to considerable trouble to make a special dinner for the two of them. Inez’ family was, in fact, Puerto Rican, but Inez had crossed cultures to make Michael’s favorite Mexican dishes – cheese enchiladas with lightly pickled cabbage, chiles rellenos and rice. The table had been set with candles and the two were finishing the last of a gewurtraminer they’d picked up on a special trip a couple years before to California. Which meant that Inez had something up her sleeve.

Inez waved at him that he should let Toby talk and began clearing the table. Finally Michael was able to get a word in edgewise.

“Honey, I get that you’re upset, but why did you apply in the first place?” Michael asked.

“Ms. Collins said I should,” Toby replied.

“Ms. Collins?”

Toby harrumphed. “My drama teacher. She knows you live in New York. I thought if I got an audition Mom might get it into her head that I’m, like, not normal.”

“Did you tell your mom about Ms. Collins.”

“She didn’t even give me a chance! Dad, can’t you do anything? I can’t take any more.”

Michael sighed. “Toby, I know this is a difficult situation, and I will talk to your mother and get her side of the story. She is your mother. We both owe her that much respect.”

“And you’re my dad. You get some say in what happens to me.”

“Yes, I do. But you know I’m not going to let you play us against each other. And keep in mind, Inez has to be part of the decision, too. It’s all about making the best possible choice for all of us, including you.”

“All right,” Toby grumbled.

“Honey, I just don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep. Hang tight and I love you. Okay?”

“Okay. I love you, too.”

Michael hung up, feeling the depths of Toby’s despair.

“How is she?” Inez asked softly, sitting down in her seat next to the table.

Michael shook his head. “Some of it’s typical adolescent, the world’s coming to an end angst. But some of it, I hate to say it, but she’s got a legitimate gripe.”

“What’s up?”

“Cameron. You know how she’s bent on the girls having a normal life, but Toby wants to act.”

“Oh lord,” Inez sighed. “Did she get another agent?”

“No. She applied to the High School for the Performing Arts behind her mom’s back.”

Inez chuckled. “She used your address?”

“Oh yeah. And blamed it on her teacher’s suggestion. Even odds, it was the teacher.” Michael fidgeted with his wine glass. “Either way, Toby got an audition and Cameron blew a gasket.” Michael shook his head. “Problem is, I’m really beginning to think Cameron’s pushing this normal thing too hard, especially with Toby.”

“She doesn’t want Toby to get into all the drugs and drinking and sex.”

“Like she can’t at school?” Michael got up and started pacing in the open space between the dining room and the living room. “Toby wants to come live with us.”

“Oh.” Inez blinked and swallowed, then held her breath. “What do you want?”

“Inez, I’m not going to tell her to come on out without talking it over with you.” Michael’s pacing picked up and his arms flew as he gestured. “This is a big decision and it’s not like you’re not involved. I mean, what kind of a jerk would I be if I didn’t consult you first?”

“A jerk who loves his daughter?”

Michael sank onto the living room couch. “God, I’d love to have her. I’ve hated not being around and missing out all the time.”

“I know.” Inez sighed.

“But what about you? What do you want?” Michael was back on his feet.

“I want her.” Inez studied her fingernails She looked up. “Seriously, Michael, you know I love your girls. I just…”

“Just what?” Michael noted the candle on the table that was still burning. “You had something you wanted to discuss with me tonight, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I just don’t think this is the best time.”

“Oh, great.” Michael turned on her. “What? And what does this have to do with Toby?”

“Everything and nothing.” Inez looked out the front windows, her eyes filling with tears. “I want a baby.”

“You’ve been saying for years you don’t want kids. That’s why we’re not married.”

“I know.” Inez sniffed. “And I didn’t. Only now, Julie Alvarez. She’s my age and she can’t get pregnant. And I wasn’t able to before when I was trying and I was nine years younger than I am now. And I see my sister and my friends and they have babies and they’re so happy and…”

Michael flopped onto the couch. “Well, this is a hell of a time to drop this on me!”

“Drop this on you!” Inez bounced to her feet. “Excuse me. You’re the one who wanted me to tell you. And it’s not about you, anyway. It’s about me and what I need and want. I mean, you’re part of it.”

“And that’s exactly my problem. I’m the sperm donor. Do I get a say beyond that? Do you even care whether or not I want to be a daddy again?”

“Of course I care. But you need to hear me, too. You need to pay attention to where I’m at instead of only worrying about how it affects you. It affects both of us and I’m the part that you always forget.”

Michael started pacing again. “I don’t always forget you.”

“You forget often enough.”

“It’s not like you let me.”

Inez groaned. “Well, somebody has to keep your ego in check. Sheez, Michael. Sometimes I think you believe all the hype.”

“That was low.” Still, Michael looked away guiltily.

“But not wrong.”

He looked at Inez, who held her ground next to the table, her eyes daring him to try to contradict her. He took a deep breath.

“I want to be crystal clear here – I’m not saying no,” he said slowly. “And I want to get married. But I’m not wild about starting over again with a kid. Even if Toby doesn’t come to live with us. Inez, we’re having enough trouble adjusting. And if Toby comes, I don’t even want to think about how much crazier that’s going to make things.”

“I’m not saying it will be easy. And I’m not saying we have to.” Inez came over and slid her arms around Michael’s waist. “But I’ve got something really good here and it just seems right. I can’t help thinking how special it would be to have your child. The two of us, working together to help a new little one grow up.”

“And what if we split up,” Michael said softly.

