Alien Diplomacy

before we could escape, “come here.” We did. It was like being back in high school, but we did. She shook her head. “I truly don’t understand what’s wrong with you two. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were both trying to sabotage your spouses’ careers.”
    Eugene and I both started to protest, and she put up her hand. “I’m not actually accusing you.” Her expression softened, and she looked almost kind. “I just want to ask one small favor of both of you.”
    We looked at each other. This was a new one. Maybe I’d been reading her wrong. Maybe she just wanted to help, and our failing hurt her. Maybe teaching was her calling, and we were her greatest challenges and, therefore, would be her greatest triumphs. Maybe she wanted to be the Annie Sullivan to our Helen Kellers.
    Eugene and I both leaned closer. “Sure,” I said. “What can we do for you?”
    Lockwood cleared her throat. “Saturday night, at the President’s Ball?”
    “Yes?” Eugene asked.
    Lockwood gave us both a tight smile. “The reputation of the Washington Wife class is extremely precious. My graduates go on to help their spouses to achieve great things.” We both nodded—we’d heard this Day One. Lockwood sighed. “Look, it hurts me to say it, but somewhere along the line at that gala event, one or both of you is going to blow it in a horrible way.”
    I blinked. “Excuse me?”
    She shrugged. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention to anyone that you’re in this class. I’m certainly going to deny it, if anyone asks.”



CHAPTER 2
    E UGENE AND I SLUNK OUT OF CLASS. The class was held at Georgetown University, so we got to wander through the beautiful campus. It was the end of March, but it was still cold here. I hated cold.
    “Well, that sucked,” I said as we put our coats on and trudged outside.
    “Like every week.” Eugene heaved a sigh. “You think we’re going to blow it at the ball?” He sounded both depressed and hopeful. Washington really brought out the dichotomies.
    “No,” I said as firmly as I could. “Lockwood just doesn’t like us ’cause we walk to the beat of our own drums.”
    “Yeah. Unfortunately, my drummer is making it embarrassing for Lydia.”
    “My husband’s okay with it.” This wasn’t a total lie. I hoped.
    We walked along in silence, enveloped in our mutual misery. “Maybe we can both get an intestinal ailment and be forced to stay home.” Eugene actually sounded like this was a plan to be hoped for.
    “It never works like that. If we get sick, we’ll toss the cookies right onto one of those people you never want to throw up on.”
    “Are there people you do want to throw up on?”
    “I’m all for barfing on Lockwood.”
    We were still chuckling when we rounded a corner to see a number of our classmates sitting or lounging in an appropriately cool way at a couple of tables. “Hey,” one of them called, “come on over!”
    I didn’t really want to, and I was sure Eugene didn’t, either, butit was a certainty that if we cut them dead, Lockwood would be discussing it at the next class and using us as the examples of the types of people who gave those in the political lifestyle a bad name.
    I shoved a smile onto my face as we reached them. “Hey, what’s up?”
    “Oh, we just wanted to talk to you guys for a minute,” Abner Schnekedy, who’d called us over, said. He pulled out a chair for me with a flourish, meaning I had to sit or create an incident. While creating the incident sounded like a better plan, I decided to play nicely just in case and sat down, dumping my purse at my feet.
    Despite having a name that should have ensured he was the butt of every single joke in the world, Abner was insanely popular in class. Possibly because he was married to Lillian Culver, who had wisely kept her maiden name for business and who was one of the top lobbyists for some major defense contractors. He was also an artist, at least according to his business cards that he’d shoved at all of us on the first day.
    “What about?” Eugene asked warily as Abner pulled out a chair for him too. I couldn’t blame him for being wary. Abner had now separated us, so we were on either side of him.
    “What did Darcy want to talk to you two about?” Marcia Kramer asked. She was a big-breasted blonde bimbo type married to a Congressman from Illinois. She was his third wife, so even though he was on something like his eighth term, she was brand new to