“Native Americans, huh?” Regina’s face darkened with rage. “Oh really? That’s the same thing as us calling your people Natives.”
“It most certainly isn’t.” Chef Figgie looked directly into Regina’s tiny, hard eyes, which reminded him of raisins imbedded in rising bread dough. “And if you ever refer to any of the mansion help as Natives, I’ll report you to the NAACP. I don’t care if you are the governor’s daughter.”
“Get these crabs out of there this minute!” Regina screamed. “Or they’re gonna die and smell.”
The crabs waved their claws in celebration as Chef Figgie gently lifted them and the trout out of the deep sink and set them in the bucket. He got wire cutters and snipped off the hook, sliding it free of the fish’s sore mouth.
Pony wasn’t so lucky. Nobody had ever let him off the hook for any reason. Oh, how he would love it if Chef Figgie would carry him down to the James River in a bucket and let him go. Pony watched the chef walk through the dining room, heading to a side door, water slopping out of the bucket as the crabs and fish talked to one another, making plans. Regina was close behind and stopped in her tracks when she saw Andy.
“We’re not having a light supper, after all,” she told him.
“Whatever,” Andy politely replied. “I think we need to hook me up with your father as soon as possible.”
“Are you making a tasteless pun because of the fish?” She scowled.
He didn’t know her well enough to make puns, and Regina had no doubt that this handsome man was not going to be nice to her. None of them were or ever would be.
Andy noticed the fish swimming inside the crowded bucket and realized he had misspoken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see the trout until just this second. Otherwise, I never would have used the word hook in its presence. I meant no disrespect. It’s just that I sincerely hope I get a chance to speak to the governor tonight.”
“You can call me Regina.”
No, he couldn’t. Andy couldn’t possibly say that name without feeling very uncomfortable and embarrassed.
“Do you go by any other names?” he asked. “What about Reggie?”
“No one has ever called me Reggie.”
She was knocked off balance by his kind interest and had to steady herself against the polished mahogany bannister that curved out of sight, leading upstairs to the First Family’s private quarters, where this minute Maude Crimm was spraying her hair, unhappy with the reflection that was spraying its hair in the mirror.
She had been beautiful once. When Maude and Bedford had first spotted each other at the Faberge Ball, she had been voluptuous but petite, with a bowed red mouth and expressive violet eyes. Maude was gazing into a showcase at a jeweled egg that had led to the Bolshevik Revolution and the mystery of Anastasia, when Bedford Crimm IV, a freshman state senator, had gallantly appeared at her side and stared through an old magnifying glass at the lovely shapes scarcely covered by her low-cut gown.
“My, can you imagine?” he said. “I’ve always wondered why an egg. Why not something else if you’re going to make things out of precious metals and priceless jewels?”
“What would you have chosen for a theme?” Maude coyly inquired.
She had fallen swiftly for Crimm and his inquiring mind, and it occurred to her that she had always taken the Faberge collection for granted. All these years, and she had never questioned why.
“Most certainly I would not have chosen an egg,” Crimm replied in a rich, important voice that lilted with the rhythm of the Old South. “A Civil War theme, perhaps.” He considered. “Maybe cannons of rose gold or Confederate flags fashioned of platinum, rubies, diamonds, and sapphires–the very stones and metals you should have around your lovely tapered white neck.” He traced her throat with a stubby finger. “A long necklace with a huge diamond at the end that would disappear into your bosom.” He showed her. “And remain tucked out of sight to tickle you when you least expect it.”
“I’ve always wanted a big diamond,” Maude said, looking around rather nervously, hoping nobody in the crowded room was paying them any mind. “You look like you’re wearing a big diamond yourself,” she said, staring at the front of his tuxedo pants.