“Ah.” Inez nodded.

“I don’t want to raise another kid on weekends again.” Michael pulled out of her arms.

“I know.” Inez sighed. “Miguel, I can promise all you like. But we both know things happen.” She smiled softly. “Why don’t we use Toby as a test run? I mean, she’s at that tough time in her life. If we can make that work, won’t it be easier to decide about a baby?”

Michael nodded. “If we can get Cam to let Toby come.” He sighed. “We can’t let Toby pull this end run nonsense off.”

“You’re right. But she knows she’s never gotten away with it before. It could be she really is crying for help, here. So give yourself a day. Then talk to Cam and see what the two of you can work out. It’s like you told Toby – what’s best for all of you.”

“No.” Michael reached out and pulled Inez close to him. “It’s what’s best for all of us.”

“Yeah. Us.”

Michael spent the better part of that evening pacing the apartment. The next morning, he went out for an extended walk, then paced the apartment some more. Finally, around lunchtime, he did an extended consultation with Inez, then picked up his cell phone.

Cameron, in Pasadena, was quietly making breakfast. The tension in the house was all but suffocating.  Jodi was hiding in her room and Toby refused to leave hers. Cameron was less than enthused to see her ex-husband’s number in the caller ID but picked up her cell phone anyway.

“Hey, Michael.”

“Cameron, I think you need to know that Toby called me yesterday.”

She sighed. Michael was using his reasonable tone, which meant she probably wasn’t going to like what he had to say. It also meant he probably had good reason to use it.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” Cameron said. “Complaining about me?”

“Yeah. And I just listened and validated her feelings.” Michael paused. “And while I do not approve her going behind your back on the school application, Cameron, I have to say I really think it’s time to re-visit the whole normal life thing.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Michael! I thought you supported me on that.”

“I do and I have. And you’ve done a terrific job with the girls. It’s just that they’re kind of getting past the white picket fence routine.”

“What would you know about it?” Cameron felt her voice rising. “You’re not here.”

“Because you asked me not to come around that often.” Michael’s voice got tight. “You didn’t even want me living in the same state. I moved to New York because you didn’t want me around any more often than the court said. And the only reason I agreed is that I didn’t want the girls caught in the middle of an ugly situation.”

Cameron swallowed as she got her grip again. “Point taken. But Michael, they’re in the dangerous years, the easiest time to turn their heads. Their judgment just isn’t there yet.”

“No, not entirely,” Michael conceded. “But, Cameron, their judgment is better than you think. And when you consider I know where the pitfalls are. I know how to warn Toby off them. Cam, she’s going to act whether you want her to or not. Wouldn’t it be better if she did it while under my wing instead of flying off on her own because you won’t let her?”

“I think I know what’s best for my daughter.”

“Our daughter, Cameron. She’s my kid, too. And I have supported you, a few times against my better judgment. But I’ve done it because I trusted you. And now it’s time you trust me.”

“What do you want?” Cameron growled.

“I want Toby to come live with me in New York so she can go to the High School for Performing Arts, assuming she gets in, some other acceptable school if she doesn’t. In any case, I will supervise any acting she does.”

“I want her to have a normal life.”

“It will be the kind of life that she finds normal, with other kids like her.”

Cameron bit her lip. “I’ll think about it.”

“Do that.” Michael debated briefly making his threat, but decided it would be better to wait before threatening the lawyers.

As Cameron slowly closed her phone, she noticed that Jodi had slipped into the kitchen.

“Talking to Dad?” Jodi asked.

“Yep.”

“About Toby?”

“Jodi, this is between your father and me.”

Jodi shrugged as she went to the pantry and pulled out a box of cereal. “I overheard Toby talking to Grandpa Dykstra. She said she wants to live with Dad.”

“She called Grandpa?” Cameron shook her head, trying to clear the fury she felt. “What else did she do? Release it to the press?”

“Don’t think so.” Jodi got a bowl out of the cupboard and milk from the fridge. She looked at her mom. “But she might if she thought of it.”

Cameron sank into a chair.

“Mom, maybe she should go live with Dad.” Jodi shrank back a little as Cameron glared at her. “I know you want us to have a normal life. But, Mom, we’re not normal and it has nothing to do with Dad. It’s just us.”

“I don’t want her to get caught in all the partying and drugs and sex and…”

“What? Like she can’t get caught in that here at school?” Jodi filled her bowl. “Dude. It’s almost more weird that she isn’t sleeping around or drinking or smoking pot or doing pills or-”

“Enough. I don’t need a litany.”

“I’m not kidding, Mom. You talk about consequences all the time and most of the girls in my class – not a clue what those are. They get in trouble, their folks buy them out of it. Oh no, they didn’t do anything. Until one of them overdoses, then all the parents are, like, we’ve got to crack down on this kind of behavior.” Jodi rolled her eyes. “Except that it’s never their kid. It’s always someone else’s. It’s not like you or Dad. You guys never let us get away with anything.”

“I’m the one who doesn’t let you get away with anything,” Cameron grumbled.

“Dad doesn’t either. Trust me. He thought I got snarky with Inez once, made me scrub the toilets and the floors in his apartment. Twice in one day.” Jodi rolled her eyes again and started eating. “Toby thinks he’s so nice? You may as well let her go. She’ll find out the hard way.”

Cameron sighed, then went back to her bedroom before calling Michael.

“Yeah?”

“How do we do this, Michael? I don’t want Toby rewarded for going behind my back.”

