WASHINGTON, DC
Chapter 20
VICTORIA BLAKE’S SECRET

Nameless, blurry faces gathered on the sidewalk as the First Lady’s motorcade sped past. She was still in shock from Margreth’s revelations and couldn’t shake the ominous prick of fear.

Not a human. That’s just not possible. Jefferson is a normal baby. He doesn’t resemble a damned monkey. Still, there’s some truth to that story.

The activity level increased in the front seat. A.J. had made at least four calls to God knows where. She looked out the rear window—a few more cars had joined the procession. It was a damn parade. All they needed was a brass band.

Something was wrong with the Secret Squirrels, as she liked to call them. A.J. Baldridge was as jumpy as a one-legged man in a sack race.

A.J. usually hustled to get to the door, but today he was preoccupied. Nick opened it, and her questions turned to concerns about Jefferson’s illness.

“Honey,” she took his warm, strong hand and kissed his cheek. “A.J. said you called the doctor?”

“Yes, I did. But Jeff’s doing much better now.” He glanced toward the far end of the lawn. “What in the bejesus is going on?”

“I was just about to ask A.J. the same thing,” she admitted. Hearing the car door slam, she turned and watched Baldridge run across the White House lawn toward a group of his friends, who were gathered in a huddle. “He sure took off in a hurry.”

“There’s always some disaster lurking with those guys. Some nut-job calls in a bomb threat, or a group home walkaway is seen nearby with a submachine gun, and they freak out. Every so often, they get it right. Then again, sometimes they totally mess up, like Hinkley.”

“Well, Hinkley was all about Jodie Foster. Women will lead you to that kind of thing,” she smiled. He snorted.

Always the consummate politician, Nicholas took his wife’s arm and gracefully led her past the busy staff and a few reporters. He consistently played to the photo opportunity, showcasing the First Couple in the best light for the public.

He told her, “It wouldn’t do for the President to get caught picking his nose.” And she agreed.

On their way to Jefferson’s room, they paused in a somewhat hidden nook on the landing. Nick shed his gentleman’s pretense and embraced his wife.

“Do you think our lives will ever be the same again?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“I really don’t think so,” he admitted. But he didn’t sound as sad about the loss as she felt. “Gilda called. She says the SS found a listening device in her alarm clock, and one of those video cameras was in the showerhead. It’s not just us; it’s the children who’re affected by this damned intrusiveness.”

“I dislike it. The media always needs a new scandal every hour.”

“They’re competing in a market where the average person likes to see a big crash or mass killing at least once a day.”

Victoria shifted topics. “Nick, speaking of scandals. We might have one brewing.”

“It’s all about ratings,” he was rambling. “If they can’t get footage of the President getting a blow job in the Oval Office, they’ll settle for a slaughter at Bob’s Grocery Store.”

Blesstasia, part of the domestic staff, came down the stairs with a stack of linens, and their moment of privacy vanished. Nicholas threw his hands up, frustrated, and stomped past the squat woman, who was so overloaded she looked like she might topple. They tiptoed into their baby’s nursery.

Jefferson was sleeping. Still flushed with fever, he peacefully sucked his thumb. The nanny’s southern half was loaded into the rocker, but she had draped herself over the crib rail and seemed to be napping.

“Nick, I have to talk to you,” Victoria whispered. He silenced her with a wave and ran his hand through his son’s hair. She didn’t want to tell him her ‘your baby’s a monkey’ news’.

“Not now, Darling. There’s a news conference in ten minutes. I’ve got to find that damn speechwriter. I’m not witty under pressure, and I’m not good at speaking unprepared. The stupid bastard still has my script.”

He gave her a quick hug.

“We’ll talk later. Remember, that goofball Prime Minister of Ethiopia will be here for dinner — the guy with an obnoxious wife. He’s a loud talker, but very smart.”

“Seriously? I don’t want to deal with that stupid woman,” Victoria snarled, feeling like the day couldn’t get any worse. “The woman’s loathsome. She smells like rotten fish, and I hate her.”

