you aren’t going to eat that asparagus. You must have a hundred little pieces on your plate.”
“You always were perceptive, Lizzie. I’m listening when you’re ready to talk.”
“My friends are very unhappy, Marti. I thought you would have gotten the message when your Secret Service agents were thrown into a Dumpster and their weapons and badges were sent back to you.”
Martine started to mash her salmon the way Lizzie had. “We’re going to have to put all this food in the disposal so the kitchen doesn’t get their knickers in a knot. I did get the message. I wasn’t amused. We had to do some fancy dancing to explain all that.”
“I bet you did. My friends weren’t amused either. You have six months to keep your promise.”
“I can’t believe you’re giving the president of this country an ultimatum! And if for some reason I can’t deliver on the promise in the allotted time, then what?” Martine asked in the same frosty tone.
Lizzie smiled. “Marti, I might be many things, but I’m not clairvoyant.”
“What? Are you seriously warning me that the vigilantes can penetrate the White House? Is that what you’re telling me? Are you telling me they’re smart enough to outwit the best of the best? It’s simply not possible. What are they going to do, hold a gun to my head and make me sign a pardon and then we’re all going to disappear in a puff of smoke?”
Lizzie was pleased at the look of pure horror on the president’s face. She continued to smile. “I said no such thing. That’s your interpretation. Although the ladies did take on your Secret Service and come out on top. And if I remember correctly, that little neighborhood White House luncheon you sponsored didn’t go over so well either. Your guests were more impressed with their ride home, compliments of the vigilantes, than they were with your luncheon, the photo op, and their souvenirs.”
Martine Connor got up and carried the two luncheon plates to the sink in the main part of the kitchen. She scraped the plates and turned on the garbage disposal. Lizzie listened to the loud clunking noise followed by a shrieking, grinding sound.
“The plumbing leaves a lot to be desired,” Martine said.
“You could call a plumber,” Lizzie volunteered.
“It doesn’t work that way here. In the real world, yes. I can’t even describe to you what it’s like living here. I can’t step out and go to the drugstore to get shampoo. If I want to do that, I have to notify the Service a month in advance. Then they have to empty out the store so I can shop. I can’t go to a bookstore. I can’t drive a car. I can’t use my credit cards or carry money. If they ever find out I have that phone, they’ll probably pack me off to Outer Mongolia.
“You know what I miss, Lizzie? I miss going out to the mailbox for my mail. I miss all those catalogs I used to get by the pound. I always looked forward to Sunday afternoon, when I’d browse through them and order something. You know what else? I made potato pancakes one day. They came up here on the run and said I was stinking up the White House and not to do it again. They fucking told me I can’t make potato pancakes! It was the onion I put in them. I’m not excusing my language either.”
For all of a minute, Lizzie almost felt sorry for her old friend. Almost. Then she burst out laughing. “Remember that old saying, ‘Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.’ You wished for this, we made it happen for you at the eleventh hour, and now you have to live with it. And you have to honor your debt. That’s the bottom line.”
“God, Lizzie, how cold you sound. That’s the real reason you agreed to sign on, isn’t it? You’re here to protect your friends, and if it means taking me down, you’ll help them do it, right?”
Lizzie just smiled.
“Goddamnit, Lizzie, say something.”
“Where I come from, Marti, and where you’ve been, a person is only as good as her word. I really should be going. I’ve taken up enough of your time today.”
Martine Connor turned to stop her furious pacing. Lizzie thought she looked great in a honey-colored suit, with a copper-colored blouse underneath her suit jacket, which was open. Her haircut was stylish, and the feathery bangs falling over her forehead were new, too, since the last time Lizzie had seen Martine. She looked presidential.
“But we haven’t had dessert, and I was going to give you the tour. Lizzie, I’m sorry. I’ll find a way. I promise you. Please, I need you to believe me.”
“It’s not me you have to convince, Marti. I’ll pass on your message. Six months. Not one day, not one hour, not one second longer. I’ll report in on January second. I hope you have a wonderful holiday. Are you staying here or going somewhere?”
“Camp David. I plan to sleep through the holidays. Do you want to hear something really sad? I don’t have a single soul I can invite to spend the holidays with me. Well, that’s not quite true. I had several people I was going to invite, but the Service said when they vetted them, they were unsuitable. Unsuitable! That’s what they said. I’m whining, and I didn’t want to do that. I apologize.”
Lizzie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the president. She squeezed hard. “Six months, Marti,” she whispered. “Now, how do I get out of here? Is that guy with the ‘football’ still outside the door? Oh, one last thing. Watch out for Baron Bell.”
Martine grimaced. “You mean the marine with the nuclear codes? Yes, he’s out there. You just walk past him. It’s that simple. One of my agents will take you home.”
Lizzie stared at the president. She could feel her eyes start to burn at what she was seeing on her old friend’s face. She lowered her voice to a bare whisper and said, “I wouldn’t want to be you for all the gold in Fort Knox.”
The moment the door opened, Martine Connor shed her personal persona and, in the blink of an eye, was once again the president of the United States. “Thank you for that observation, and thank you for coming, Lizzie. I enjoyed our luncheon. I hope we can do it again soon. Happy holidays to you and yours.”
“Don’t eat too much turkey, Madam President.” Lizzie flinched at the sound of the door closing behind her. She straightened her shoulders and walked alongside the agent escorting her to a black limousine, where another agent waited to drive her back to her home.
Lizzie kept her eyes closed all the way home, her mind racing as she sifted, collated, and made mental notes.
The moment she was inside her cozy little home, she shed her lavender suit and donned a pair of jeans and a warm, fleecy shirt. She had the crazy urge all of a sudden to make potato pancakes. But first she had to check things at her office, call her husband, then call the mountain. Maybe she should call the mountain first. Or maybe she should wait, think about her visit some more, and make the potato pancakes first. Multitasking, so to speak.
Before she did anything, though, she was going to make herself a pot of strong black coffee to get her adrenaline levels up. While the coffee was dripping, Lizzie fiddled with her CD player, then slipped in one of Cosmo’s favorite CDs. Frank Sinatra’s mellow voice filled her kitchen. She immediately felt the tenseness leave her shoulders. Then she made herself a sandwich, the kind of sandwich Cosmo raised his eyebrows over but later admitted was tasty. Swiss cheese, lettuce, fire-roasted peppers, and one slice of salami. That mess she’d mangled back at the White House couldn’t come close to the sandwich she was devouring. There wasn’t a crumb to be seen when she finished.
Then Lizzie moved at lightning speed. She called the mountain, then she called Jack Emery, then her office. She had two calls left to make when she poured her coffee. The first call was to Nikki’s old law office, where she asked more questions than she answered. She had one call to go before she could call her husband. With business taken care of, she could talk for hours if he had the time. At the crack of dawn, she’d be winging her way to Vegas to spend Thanksgiving and the rest of the holidays with Cosmo. A radiant smile lit her features.