“I don’t either. How about this? She said her teacher wanted her to apply to the school. Why don’t you talk to Ms. Collins and find out what really happened? If Toby was on the level, then we let her audition and go from there. If she wasn’t, she spends her first month here grounded and goes to another school. Fair enough?”

“That makes sense.” Cameron paused. “How often do I get to see her?”

“As often as you want. I’ll take care of the travel arrangements. It’ll be fine, Cameron. You’ve done a good job with her. She’s grounded and solid. And neither of us are going to let her get away with any nonsense. Those aren’t the kids who get in trouble. Okay?”

“Okay.” Cameron’s reply was dull and lifeless. But Michael was right.

As that afternoon turned into evening, Sharon realized with a start that she had a date. Avoiding Gus Guerrero’s office, she hurried out of the White House and onto the Metro, getting off at Foggy Bottom and the Georgetown district.

The bar was nothing exceptional – the normal wood and brass kind of place attached to a restaurant best known for attracting the right people. The bar was crowded with all kinds of folk, especially Congressional staffers and lobbyists. The music wasn’t pounding too loudly and Sharon could see through the dim light a series of semi-circular booths lining the back wall. Max hadn’t arrived. Sharon decided to stand in the restaurant’s waiting area. Max showed up almost exactly 15 minutes late. Sharon made a point of walking over to him and kissing him on the cheek.

“Wow,” said Max with an evil grin. “Are we trying to tell the boyfriend something?”

“More like the people who insist he is my boyfriend,” Sharon said amiably.

“Got it,” said Max.“You want to eat here or just have drinks and eat somewhere else?” He bent closer, putting his mouth to her ear. “Frankly, I’d recommend eating someplace else. The food here isn’t bad, but I checked with our restaurant critic and she suggested a couple other spots that are a lot better.”

“It depends on the profile,” sighed Sharon. “We are here to be seen.”

“Tell you what,” Max said. “Why don’t we have drinks here and we’ll go someplace else for dinner. That’ll get you seen more places.”

He gently took her elbow and steered her into the bar. Smiling, he grabbed a table and made a point of pulling out a chair for Sharon and seating her. Sharon barely had time to look at the cocktail menu before Max had summoned a waiter.

“What can I get for you tonight?” the waiter asked, an average size young man with a bad case of acne and white shirt and a striped tie he could have gotten from a congressional intern.

Sharon squinted at the menu while Max ordered a premium scotch with water on the side.

“I’ll have a glass of the house chardonnay,” Sharon said when the waiter turned to her.

As the waiter left, Max grinned and leaned forward over the table.

“I wouldn’t pick you as a wine by the glass kind of girl,” he said.

Sharon shrugged. “A place like this, they’re going through it fast enough and it’s a drinkable label. So, tell me about growing up in Germany.”

Max launched into a monologue about his childhood in German schools and coming back to the United States for college, then deciding to become a journalist. He asked Sharon briefly whether she’d spent any time in Germany, but then interrupted her answer to talk about an amusing incident from a high school trip to Italy.

And the evening went on from there, with Max making all the choices about where to go and what to do next, although Sharon had to concede, he did have a nose for a good restaurant. Max did listen occasionally, but just as often interrupted whatever Sharon was saying. Still, he kept any lewd innuendos to a minimum and didn’t protest too much when Sharon left him cooling his heels at a rather trendy nightclub not far from the university.

The next day, Saturday, much of the White House office staff, including the Advisory Board, gathered at the White House to play softball – yet another attempt at team building by Marian Jefferson. Mark got to play, but couldn’t pitch because he wanted to throw overhand to practice for baseball opening day, when he’d be expected to throw out the first pitch.

Sharon found herself mostly playing the outfield, which bored her silly, although she did manage one good catch when Jean Bouyer lobbed one into right field. More annoying, Gus was waiting for her after the game. He pulled her aside and checked that no one else was in earshot.

“How’d your date go last night?” Gus asked, anxiously.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Sharon grumbled. “Augie, I’m a grown woman. I can handle Max Epstein.”

“No kidding,” Gus replied. “But I’m not sure he can handle you.”

“What?”

Gus fidgeted with his mitt. “Max has got issues.”

“I noticed. But they’re not that big a deal.” Sharon looked at Gus more carefully. “Everyone thinks you’re worried about me getting my heart broken.”

Gus shrugged and looked out over the South lawn. The snow was long gone, but in spite of constant manicuring by the garden staff, there was the odd muddy spot here and there. The evergreens were dark against the budding dogwoods and other deciduous trees dotting the border of the huge expanse of grass.

“Yes and no,” Gus said finally. “It’s happened before, though.” He winced and led Sharon back toward the West Wing. “The problem with Max is he doesn’t know when to quit.”

“He didn’t push anything with me,” Sharon said. “He was a little controlling, but otherwise, he was pretty nice. And when he did that interview, he’d obviously done his homework.”

“He’s a great reporter.” Gus nodded, his big square head bobbing. “That’s not the problem. He’s just not good dating.”

“No kidding.” Sharon started to head off to her office, but Gus stopped her again.

“Okay, I’m not worried about you getting your heart broken.” Gus paused. “But maybe you should be worried about breaking his heart.”

Sharon turned to Gus. “What?”

Gus sighed loudly. “It’s Max. Like you said, he’s pretty nice but controlling. The problem is, he thinks he’s really hot.”

“And how many men don’t?” Sharon laughed. “Come on, Augie. You think I couldn’t figure that one out?”

