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Authors: Julie Hyzy
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involuntary step forward, barely stopping myself from stepping in front of the lectern to lash out.
Sargeant cleared his throat. His nostrils flared. As his hands clasped together below his chest, I recognized his familiar gesture as an attempt to calm himself. I hoped he could hold on. He needed to, for both our sakes.
The First Lady and press secretary wore twin, tight smiles and body language that told me they were ready to pounce. But Sargeant was a big boy now. He would have to learn to handle himself in all kinds of situations. Some might prove to be even tougher than this one, though at the moment I couldn’t imagine how. I’d have been willing to bet that no one in the room had expected this turn in the questioning.
All eyes were on me all of a sudden. I could barely breathe.
“Ms. Paras runs her kitchen to the best of her abilities,” Sargeant began, speaking slowly. While not exactly a rousing endorsement on his part, it was a good start. “As for the other activities you brought up, I don’t see where any of that matters in the fulfillment of my role as chief usher. Ms. Paras has proved to be an exemplary employee, and beyond that I have no comment. Thank you for your question.” Ever proper, Sargeant paused before shifting his attention to the other members of the press.
The young reporter ignored Sargeant’s attempt to deflect, interrupting again. “You have to admit that the chef has been embroiled in an uncanny number of national-security-sensitive situations since she’s been here. How do you intend to squelch her amateur sleuthing tendencies?” Before Sargeant could gather himself to answer, the reporter continued, “Or don’t you?”
The other reporters took notes, a few of them murmuring among themselves. The First Lady and the press secretary exchanged a glance, but Sargeant straightened and answered in the sort of commanding, belittling tone that I’d so despised in the past. “Mr. Davies,” he said. “Are you utterly ignorant of protocol? I will remind you that I was promoted to the position of chief usher after successfully discharging the duties of the White House sensitivity director for several years. One doesn’t make a name for himself by casting aspersions on others without proof.”
This time, Sargeant didn’t take a breath or give Davies the barest of openings. He continued in his familiar, high-handed, fussy way. “If you have questions about security, I suggest you direct them to the Secret Service. If you have questions about the running of the White House kitchen, I suggest you contact Ms. Paras directly. Today, however, we are here to discuss the running of the household and my appointment to this prestigious position. Period. I will thank you to stay on topic.” With a glance over the younger man’s head, Sargeant lifted his chin. “Next question?”
CHAPTER 7
THE TWO MYSTERIOUS MEN IN THE BACK OF the room had begun leaning forward as Davies challenged Sargeant. Now, as another reporter lobbed a softball question at our newly appointed chief usher, the two men put their heads together. From their body language, it seemed that their interest had been piqued. By the reporter or by Sargeant, I couldn’t tell. When the taller one caught me staring again, I squirmed.
Minutes later, the press conference over, two of the PPD agents escorted Mrs. Hyden from the room, another pair herded the reporters out, and the mysterious strangers moved to talk with the agents who remained. We staff members were left to disperse on our own.
The First Lady’s assistants and the press secretary were gone in a flash. “Masterful job, Peter,” I said as I removed my toque and fell into step alongside him. We made our way east, toward his new office. “You handled that wild set of questions very well. What was that all about, anyway?”
“I wish I knew. Did you see how sloppily that young man was dressed? He had no business here.”
“My presence may not have been such a
Sargeant cleared his throat. His nostrils flared. As his hands clasped together below his chest, I recognized his familiar gesture as an attempt to calm himself. I hoped he could hold on. He needed to, for both our sakes.
The First Lady and press secretary wore twin, tight smiles and body language that told me they were ready to pounce. But Sargeant was a big boy now. He would have to learn to handle himself in all kinds of situations. Some might prove to be even tougher than this one, though at the moment I couldn’t imagine how. I’d have been willing to bet that no one in the room had expected this turn in the questioning.
All eyes were on me all of a sudden. I could barely breathe.
“Ms. Paras runs her kitchen to the best of her abilities,” Sargeant began, speaking slowly. While not exactly a rousing endorsement on his part, it was a good start. “As for the other activities you brought up, I don’t see where any of that matters in the fulfillment of my role as chief usher. Ms. Paras has proved to be an exemplary employee, and beyond that I have no comment. Thank you for your question.” Ever proper, Sargeant paused before shifting his attention to the other members of the press.
The young reporter ignored Sargeant’s attempt to deflect, interrupting again. “You have to admit that the chef has been embroiled in an uncanny number of national-security-sensitive situations since she’s been here. How do you intend to squelch her amateur sleuthing tendencies?” Before Sargeant could gather himself to answer, the reporter continued, “Or don’t you?”
The other reporters took notes, a few of them murmuring among themselves. The First Lady and the press secretary exchanged a glance, but Sargeant straightened and answered in the sort of commanding, belittling tone that I’d so despised in the past. “Mr. Davies,” he said. “Are you utterly ignorant of protocol? I will remind you that I was promoted to the position of chief usher after successfully discharging the duties of the White House sensitivity director for several years. One doesn’t make a name for himself by casting aspersions on others without proof.”
This time, Sargeant didn’t take a breath or give Davies the barest of openings. He continued in his familiar, high-handed, fussy way. “If you have questions about security, I suggest you direct them to the Secret Service. If you have questions about the running of the White House kitchen, I suggest you contact Ms. Paras directly. Today, however, we are here to discuss the running of the household and my appointment to this prestigious position. Period. I will thank you to stay on topic.” With a glance over the younger man’s head, Sargeant lifted his chin. “Next question?”
CHAPTER 7
THE TWO MYSTERIOUS MEN IN THE BACK OF the room had begun leaning forward as Davies challenged Sargeant. Now, as another reporter lobbed a softball question at our newly appointed chief usher, the two men put their heads together. From their body language, it seemed that their interest had been piqued. By the reporter or by Sargeant, I couldn’t tell. When the taller one caught me staring again, I squirmed.
Minutes later, the press conference over, two of the PPD agents escorted Mrs. Hyden from the room, another pair herded the reporters out, and the mysterious strangers moved to talk with the agents who remained. We staff members were left to disperse on our own.
The First Lady’s assistants and the press secretary were gone in a flash. “Masterful job, Peter,” I said as I removed my toque and fell into step alongside him. We made our way east, toward his new office. “You handled that wild set of questions very well. What was that all about, anyway?”
“I wish I knew. Did you see how sloppily that young man was dressed? He had no business here.”
“My presence may not have been such a
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