Persuasive Lips (9 page)

“
Pardon
me, Miss Rockefeller.”

After
a
br
i
ef
stop
at
her
office,
Mrs.
Vera
Blandings
exited
the
White
Ho
u
se
and carefully
footed
her
way
down
the
icy
bri
c
k
driveway.
Tiny
snowflakes
danced
in
the glow
of
gaslights.
Peering
around
the
sha
d
owy
grounds,
Vera
spotted
the
President
’
s valet
accompanying
Fala
on
his
last
out
i
ng
for
the
night.
Mr.
Fuji
waved
to
her.
She called out, “Goodnight.”

At
the
guard
kiosk,
the
Secret
Service
a
g
ent
on
duty
signed
her
out.
“G
o
odnight, Mrs. Blandings, have a nice weekend.”

“
Thank
you, officer. I
intend to. Goodnight
.
”

As
she
turned
to
leave,
he
said,
“Ma’am,
if
you
can
wait
five
or
ten
minutes,
I
can escort you home. It’s really slipp
e
ry out tonight.”

Absolut
e
ly
not!
Vera
twisted
her
head
back
and
said,
“Oh,
I’ll
be
just
fine.
Don’t worry about me.”

“
My
relief will be here any minute. I really
s
hould see you home, ma’am.”

“
No.
Thank
you,
you’re
very
kind,
but
I
enjoy
the
s
o
litude.
It’s
my
time
to
reflect and daydr
e
am a little. You understand?”

“
Sure.”

Vera
headed
west
on
Pennsylvania
Avenue
then
circled
the
block
as
fast
as
she could
without
slipping.
She
hunched
behind
a
massive
oak
tree
outside
the
northe
as
t appointment
gate,
where
she
had
just
exited.
She
was
b
r
eathing
so
hard
that
s
he
put
her hat in front of her nose and mouth so the vapor wouldn’t be noticed.

Just
before
eleven
o’clock,
Ashley
Jones,
the
night
r
elief,
reported
to
the
kio
s
k carrying his predictable sack of Tiny Tavern hamburgers.

As
the
Secret
Service
agents
snacked
and
chuckled,
Vera’s
respiration
returned
to normal.
She
put
her
hat
back
on
and
snuck
over
to
a
gatepost.
She
pulled
a
brass
letter opener
from
her
coat
pocket
and
ran
it
down
a
gro
o
ve
in
the
l
i
mestone,
triggering
the latch. A h
i
dden door popped o
p
en. She dashed inside, closing it
b
ehind her.

Crunching
paint
snagged
rough
l
y
on
her
g
l
oves
as
she
hurried
down
a
ladder
to the
tunnel
entrance.
She
fou
n
d
the
first
l
ight
switch
a
n
d
flipped
it.
V
e
ra
shivered though
p
u
ddles
and
muck.
Her
suction-li
k
e
footsteps
echoed
in
the
cobwebby catacombs.
The
incessant
drip-drip-drip
from
cracks
in
the
mortar
pound-pound- pounded in her head. Some of it spit in her
f
ace.

At
the
end
of
each
passage,
she
shut
the
li
g
ht
off
before
entering
t
h
e
next
ch
a
mber. Every
turn
and
switchback
in
the
labyrinth
w
a
s
familiar.
After
all,
it
was
part
of
her
job description to know how to get the President out of the White H
o
use—in a hurry.

Vera
made
her
way
to
the
train
platform
hidden
below
the
Bureau
of
Engraving and
Printing
where
FDR
sec
r
etly
boarded
for
his
trips.
A
sc
r
e
a
m
from
b
e
hind
sent
her scrambling
up
the
platform
and
into
the
presidential
rail
car.
Springing
through
the darkened
conference
room,
she
bounced
off
the
paneled
walls
of
the
narrow
corridor and ducked inside the first lady’s bedroom.

In
the
moments
of
seemingly
eternal
silence,
clutching
her
purse
so
tight
that
her fingertips
pulsed,
Vera
summoned
her
inn
e
r
strength.
She
finally
attributed
the
scream to
either
her
nervous
imaginati
o
n
or
a
ho
u
se
cat.
And
if
it
was
a
human
scream,
well, she
wasn’t
in
a
position
to
go
and
save
the
day.
Vera
crept
back
through
the
train, remember
i
ng.
At least I got to ride this t
h
ing
o
nc
e
. That’s more t
h
an most girls can
say.

After
peeking
out
a
window
into
the
da
rk
ened
loading
zone,
s
he
inhaled
deeply and sprint
e
d out the metal door of
the observation car. It clanged shut behind her.

Dashing
up
concrete
steps,
she
entered
the
Bureau
of
Engr
a
ving
and
Printing through
a
s
tairwell
door,
tiptoeing
to
a
supervisors’
catwalk.
Vera
ignored
the
four
foot tall
pallets
of
brand-new
United
States
currency
stacked
near
the
walls.
She
climbed
the steps to the
catwalk and gripped the railing
a
s she hastened to the printing r
o
om.

* * * * *

Miss
Chloe
Lambert
stepped
off
the
street
c
ar
at
the
corner
of
Fourteenth
and
C Streets.
Frigid
air
pl
a
yed
tag
w
i
th
her
breath
and
steam
from
u
n
derground.
Strolling carefully
on
the
slippery
sidewalk,
she
watched
as
Sergeant
Bill
Blandings
hoisted
the loading
dock
door
a
n
d
stepp
e
d
outside
t
h
e
Bureau
of
Engra
v
ing
and
Printing.
He struck
a
match
to
light
the
cig
a
rette
dang
l
ing
from
his
lip
then
ascended
the
ramp, locking
his
gaze
onto
hers.
Heart
pounding,
Chloe
paused
to
refresh
her
lipstick.
Bill sucked
the
smoke
d
e
ep
into
his
lungs
as
h
e
watched
and
waited.
Finally
exhaling,
he blew
five
smoke
rings.
She
stepped
up
to
him
and
scattered
the
circles
wi
t
h
her
blue gloved hand.