“No, no, no, no.” Gus winced again. “Wheaties, you only think you’ve got Max figured out. He comes off pretty badly when he’s dating, but that’s not who he is.”
Sharon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure.” Gus shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve dated the guy. For one thing, Max is straight and I was already with Emilio when Max and I met. But I’ve heard from both sides. Some of Max’s girlfriends came to me when they were going out. And then Max started crying on my shoulder.” Gus sighed again, even more deeply than before. “Max isn’t that bad a guy. He’s just really, really lousy at dating. I think it’s that he was raised by his dad. He was in the Air Force, you know.”

“Yeah. I remember Max saying something about that.” Sharon looked Gus over. “So, what’s the big deal about me dating him?”

“I don’t want either of you getting hurt,” Gus said, finally. “I know. You can take care of yourself. But I don’t want you hurting Max, either. He’s a decent guy. He deserves somebody really nice who knows how to handle him. The last thing he needs is you making mincemeat out of him.”

Sharon smiled. “I don’t want to do that, either, Augie.” She suddenly frowned. “He hasn’t said anything, has he? I mean, he’s not falling for me? I left him cooling his heels last night and he seemed okay with that.”

“I don’t know.” Gus thought it over, then checked his cellphone. “He hasn’t called me, but that doesn’t mean he would. On the other hand, he did call when you asked him out last Wednesday. I don’t know.”

Sharon sighed. “Is he going to get terribly upset if I make it clear I’d rather just be friends?”

“I don’t know. If he has any women friends, I’ve never seen them. But we’re only work buddies, at the club and all.”

“Well, you’re close enough to care about him.” Sharon smiled. “Look, it wasn’t the best date I’ve been on, but he’s not terrible. How about if we both wait and see what happens?”

Gus brightened. “Sure. We can do that.”

“Good.” Sharon grinned. “I’d like to think I’ve finally outgrown high school.”

Gus laughed. “I’d like to think we all have. Now, if only high school would stop following us around.”

Sharon laughed also and the two went back to their respective offices.

It wasn’t the mean-spirited nature of the emails that flummoxed Sharon. It was the sheer number of them.

“They’re all the same,” she told Gwen McKelvey over the phone Thursday. “You’re a manipulative witch and stay away from him, whoever he is. But there’s thousands and thousands of them.”

“Are they all from the same address?” Mackie asked.

“No. Different ones it looks like.”

Sharon could hear her pounding keys in the background. She had given Mackie access to her account and it sounded like Mackie had just pulled it up.

“Wow. Sure looks like a Trojan from here,” Mackie said.

“Oh dear. Can you fix my computer?” Sharon bit her lip.

“It’s not your computer,” Mackie said. “It’s all the other computers that the Trojan got installed on. You’re just the target. Or one of them. Tell you what. I’ll get the email company to get this all cleared out and your account reset.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

Except that after Friday’s meeting, Mackie followed Sharon to her office and shut the door.

“What’s up?” Sharon asked.

“That email attack,” Mackie said. “It looks like you were the sole target.”

“What about all those other computers?” Sharon asked.

Mackie sighed. “Their owners probably don’t even know they have a Trojan on their drives. It’s a particularly nasty bit of malware and in this case, set up to just send email to that one address of yours. I was able to contact a couple of the senders and found the code for the trojan. The scary thing is, all it does is send out occasional single messages to one address – yours. The heuristic-based anti-malware software isn’t going to pick it up because it’s not an unusual behavior on the drive. But you get enough computers doing it at the same time, then you get bombarded.”

“Who would want to do that?” Sharon shivered a little.

“That’s the hard part.” Mackie leaned over and gently grasped Sharon’s hand. “It wasn’t necessarily an attack against you. There’s nothing in the message or in the code to suggest a specific attack. Someone could have just picked up the address from one of your surfing sessions and decided to play with it. That person probably doesn’t even know who you are.”

Sharon sighed again. “So now what do I do?”

“We get you another email address. Although, just in case, I would make sure it’s not based on your name.”

Sharon made a face. “Sure. Why not? Oh, great. All my contacts are in that account. Can I transfer them over?”

“I put everything into a .csv file. You should be able to upload it onto almost anybody’s email. But I would stick with a webmail account. And remember to back up your contacts and saved emails on a regular basis.”

Mackie dropped a thumb drive onto Sharon’s desk and left the office.

“Damned nuisance,” Sharon grumbled and went back to work.

IM Session

Swheatly531: Got a minute?

Gloryhg: Yep. What can I do for you?

Swheatly531: Nothing much. I just wanted to let you know that I picked up your groceries. Had to substitute shitakes for the chanterelles. But the produce guy said morels should be in season soon.

Gloryhg: Cool. Thanks. Now, how do I pay you back?

Swheatly531: Don’t worry about it.

Gloryhg: Not worried about it, per se. But I’d prefer to keep things on the up and up, if you know what I mean.

Swheatly531: It’s a little low tech, but you could just write me a check. The total came out to $146.28. But I got the Sevruga caviar and a half dozen of the clochettes.

Gloryhg: Yum. I’ll go down now and drop the check in your office. Anyplace special you want it?

Swheatly531: The desk is fine. Hold on. Something weird is going on with my email. Catch you later.

Gloryhg: Catch you later.

Matt Jerguessen thought he heard the doorbell ring as he flipped through the channels on the TV in his room. It was late afternoon and there wasn’t much on. Several channels had the news on, most of them showing his dad talking to the press about some bill the state legislature was supposed to be passing.

