Read Online State of the Onion by Julie Hyzy - Free Book Online

we are to have a new procedure, I need to set it up.”
    â€œHow do you do it?” I asked.
    He twisted his head to look at me. “You’ve set up dozens of spreadsheets and documents before. What are you talking about?”
    â€œNo, I mean, how do you cope with all the changes? All the time? With each new administration, there are adjustments. I know that. But how do you keep from questioning the wisdom of the decisions?” I glanced at the doorway. “If they’re choosing a man like Peter Everett Sargeant III to run an entire department—”
    â€œOllie,” he said, now turning his entire body my direction, giving me his undivided attention, “we are the chefs for the most important home in the world.”
    â€œI know that.”
    â€œOur country depends on our president. And he depends on us. When we step through the White House gates, we become more than just ordinary citizens.” He stared north, as if seeing the endless stream of protestors standing sentry in Lafayette Park. “We leave behind the controversy, the rancor, the turmoil.”
    His voice rumbled to the crescendo I knew was coming. “We are our country’s decision makers when we cast our votes on Election Day. But when we leave the polling place, when we enter our world here ,” he jammed a finger onto the countertop, “we must be focused on the part we play in keeping our country great. We are not here to change policy, but in a way, to help promote it. And we must be vigilant to discourage dissension.” He lifted his chubby index finger, pointing skyward. “We are here to cook for President Campbell, the most powerful man in the world, and for his guests. If these heads of state are well-fed and content, they will be cooperative. They will make wise decisions.”
    He broke into a wide smile. “What power we hold, Ollie.”
    I’d heard his lecture before. I earned a recitation each time I questioned anything, from the president’s decision to open trade negotiations with a former enemy country, to what color tie he chose to wear for a press conference. Although Henry and I differed on how to put aside our beliefs and convictions, we both did it. We all did. As far as I knew, all White House staff members set aside politics to serve our country in the best way we knew how. For me, and for most of us, it was a point of pride.
    Bucky interrupted the sudden quiet with slow applause. “Nice speech, Henry. Do you practice that in front of a mirror?”
    Throwing Bucky a look of disgust, I returned to my chopping board, hands on hips. Hiring him was another decision I questioned.
    Henry must have sensed my thoughts, because he drew up next to me and whispered in my ear, “A White House chef must be less concerned with the state of the union, and more concerned with the state of the onion .”
    That made me giggle.
    He was right, though. Since George Washington’s time, when the building of the “President’s House” was first commissioned, this center for democracy has held immense stature in the world. The building, designed by James Hoban, was finally completed in 1800, too late for George Washington’s use, and almost too late for John and Abigail Adams. They took occupancy shortly before Jefferson’s inauguration.
    History lived in these walls. And as a member of the staff, it was my duty to ensure the level of grandeur never diminished.
    Just then, Peter Everett Sargeant III reappeared in the doorway. “One more thing,” he said, his voice ringing high above the kitchen noises. We stopped our activity to hear him better. “I need a curriculum vitae from each of you. Today, if possible. Tomorrow at the latest.” Again, he fixed only me with a look of contempt. “I need to know what I’m dealing with.”
    Bucky snorted as Sargeant left. “What a pompous ass.”
    Henry looked ready to admonish Bucky,