Buffalo West Wing by Julie Hyzy

Author:Julie Hyzy [Hyzy, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2010-11-16T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

CYAN HAD ASKED ME TO MEET HER AFTER work again and we’d settled on a little diner just a few blocks southeast of the White House. We’d both eaten there before and knew we could count on basic comfort food done right. She’d left before me, claiming to have a few errands to run. Virgil had taken off for the day shortly thereafter, leaving me and Bucky to finish up. When I finally was able to leave, I exited the Southeast Gate and headed to Pennsylvania Avenue going east. The weather was brisk and I hunched my shoulders against the cold. Flipping open my phone, I dialed one of my favorite numbers.

“Ollie! Wonderful to hear from you,” Henry said. It was just as wonderful for me to hear his voice. Henry had been executive chef at the White House for years before I’d even begun working there, and had recommended me to succeed him. I owed him a lot already, but that never stopped me from calling him for additional advice.

“I don’t know if you’re going to be so happy to hear from me once you realize I’m calling to complain.”

Immediately solicitous, Henry asked, “What’s wrong?”

I told him about our new upstart, Virgil, and how he’d believed he would be named executive chef over me. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy, Henry,” I said. “And I guess I’m just looking for words of wisdom.”

He laughed. “Then you called the wrong number. I only looked good because I had you and Bucky and Cyan there behind me.”

“Oh, come on, Henry. Don’t be modest. I know better. You’re already starting to formulate ideas for me, aren’t you?”

He laughed. “Maybe some. But I’m on my way out the door right now.”

“Going out with Mercedes?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. But you know I always have time for you. And I would like the opportunity to continue this discussion.”

“How about Saturday night?” I asked. I named a time, and a place we were both familiar with.

“Hmm,” he said. “That’s date night, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be out with some lucky young man?”

“Not this weekend.”

“Or any weekend lately, I’d wager. Okay. It’s a date. I’ll finagle a couple of things and we’ll be set. Can we make it closer to six o’clock?”

“Don’t change plans on my account.”

“Ollie,” he said with such warmth in his voice it made my throat hurt, “don’t you understand? I make time for you because I want to.”

Cheered, I said, “Then it’s a date. I’m looking forward to it.”

“As am I.” He laughed. “No canceling now. If our new president asks you to work late, you’re just going to have to tell him no.”

“You got it. See you then.”

Walking into Sylvester’s Diner was like walking into a hot wall of bliss. Sizzling scents of onions, burgers, and mac and cheese met me as I unzipped and peeled off my jacket, looking for Cyan. At the table nearest me, a man was about to dig into an open-face turkey sandwich with steaming gravy over everything, including the fries.

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