Matt sighed. They’d talked about the bill earlier that day in his political science class – it was supposed to fund drug treatment for non-violent offenders, based on a successful program that a couple other states had instituted. But there were a lot of politicians, his father included, who didn’t want to pass it because they didn’t want to look soft on crime.

“Criminals belong in jail, not the hospital,” Harold Jerguessen intoned from the TV. “This is about justice and good stewardship of taxpayer money.”

Matt changed the channel again quickly, wondering if his dad would change his tune about the bill if he knew about his daughter’s drug habit. Never mind that the bill would actually save the state taxpayers a fortune.

His mother’s voice drifted up from downstairs. Matt quickly turned on a video game and put his head set on. With luck, she’d assume he hadn’t heard her.

Shawna Jerguessen sighed and excused herself to her guests with a smile. Of course, Matt hadn’t heard her. Climbing the stairs, she braced herself. The boy was getting more difficult and moody every day. There had to be a way to get him to socialize more.

She knocked on his door, knowing she wouldn’t get an answer. She opened it and shook her head. Matt was busy spraying some monster with gunfire. Perhaps it was time to take those horrible games away from him. She didn’t want him shooting up his high school – she didn’t think she could take the humiliation, not to mention what it would do to Harold’s career.

But Matt didn’t seem like a misfit and he didn’t seem to have any interest in guns. He didn’t even email that much and his web surfing seemed innocent enough. She made a point of keeping track of Matt’s computer and cell phone activity. Now, if only she could do something about him being such a loner. It just wasn’t healthy.

“Matt,” she announced. “Matthew?”

He didn’t answer, absorbed in his game. Sighing, she went and stood in front of the television.

“Mom!” he groaned. “I was just about to get to the next level.”

“Marissa and Brittany are here,” she said, sternly. “They’ve come to see you.”

“Why?” Matt grumbled.

“Matthew, would you please go downstairs and be sociable for a change?”

Heaving a tortured sigh, Matt got off the bed and followed his mother downstairs.

Even though the house had a colonial exterior, it had a thoroughly modern and open floor plan. Marissa and Brittany, young, thin, brown-haired and giggling, were waiting in front living room – a bright space with elegant beige furniture and walls that had been featured in a local luxury magazine.

Matt mumbled a greeting at them, thanks to a prod from his mother, who was standing right behind him.

“Matt, this is so important,” Marissa said. “You heard about Jimmy Langstrom getting arrested?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. Langstrom had tried to get Matt to deliver drugs to Matt’s sister DeeDee and then offered some to Matt, explaining that was how he’d gotten DeeDee hooked. The senior had been arrested the day before on drug charges and as far as Matt was concerned, jail was exactly where Langstrom belonged.

“You know he’s innocent,” Brittany chimed in. “So we’ve got this petition, see? And everybody’s signing it.”

“What’s a petition going to do?” Matt asked.

“Matthew,” his mother laughed gently. “Don’t be so silly. Jimmy needs your support.”

Matt shrugged. “I’m going back to my room. See you guys.”

Matt went back upstairs knowing full well he was in deep trouble with his mom. He had to get out of there. He listened for the door with one eye out his window, which overlooked the front of the house as he packed his backpack with his laptop and a couple notepads. Grabbing his parka and his car keys, he headed to the staircase in the hope that he could escape the house before his mother tracked him down.

But she was waiting for him in the living room.

“Matthew, we need to talk, young man,” she said sternly.

He stopped.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” Shawna continued. “Did you have to be so rude?” She waited as Matt shrugged. “Why, in Heaven’s name, couldn’t you have signed that petition?”

Matt glared at her.

“Obviously, darling, a petition will have no effect on Jimmy’s case, but you could have at least shown your support.” Shawna looked away, then got a better grip on her anger.

Matt snorted. “Support what? A drug dealer?”

“You don’t know that. Innocent until proven guilty.”

“Yeah, just like Ramon Gutierrez. Except he really was innocent.” Matt watched his mother take the hit with dull satisfaction.

Shawna hated being reminded of how her bigotry had cost their gardener his livelihood and all because some jewelry had turned up missing the day he’d been working on their yard. She’d had the gardener arrested, very publicly, only the jewelry turned up three days later, in her car. If Matt hadn’t found the jewelry and called the police, she would have let Gutierrez take the fall. Only by the time Gutierrez was released, all his customers had decided he wasn’t a safe risk.

“I’m outta here,” Matt announced, pushing past his mother.

“Where are you going?” Shawna demanded.

“Out.”

Feeling beyond helpless, Shawna watched her son stalk out of the house. His older sisters hadn’t been that difficult. There had been Tracy’s abortion when she was 12, but she was in college and seemed to be okay, dating a different boy every week. DeeDee’s behavior had been a little hyper the past couple years, but her grades were fine. Boys were different.

Shawna paced for a couple minutes then went into the kitchen and pulled an empty water bottle from the cupboard. It was getting close to dinner time, and the housekeeper was busy putting together a salad.

“It looks like it’s going to be just me tonight, Marta,” Shawna told her sadly.

“Very good, Meez Cherguessen,” Marta replied.

Shawna took her bottle into the dining room and after checking to see that Marta was fully occupied in the kitchen, Shawna opened the American Colonial style breakfront and pulled out a bottle of vodka, and filled the water bottle with it.