Nick avoided giving his ‘politician’s wife’ speech. Victoria didn’t seem like she was in the mood.

“I told the doctor that if you call, he needs to get his ass over here or his next job will be in a leper colony.”

“Great, Nick. I’m sure he’s eager to respond,” she lifted Jefferson and rocked him in her arms. He felt like a tiny oven, radiating warmth. “Besides, leper colonies don’t exist anymore, silly.”

“He’s the best there is, Vic.” He had a quick flashback to their college days, and a touch of nostalgia crept in. “Love you.”

He hurried from the nursery, leaving her to care for their sick child alone. Well, not entirely alone. Elsie Hodgeworth sat slumped in the rocking chair.

“Elsie, wake up.” Victoria shook the woman, and she woke up suddenly.

“Mrs. Blake,” she mopped her wrinkled brow with a tissue. “My goodness gracious. It doesn’t do for you to get yourself all worked up. Babies get sick all the time.”

Elsie gently took the child from Victoria’s arms and placed a cool cloth on his forehead.

“They’d just as soon throw up a meal as keep it down. Jefferson’s fever is breaking,” Elsie cooed. Chanting in a singsong voice, she soothed the sleeping child.

“A.J. said it was an emergency.” Victoria was confused by the agent’s urgent claim.

“I don’t know why he’d get you all worked up, if you don’t mind my saying. I called over an hour ago and said Jeff was doing a bit better.” Elsie laid the baby down and tucked the sheet around the mattress.

“Strange. Still, I don’t think we can be too careful, especially with Jefferson,” Victoria said.

“Of course not, dear,” the old lady agreed, as if she thought Victoria was deaf. “By the by, I heard about your Gilda.”

“Oh, yes,” Victoria remembered Nick’s news about the camera. “It’s appalling. Those sick media hounds were probably going to post her online. Live footage of the First Daughter washing her bum or something.” She said this, hoping Gilda wasn’t dating an Iranian student or smoking pot.

“I heard it on the radio. Your Gilda apparently threw quite a fit over the violation of her privacy. She’s her father’s daughter, all right.”

“I didn’t hear that part,” Victoria wondered what else Nick was hiding. “I’ll have to call her. A parent’s always the last to know. Have you taken Jefferson’s temperature lately?”

“It’s 101, down from 103.”

“That’s high enough to fry an egg!” Victoria leaned over and kissed him on his warm forehead. “Elsie, do you think Jefferson looks a little, uh. Well, does he look ordinary?”

“He’s about the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen. Got a voice on him too,” Hodgeworth whispered, although Victoria wasn’t sure why. “He was crying this morning, and suddenly he let out a hell of a shriek. He had half the staff in here in a New York minute. Nobody believes that little Jeff made all that racket, but I swear it’s true.”

“Funny you should mention that, Elsie,” Victoria frowned. “He did that last week when we were getting off the helicopter. Nick said it was the whine of the engine. I was sure it was Jeff. Made the hair stand up on the back of my neck,” Victoria puzzled this into the he’s not a real baby equation.

“You know what, Elsie? I have an important errand. It’s imperative, or else I wouldn’t leave little Jeff,” she whispered, just in case. “Cover for me, okay?”

Elsie Hodgeworth nodded, and Victoria, thankful for her support, grabbed her purse and searched through the mess.

“Somewhere in this trash bin, there’s a card with the Isle of Paradise Spa’s phone number,” she mumbled. Then she paused, eyeing Elsie.

Though she trusted Elsie, everyone has a price. She didn’t know what the nanny’s limit for betrayal was.

It’s too late now, she thought as she dialed.

“Hello?” Victoria tried a Midwestern accent, but it sounded silly.

The spa receptionist sounded bored; Victoria would have recognized her nasal whine anywhere.

“Yes, could you tell me if Margreth Willson is still there?” The nanny seemed unaware of Victoria’s conversation.

“You haven’t seen her leave? That’s good. No, no message,” Victoria eyed Elsie. The woman seemed distracted, but she attributed this to simple worry. She was determined to see Margreth. Hopefully, the Secret Squirrels hadn’t eavesdropped on their afternoon meeting. She’d go back to the spa.

