reassure myself that the red fluid I’d seen Marcel cough up was not blood. I dunked one of the spoons and spread the viscous goo onto an empty plate. Not that I could remember specifically, but the color looked familiar. I heaved a small sigh of relief. Perhaps Marcel had simply had a moment of light-headedness and there was nothing more worrisome about his health than that.
The doctors would have a diagnosis soon, I was sure. Trouble was, I wasn’t the most patient person in the world.
I spent a little time tidying up the pastry kitchen before heading back downstairs.
“How are things going?” I asked Bucky when I returned.
The four visiting chefs were hard at work around the center counter and it appeared as though they were busy with preparations for tonight’s dinner offerings. We had a few guests coming this evening, including the speaker of the house and the senate minority leader. They were charged with corralling members of their respective parties to cooperate to end this sequester before we entered another week of cuts.
Everyone glanced up at my question. Kilian waved his colleagues back to work as though my return to the kitchen was of no consequence.
“Good, you’re here,” Bucky said with undisguised relief. To the chefs he said, “We’ll be right back, don’t worry.” They didn’t look terribly concerned. Bucky motioned me to follow. He headed out of the kitchen, through the corridors, and across the basement hall into the White House chocolate shop.
He shut the door to the little room once we were both inside. This windowless, close room was lined on one side with a countertop. Although there were cabinets, drawers, and sufficient kitchen equipment to produce fine and fancy chocolates here, the space lacked any sort of personality or decoration. It was bland, tiny, utilitarian.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “What happened?”
“Got a call from Marcel. He wanted to talk with you. I thought you were upstairs with Sargeant but when they patched me through, your meeting with him was over.”
“I took a detour coming back. What did he want to talk about? Did the doctors deliver bad news?”
“He needed surgery on his arm.” Bucky’s face was a mixture of worry and strain as he forced himself to speak slowly. “And he’ll be in a cast for at least six weeks.”
This
was
bad news. “Oh no.”
Bucky’s agitation grew. “You and I were depending on Marcel to shoulder some of the work during the Saardiscans’ stay. Not that I’m blaming Marcel—of course not—but we had a structure planned that’s completely blown now. It’s enough work to prepare all the First Family’s meals without tripping over four more bodies while we do it. What are we going to do with them? We’ve been able to scramble since the accident, but I don’t know how you and I will be able to maintain control without help. Not to mention that there’s no way we can cover desserts properly.”
Bucky’s words had tumbled out quickly and I agreed with everything he’d said. Not that I had any answers for him. I ran a hand through my hair. “In other news, I talked with Tom this morning about getting a linguist to join us in the kitchen.”
“I can guess by the look on your face how well that went over.”
“I’ll talk with Sargeant about arranging to have one of Marcel’s assistants return for the duration.”
Bucky shook his head.
“What?” I asked.
“Not happening,” he said. “When I called up there and found out you’d already left, I decided to ask Sargeant about it myself.”
“And he said no?”
Bucky folded his arms across his chest. “He told us to find other ways to keep the visiting team busy.”
“We’ll manage. I don’t know how yet, but we will.” I took in a breath. “I may wait a bit then take another run at Sargeant about getting a pastry chef back on board.”
“Good luck with that.”
“The Saardiscans are here; we’re stuck with them. Nothing we can do to change
The doctors would have a diagnosis soon, I was sure. Trouble was, I wasn’t the most patient person in the world.
I spent a little time tidying up the pastry kitchen before heading back downstairs.
“How are things going?” I asked Bucky when I returned.
The four visiting chefs were hard at work around the center counter and it appeared as though they were busy with preparations for tonight’s dinner offerings. We had a few guests coming this evening, including the speaker of the house and the senate minority leader. They were charged with corralling members of their respective parties to cooperate to end this sequester before we entered another week of cuts.
Everyone glanced up at my question. Kilian waved his colleagues back to work as though my return to the kitchen was of no consequence.
“Good, you’re here,” Bucky said with undisguised relief. To the chefs he said, “We’ll be right back, don’t worry.” They didn’t look terribly concerned. Bucky motioned me to follow. He headed out of the kitchen, through the corridors, and across the basement hall into the White House chocolate shop.
He shut the door to the little room once we were both inside. This windowless, close room was lined on one side with a countertop. Although there were cabinets, drawers, and sufficient kitchen equipment to produce fine and fancy chocolates here, the space lacked any sort of personality or decoration. It was bland, tiny, utilitarian.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “What happened?”
“Got a call from Marcel. He wanted to talk with you. I thought you were upstairs with Sargeant but when they patched me through, your meeting with him was over.”
“I took a detour coming back. What did he want to talk about? Did the doctors deliver bad news?”
“He needed surgery on his arm.” Bucky’s face was a mixture of worry and strain as he forced himself to speak slowly. “And he’ll be in a cast for at least six weeks.”
This
was
bad news. “Oh no.”
Bucky’s agitation grew. “You and I were depending on Marcel to shoulder some of the work during the Saardiscans’ stay. Not that I’m blaming Marcel—of course not—but we had a structure planned that’s completely blown now. It’s enough work to prepare all the First Family’s meals without tripping over four more bodies while we do it. What are we going to do with them? We’ve been able to scramble since the accident, but I don’t know how you and I will be able to maintain control without help. Not to mention that there’s no way we can cover desserts properly.”
Bucky’s words had tumbled out quickly and I agreed with everything he’d said. Not that I had any answers for him. I ran a hand through my hair. “In other news, I talked with Tom this morning about getting a linguist to join us in the kitchen.”
“I can guess by the look on your face how well that went over.”
“I’ll talk with Sargeant about arranging to have one of Marcel’s assistants return for the duration.”
Bucky shook his head.
“What?” I asked.
“Not happening,” he said. “When I called up there and found out you’d already left, I decided to ask Sargeant about it myself.”
“And he said no?”
Bucky folded his arms across his chest. “He told us to find other ways to keep the visiting team busy.”
“We’ll manage. I don’t know how yet, but we will.” I took in a breath. “I may wait a bit then take another run at Sargeant about getting a pastry chef back on board.”
“Good luck with that.”
“The Saardiscans are here; we’re stuck with them. Nothing we can do to change
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