There were those who said Major Clive Willis had served at the White House since Ulysses S. Grant. That the man was old and an old school Southern gentleman there was no doubt. He was of medium height with bright white hair, faded blue eyes and the ramrod straight spine one associated with dancers or the military. He was technically retired from the U.S. Marine Corps, which is where he began his White House service and why he kept his title. It was generally accepted that the only way he was going to leave the White House was feet first.

“Good morning, Major,” Sharon said, pleasantly. “How can I help you today?”

“Good morning, Miss Wheatly,” he replied, his Southern drawl lengthening with his displeasure. “I was not aware that we have any foreign dignitaries on the schedule in the immediate future.”

“Next month, I believe,” Sharon replied. “The reception for the new Nigerian ambassador. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh, come on,” Solly growled, getting up. “The woman can come down here and consult with me on a dinner party she’s having, can’t she? Last I checked, it’s a free country.”

Major Wills looked at both women, nodded and left.

“You better get him off my back, too,” Solly grumbled softly to Sharon. “He is getting on my last nerve. I bet you anything, if I could’ve just talked straight up to Ms. Jerguessen or the President, we wouldn’t be having no problem with me not knowing what he’s taking for his own cooking. And I’d rather be talking to you about them foreign dignitaries than him any day.”

Sharon nodded. “I’ll tell Ms. Jerguessen about your concerns. But you’ve got to stop threatening to fire everybody. This is the White House. It’s due process.”

“But how am I-”

Sharon cut her off. “You can write them up. I’ll make sure you have the forms. And they will get read, and not by Major Wills. Okay?”

“Okay. But what are we going to do about the president? It’s awful hard to plan when you don’t know what’s going to turn up missing one day to the next.”

“Isn’t there someplace in the main kitchens down here where you can stash stuff?”

Solly frowned. “Hell, no. It’s too crazy and cramped down here. There’s barely room for the pastry station. Last big dinner we had, we were plating the salads in the hall. I tell you, if this weren’t the White House, I would not be here.”

Sharon thought. “It’s a pretty crazy place to work. Tell you what. Can you stick around ’til, say six-thirty, seven tonight?”

“Think so.” Solly looked over the schedule pinned to the bulletin board at the back of her office. “Ain’t nothing scheduled and the president usually likes his dinner around then, anyway. Lessee if he sent down his order yet.” She glared at the computer on her desk, then hit a couple buttons. “Nope. Nothing yet. He might be planning on cooking hisself tonight, but Major Goop says I still gotta be around, just in case.”

“Let me send an email or two.” Sharon began pressing buttons on her Blackberry. “I’ll give you a call as soon as I get an answer.”

Sharon hurried back to her office, texting as she went. June was delighted that it looked like things were resolved. Mark agreed to meet with Solly in the upstairs kitchen at 6:30 and invited Sharon to join them, which Sharon was hoping he would.

Solly, of course, already had clearance for the upper floors of the White House, since she or whichever of her cooks was on duty usually used the upstairs kitchen to prepare meals for the president and his sister. Sharon had to wait for an escort, and at 6:25 precisely, Major Wills showed up at the door to her office to take her upstairs.

Mark arrived at the same time and dismissed the major for the evening The major glanced at Sharon and left with a slight smirk on his face. Sharon started.

“Don’t worry about him,” Mark said. “It doesn’t matter what he’s thinking, he’s not going to say anything about it.”

“Still,” grumbled Sharon.

“Let me put it this way, the Major hinted that my predecessor had some preferences that would have totally blown his moral compass image and not a hint of it leaked.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “Are you sure said Major didn’t make some rash assumption?”

Mark chuckled. “I, uh, found some independent confirmation in the desk.”

Solly was waiting for them in the kitchen.

“Mr. President, this is Yasmin Sollette,” Sharon said, beckoning Solly forward.

“Oh, just call me Solly,” she said, blushing.

“Solly, it’s about time we got to meet.” Mark pushed forward and grasped her hand. “I tell you, I have been thoroughly enjoying your work. The food is just fabulous. I’d love your recipe for that gumbo you made the other night.”
“That’s gumbo – a little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

Sharon cut in. “We do have an issue to work out, sir. As I mentioned in my email, Solly has been rather frustrated by the way certain ingredients have been disappearing.”

“I am so sorry, Solly,” Mark said, charm oozing from every pore. “I had no idea. I just saw all these cool ingredients.”

“Apology accepted, sir.” Solly blushed again and let out a little giggle, then collected herself and grew stern. “I wouldn’t have minded so much if I’d'a known what was going on.”

“We are definitely going to have to establish some boundaries here, aren’t we?” said Mark, relaxing a little. “By the way, where are you getting that pure lard? That stuff is wonderful!”

Solly grinned. “I got an organic pig farmer down in Virginia that renders it. Cain’t really sell it, cuz of all them FDA rules, but I got some pull. I’ll get you some.”

“So I suppose, then, the issue is primarily about storage,” said Sharon. “Shall we lay out whose stuff goes where?”

Mark pulled off his suit jacket and loosened his tie while he and Solly went to work re-organizing stock and deciding what could be shared, what needed to be kept separate and how to tell when Solly was stashing something for an upcoming event or meal. Then there was the debate over who would actually cook dinner, with Solly insisting that it was, in fact, her job to do the cooking and Mark countering that after the grief he’d caused her, cooking for her would be the least he could do. Then Solly said that if he wanted to do some penance, he could play sous chef for the evening, to which Mark agreed.

