Alien Diplomacy

Washington. Somehow she felt this made her better than his former wives, as opposed to merely the next trophy in line. I relished the thought of the day her husband would get tired of her and move on to number four. It couldn’t come soon enough.
    “Oh, just giving us some tips for Saturday night,” I lied cheerfully.
    The rest of them looked at each other. Jack Ryan, who actually insisted on us acting as if he were really the main character from the Tom Clancy books, even though the only resemblance he had was in name, cleared his throat. “Come on, Ambassador. Give us the real word. Maybe we can help you.”
    Ryan calling me Ambassador was a real tip-off that this wasn’t so much a gathering of adults discussing the next political event, but rather a lovely return to high school, with Eugene standing in for Chuckie. No one in class other than Eugene considered me an actual ambassador, so one of them using the title indicated they wanted to play. Fine with me, I’d been here many times before.
    “Oh, she just wanted to reassure us,” Eugene said hopelessly.
    “Now, now,” Ryan said with a conspiratorial wink, “you know you can’t fool Jack Ryan.” In addition to the rest of his delusions, his wife worked within the C.I.A., though not in the Extra-Terrestrial Division, for which I thanked God every day. So Ryan fancied himself Mister Superspy, even though he actually ran a car dealership in Silver Spring.
    He looked like a guy who ran a car dealership in Silver Spring, too. He was less than six feet, had a good start on a middle-aged gut even though he was in his mid-thirties, and tended to dress just a little too flashy for the occasion.
    “It wasn’t a big deal,” I said casually, hoping Eugene would keep his mouth shut and not volunteer.
    “What was Darcy reassuring you about?” Vance Beaumont asked Eugene. He was the one who’d answered the greeting question I couldn’t have gotten right if I’d actually wanted to. His husband, Guy Gadoire, was a lobbyist for the tobacco industry, making Vance one of the Big Men on Campus for the Washington Wife class. Vance didn’t work. I had no idea what Vance actually did with his time when class wasn’t in session, but gainful employment wasn’t on his schedule.
    “What we’re going to be wearing,” I answered before Eugene could say anything.
    “Oh?” Nathalie Gagnon-Brewer asked, suddenly interested. She was the only non-American in the Washington Wife class, and I still wasn’t sure why she was there, other than for something to do. She’d been a model in Paris and married a wealthy California vintner, Edmund Brewer, who’d just come on as a junior Representative. She and Eugene should have had a lot in common, but the few times she ever glanced at him, it was as if she were looking at a cockroach. “What are you wearing?”
    “I have no idea. Lockwood just wanted us to be sure to dress nicely.” I figured this one was a safe bet.
    “Oh.” Nathalie lost interest and went back to examining her iPhone.
    “You should go for something really low cut,” Vance suggested. “Really show off your assets.”
    I shot him what I really hoped was a withering look. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll be sure to take it into consideration.”
    Leslie Manning and Bryce Taylor came over, carrying trays of drinks from the student union. She and her partner were supposedly closeted, so she represented as the best friend of the Chief Aide for the Secretary of State, Marion Villanova. Their story was that Leslielived with her to help out because Marion was too busy to find Mister Right and start a family. Everyone played along, even me and Eugene, because, well, some things you didn’t use against a person.
    Bryce was “single” and supposedly only the personal assistant to Secretary of Transportation Langston Whitmore. As with Leslie, everyone knew, but again, we all faked it. Leslie and Bryce had become besties, in part because they could pretend to be dating.
    As a “couple” they proved the adage that people tended to date those who looked like they did. Though Bryce was taller, they both had stocky builds and a similar taste for modified mullet haircuts and pink polo shirts. They were both attractive, though, in their ways, with a vaguely non-American look indicating they were both probably first-generation citizens.
    Leslie’s eyes widened when she saw me and Eugene. “Oh, I’m so sorry. We didn’t know you were joining us.” She actually