Andy knocked again, crisply rapping the heavy brass pineapple, which was the symbol of hospitality in Virginia. Pony walked briskly in place for a minute, working up a sweat and getting out of breath.
“Coming,” he said again, this time without cupped hands to make him sound closer.
He counted to ten and opened the door.
“I’m here to see the Crimms,” Andy said as he shook Pony’s hand, much to Pony’s surprise.
“Oh,” Pony replied, his mind going blank for an instant. This young man was polite and nice. He was trying to look Pony in the eye and Pony simply wasn’t accustomed to this and had to somehow get hold of himself and play his role. “And who may I tell them is here?”
Andy told him and instantly felt sorry for Pony. The poor man was run ragged by his job, and unappreciated.
“I like your jacket,” Andy said. “You must iron it all the time. Looks like it could stand up without you in it.” He meant this as a compliment.
“My wife works in the laundry downstairs near the kitchen. She irons it for me and is rather heavy-handed with the can of starch,” Pony proudly answered. “We never see each other unless I’m working because the rest of the time they got me in lockup.”
“That must be very hard.”
“It ain’t fair,” Pony admitted. “The last six governors, including Mr. Crimm three of those times, always promise to have my sentence commuted and then they get busy and never give it another thought. That’s the problem with term limitation, you ask me. All people do is worry about what’s next.”
Andy walked into the entrance hallways and Pony shut the door.
“Exactly,” Andy agreed. “The minute they get elected, they’re already thinking about what they’re going to do next because they have only four years, and half of them must be spent campaigning or going to job interviews.”
Pony nodded, feeling encouraged that someone at last understood what it was like to be assigned to the mansion. “You here to see the Crimm girls? ‘Cause you sure don’t look like their type.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Andy said, suddenly suspicious of the First Lady’s real motive for inviting him to the mansion.
Regina, too, was suspicious.
“These crabs are not dead!” she yelled. “One of them just looked at me. I just saw its eyes move. How could I possibly eat anything with eyes bugging out of their heads the way they do? It hurts my eyes to watch. You would think stuff would get in them all the time because of the way they stick out and don’t have lids.”
“It’s so they can hide in the sand and still see,” Trader explained to her. “There’s a reason for their eyes being periscopic like submarines.”
He deliberately alluded to submarines to mock the governor’s constitution behind his back. Trader was respectful to his prominent boss only when he had no choice, and it was his habit to abuse mansion staff and say whatever he wanted when Crimm wasn’t present or was unaware.
“Take them down to the river and let them go,” Regina ordered Chef Figgie. “The fish, as well. It’s looking at me, too. And take that damn hook out of its mouth first. You let it go with that hook in there, it will get caught on stuff and the poor thing will drown. I want ham biscuits with butter and mint jelly, you hear me? What happened to the rest of that pie we didn’t finish? The peanut butter pie?”
She ran tap water on the crabs and the fish, waking them up a little, as she loudly ordered people about.
“There’s a bucket in the corner,” she said. “The one they came in. Put them in it right now. And don’t you ever bring another crab or fish into this mansion. I’m sick of deer meat, too. How do you know the Indians don’t poison the deer first to pay us back? They drag this carcass up the steps, thinking we’re so lucky they give us gifts.”
“You’re not supposed to call them Indians, Miss Reginia. They’re Native Americans and it’s very thoughtful of them to bring us deer.” Chef Figgie was offended and not the least bit intimidated by her.