Fortunately, there wasn’t an issue over the knives. Mark’s had always been kept in a special butcher block. But Solly did have to send a page downstairs for hers. In the meantime, she stood over Mark, nodding as Mark expertly minced a shallot.

“You got the technique down, but you are slow,” Solly observed. “Good thing you got this president job, cuz you wouldn’t last five minutes in a real kitchen.”

Sharon, who had been invited to stay for dinner, laughed.

Solly glared at the refrigerator, then called downstairs for some pork tenderloin, and a variety of mustard, turnip and beet greens. The ingredients showed up within minutes and Sharon was put to work, as well.

Solly saw to slicing the tenderloin into paper-thin slices, while Sharon washed spinach and mesclun for a salad. Mark washed the other greens and chopped them down for steaming, then chopped a couple small mushrooms. Solly slid slices of tenderloin into a frying pan with a little bit of butter and oil and had much of the meat ready in a few short minutes. To the pan, she added another bit of butter, then sauteed the chopped mushrooms, shallot and some garlic that Sharon had chopped. A dollop of Dijon mustard went in with a little chicken stock from the fridge. Under Solly’s direction, Mark plated the steamed greens on a platter then arranged the tenderloin slices while Sharon dressed the salad with a little olive oil and red wine vinegar.

The only other conversation going while the food was being prepared was what wine to serve with the food. Mark finally won out, and pulled a New Zealand sauvignon blanc from the refrigerator.

The meal, itself, was filled with laughter as Solly told horror story after horror story of kitchen mishaps. As Solly remarked to Sharon later, “I know he’s the boss and all, but I really like that he can be a friend, too. Know what I mean?”

“Yep,” Sharon replied, smiling to herself as the two rode down in the service elevator.

“He ain’t bad in the kitchen, either,” Solly said. “Slow, but not bad.”

“Amateur,” said Sharon.

Solly chuckled. “Yeah, but that’s a good thing. Keeps me employed.”

Sharon’s Blackberry buzzed. “What?” She burst out laughing. “It’s the boss. He sent me a shopping list.”

“I think we’re going to get along,” Solly said, grinning.

Mark, for his part, finished washing the dishes under the baleful eye of a member of the housekeeping staff. He wasn’t supposed to be cleaning anything. But old habits died hard and his paternal grandmother had always insisted that he take responsibility for cleaning up after himself. That meant he made his bed the second he left it in the morning and when he cooked something, he washed the dishes, all of which irritated the housekeeping staff no end.

He was also feeling rather pleased with himself. He’d been wondering how to invite Sharon upstairs for dinner. With Solly around to aid and abet, it wasn’t likely to cause scandal. Not that Solly would sell out. Mark paused. He hoped Solly wouldn’t sell out. He scribbled a note to check on her salary.

“Sharon, I hate to ask you, but I’m not sure who else to call,” June said, somewhat anxiously. “Johnnie won’t touch it and Karen would totally blow up.”

“What?” said Sharon.

“It’s Solly, the chef.” June sighed. “She’s having another hissy fit and I’m stuck in New York. Can you go down and find out what’s going on?”

“Don’t you know?”

“All I know is that she’s trying to fire the entire staff again. Something about some theft. I’d call myself, but I don’t want to get Major Wills’ back up again.”

“Why can’t he handle it? He’s the chief usher. Isn’t that his department?”

June groaned. “Are you kidding? He’s terrified of her. All he’d do is fire her and that would break Mark’s heart. And Wills doesn’t want me talking to the domestic staff unless he’s present because that will undermine his authority, so you can sort of see his point.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.” Sharon sighed and hung up.

Yasmin Sollette was a woman whose height alone made her an imposing character. Add in an ample (though not huge) waistline and a temper that could run as hot as a broiler on high, and it was understandable why she was a rule unto herself. Her incredible talent as a cook, not to mention the ability to run a kitchen that faced the unique demands of the White House, made the temper worth dealing with, at least as far as June was concerned.

Solly’s mother was Lebanese-Asian, her father Creole-Hispanic. Her face bore the wide nose and round features of the African American side of her heritage, but her skin was very light with a slightly olive-brown hue that spoke to her Middle Eastern and Spanish roots. More often than not, her disposition was sunny and she laughed loudly and easily.

Sharon found her fuming in her office.

“Who are you?” Solly demanded when Sharon knocked on the open door.

“Ms. Jerguessen called me,” Sharon said. “I’m Sharon Wheatly.”

“Oh. I know you. Why’d she call you?”

“She’s stuck in New York. She asked me to find out what was going on.”

“What’s going on is I need to be able to fire folks what need it. That’s what’s going on.” Solly jumped to her feet and began pacing. “You can’t keep order in a kitchen when you can’t fire nobody. There’s stealing going on and I can’t fire nobody? How am I gonna find out who’s doing the stealing if I can’t scare ‘em? How am I supposed to do that?”

“I’m not sure.” Sharon swallowed. “What was stolen?”

“My quail eggs!” Solly snapped, her eyes glittering angrily. “I had two dozen for the President’s luncheon on Thursday and half a dozen are gone. Not to mention some premium Serano ham. And let me tell you, somebody’s been dipping into my natural lard pretty regular, too. You think it’s easy to find this stuff? You think I can just pick it up at the local super market?”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t.” Sharon sighed. “I’m sure there’s some sort of procedure, though. Why don’t I talk to Major Willis.”