“Ms. Hodgeworth?” Victoria asked. “I’m leaving now. Don’t forget, if anyone asks, you don’t know where I went. Not even Nick, okay?”

Before Elsie could come up with an answer, including her fear, Victoria kissed the baby again and left.

“Oh dear,” she managed before Mrs. Blake disappeared.

Elsie Hodgeworth told herself she needed to call security. She rubbed her chin, lost in thought.

Blast it all, I refuse to do it. They can find another snoop if they don’t like it.

She looked down at the sleeping baby, who had now cooled considerably.

Victoria Blake has everything. But it’s not a life I’d want to be burdened with. And all I have are four kids who don’t speak to me and a serious problem with my best buddy, Jack Daniels.

She remembered the threats in that damp room deep below the CIA building’s subbasement last week. A couple of turbaned, angry men with unnaturally white teeth had tried and succeeded in intimidating her. But now she realized she had nothing left to fear.

This baby’s going to have his nanny, no matter what kind of devilish plot those foreigners hatch against the Blakes.

As she had this internal conversation, she remembered the dark man’s dangerous black eyes. Elsie Hodgeworth was left worried about a sick baby.

Victoria moved down the hallway, staying close to the wall and avoiding the security cameras that kept constant watch. She reached the master suite and went straight to her dresser.

She chose a loose sweater and a pair of ragged jeans. From an old gym bag, she pulled out a pair of tennis shoes that had seen better days. Placing the clothes in her carryall, she quietly headed back down the hallway toward the public side of the building.

Miraculously, she made it to the East Wing without any issues, aside from passing a few staff members too low in the hierarchy to matter.

She slipped into the ladies’ room, changed her clothes, tied her hair into a ponytail, and wiped off her makeup. She appeared younger and more attractive.

Victoria opened the door and waited patiently, planning her escape. When a security guard bent down to drink from the water fountain, she slipped into the hall. She passed just inches from him, but he was unaware of her presence. She had become just another annoying tourist.

Within minutes, she’d joined the buzzing crowd gawking at the Lincoln Room. They make it so hard to have privacy. She held the thought in abeyance and went unnoticed—an unimportant part of the “flotsam tourista,” as Nick liked to call them.

As the guide described the Kennedy assassination, an elderly woman dressed in polyester glanced at Victoria. She held her plastic purse tightly, as the poorly attired First Lady seemed to be in urgent need of money.

Mingling with everyday folks, Victoria Blake left the White House alone for the first time since becoming First Lady. She pushed her way through the crowd, battling a dizzying panic attack.

At the curb, she flagged down a passing cab. The vehicle jerked to a stop, and she hurried inside. She turned pale as she saw the driver’s face in the rear-view mirror. The dark-skinned driver was leering. His limp hair left oily marks on his collar. A bit of food was hanging on his lip, and one eye was half-closed and drooping.

“I need to get to Arlington,” she said, watching his expression.

His eyebrows knit together in deep furrows. His droopy eye looked as if it was stuck in a wink.

“Lady, this isn’t the Salvation Army. I don’t give advice, and I don’t give free rides,” he said. She did look a step above a bag lady on the food chain.

“I have money, really,” she was insulted to think she looked destitute.

“Right, and I have an elephant in the glove box. People stiff me all the time. Let’s see some green,” he was watching her with his one good eye.

Victoria dug into her purse and pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill.

“That’s a good girl. Do you want to go for a little ride downtown? I have rooms at the Embassy. I pay my girls well.”

“Good God.” Victoria was stunned. “I’m not in that line of work.”

“My luck, huh? Alright, then. I’ll take you to Arlington.”

Jesus H. Christ, she thought. This has been one wild day. I should have just waited for Margreth. Once the Secret Squirrels find out I’m missing, they’ll tell Nick. Then Nick will call the Coast Guard and have them dredge the Potomac. Still, it feels good to be free for an afternoon.

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