“That old poop?” Solly threw up her hands. “He’s not gonna do anything! I need to fire people, put the fear of God in ‘em. That’s how you get to the truth. I got a whole list of ingredients that have gone missing since the day I started. I can’t put nothing nice in the upstairs pantry without somebody helping hisself. And I sure as hell ain’t putting it down here. Good semolina flour and somebody took the last pound right before I needed it. I need to fire people.”

“How about if we find some other way to put the fear of God in them,” Sharon said.

“Well, you better or I am walking. No point sticking around if I can’t control my own kitchen. No point at all.”

Sharon retreated, trying to remember who the luncheon on Thursday was for. She debated talking to the Major Clive Willis, who as Head Usher, oversaw all the domestic and event staff at the White House. But Willis was a stickler for protocol and domestic issues went through the First Lady’s office, never mind that there really wasn’t a First Lady. And Sharon had already ruffled the man’s feathers when she’d had her office look over the arrangements for the French foreign minister’s visit the month before.

Wincing because she knew June had other better things to do, Sharon nonetheless dialed June’s number.

“So what did you find out?” June asked.

“Well, the theft triggered it,” Sharon said. “She wants to fire the staff so that she can control the kitchen. Make everybody afraid enough that someone will snitch, presumably.”

“What got stolen?”

“Nothing that serious, just ingredients, but it seems to be ongoing. She mentioned half a dozen quail eggs, some Serano ham and some natural lard. She seemed more concerned with keeping her people under control.”

June groaned. “Half a dozen quail eggs? Cripes. I think I know who her thief is. Figures the one person we won’t be able to fire without a lot of due process.”

“Who?”

“My brother. He made quail eggs benedict for brunch last Sunday, with Serano ham.”

Sharon remembered some ravioli made with semolina the Thursday before.

“That’s right. Your brother cooks,” Sharon said, hesitantly, hoping she wasn’t giving anything away. Not that either she or Mark had explicitly decided to keep their few dinners together a secret.

June hadn’t noticed. “What a headache. And I can’t talk to her directly.”

“You can talk to your brother.”

“That I can.” June sighed. “I hate asking, Sharon, but can you talk to Solly in the meantime?”

Sharon sighed as well. “Sure. Why not?”

She hung up and went back to Solly’s office where the chef was pacing again.

“Maybe I just oughta get out of here now,” Solly grumbled, barely noticing that Sharon had returned.

“Do you really want to break the President’s heart?” Sharon asked. “He really does love your work.”

Solly harrumphed. “That’s the only reason I’ve stayed this long. But, dang, I can’t keep doing what I do if someone keeps stealing. From the President, hisself. What kind of person does that.”

“Well…” Sharon grimaced. “You know how he cooks for himself a lot. And according to Ms. Jerguessen, umm… Well, he served her quail eggs for brunch last Sunday. With Serano ham.”

“What?” Solly turned on her.

“I think your thief is the one person we can’t fire.” Sharon shrugged. “At least not for another four years.”

Solly sank into her desk chair. “I put that stuff upstairs so it wouldn’t get taken.”

“That’s probably why he thought it was okay for him to take.” Sharon smiled weakly at her. “He’s not immune to reason. Maybe we could work something out.”

There was the sound of a throat being cleared loudly and meaningfully at the door to Solly’s office. Sharon turned.

When Sharon first saw the vicious email, she knew she should have reported it to security. But since it didn’t actually threaten her with anything, she chalked it up as yet another disadvantage to fame, although in retrospect, she’d come to realize it was more her own denial operating at that point.

Max’s article was embarrassing enough as it was. The last thing Sharon wanted on the Monday morning after it ran was to hear about it. Which of course meant that the entire Advisory Board, including part-timers, had to send relentless emails, both congratulating and teasing her. Her family wasn’t much better, especially Michael, who had taken plenty of heat from her at various times in his career.

However, Sharon put most of it behind her and focused on her work. Until Tuesday, during the Advisory Board meeting, when Karen Tanaka made a point of running some video feeds from the latest late night comedy shows. Sharon had been featured on every one, and unlike Max’s article, the jokes were not about how smart she was.

“I don’t know,” chortled one comic. “Is it really a good idea to try to make peace with a woman hot enough to start a war over?”

“I finally figured out why I can’t get any hot women,” crowed another. “You gotta be president to get a woman that hot.”

Sharon sighed loudly, during one particularly obnoxious rant.

“Can I just crawl under the table and die now?” she asked plaintively.

“So that’s it,” another comedian continued. “If our former president had kept a hot chick on his arm, we’d still have our allies.”

“I think we can turn that off,” said Mark quietly.

Karen shrugged. “I know it’s sexist and demeaning, but everyone is talking about how well our foreign policy changes are going.”

“Better yet,” said Augie, “it’s all on our message.”

“Right,” grumbled Sharon. “Trust our new president because he’s a babe magnet. That really lends authority to negotiations.”

She glanced over at Mark, who was smiling softly.

“I guess I’d better use some of that authority then to bring this meeting back to order,” Mark said. “What else is going on today?”

Coop immediately took up his report.

When the late night talk show jokes about the president’s girlfriend still hadn’t let up after Tuesday night, Sharon decided it was time to take steps. Unsure at first who she should call, she found a business card on her desk from the week before. He’d started the trouble, he could help her fix it.

That Max Epstein was a little startled to get Sharon’s call would be an understatement. But he readily agreed to meet her at the latest happening watering hole Friday night. Fortunately, Mark did not have any embassy soirees that week, either.

Which meant that it should have been a smoother week for Sharon, except that Wednesday after lunch, she got a call from June.