SMYTH IN THE WILD
"... And then Freddy did that thing she does, you know, where she rolls her eyes and makes you feel like the stupidest person in the world even though what you're saying is perfectly correct," Amanda said, and Francine nodded, rolling her own eyes in a sympathetic do I ever even as she ate a mouthful of mashed potato.
"Wait." Lee paused in shaking the ketchup bottle. "Did you just call Doyle the Dragon Lady 'Freddy'?"
"They're solid friends now," Francine told him.
Now Amanda rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't say that."
"I would, and I'm in line to collect twenty bucks from Bob Duhaney the second you bring her a batch of peanut butter cookies."
Lee laughed into his coffee cup. Bob really liked a wager.
"I am not —" Amanda sat up straight in her seat, her eyes widening as she looked across the room. "Oh my gosh," she said, laying a hand on Lee's arm. "Look."
"What?"
"Dr Smyth."
"That is not Doctor —" Lee scoffed. He followed her gaze across the room, to a table behind Francine. His shirt collar tightened suddenly and his bite of sandwich — a BLT that rivaled Amanda's in deliciousness — stuck in his throat. The man across the room bore a striking resemblance to the Agency director, if the Agency director was wearing what Lee thought of as a "normal people costume."
"Is this like the time you swore you saw Alexander Haig at the dry-cleaners?" Francine said, wryly. She speared a piece of broccoli and gave a little sigh as she ate it, not bothering to turn around and see if Amanda was correct.
"Anyone could make that mistake," Amanda said, testily.
"God," Lee groaned. "It had better not be. Smyth eating here is the last thing I need."
"How do we know it's for sure the old man?" Francine asked, her voice almost a whisper even though the lunchtime din would have made it impossible for her to be heard across the dining room. She half turned, then thought better of it and sank back into her seat, lower than before.
"Brenda," Lee suggested.
"That seems unfair," Francine said, "sending her into a trap like that."
"He's not a monster," Amanda said. "His coffee needs a top-up now and then, too." She leaned back in her chair, picking at her salad as she watched Smyth through her eyelashes. "He's not wearing his usual suit."
"No?" Francine shifted in her seat again, anxious. Dying to look. Lee suppressed a laugh.
"Nope," Lee said, but didn't offer up any other details. He relaxed a little, his hand resting on the back of Amanda's chair, and studied the man across the room. He was wearing a blue Oxford shirt and khakis, like so many other men his age did outside of work. But it was definitely the Agency director, he'd have bet a month's salary on it.
"Is he alone?" Francine asked.
"Nope, he's sitting with a woman. And it's not his secretary."
Francine swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes and threw her napkin on the floor. Lee watched, amused, as she ducked to pick it up and craned her neck in Smyth's direction as she did.
"Real smooth, Desmond," he said, smirking.
"Oh, you should just go ahead and look," Amanda said, irritably. "I'm sure he spotted us the moment he came in here."
Francine looked, then settled back in her seat. "It can't be him."
"Why not?"
"One, he'd probably never be caught dead in those pants. And two, that woman looks pleasant and happy to be here with him. I say it's a clone. Or a twin. A doppelganger."
Brenda appeared at her side, then, coffee pot in hand. "Refills?" she asked, with her usual smile.
"Yeah, and maybe a favor?" Lee suggested.
The smile dimmed. "What now?"
"What do you mean, 'what now?'" Lee muttered. "I hardly ever ask for a favor."
Brenda rolled her eyes. "Every time you say that to me you're being followed, someone's looking for a way into or out of the country, or there's a microfilm stashed in the pastry case." Brenda reached to fill his cup. "Which is it this time?"
"None of those things." Lee tipped his head in the direction of the booth they were watching. "I want to know if that man over there is who I think he is."
"Who do you think he is?"
"Austin Smyth, the director of the Agency," Amanda said.
Brenda nodded. "Oh yeah. That's him. I don't even have to go over there to know it's him. He comes in here once a month. That's his niece."
"He has a niece?" Amanda said, surprised.
"Well, that's the line, anyway, but you know how families are around here. Putting a label on it doesn't mean that's what it is."
"Huh." Lee sipped his coffee. "How long has he been coming here?"
Brenda shrugged, clearly annoyed with the line of questioning. "A while."
"Who does he come in with?"
"I don't know. Sometimes his niece. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with Mr Snuffalupagus or, now and again, he comes in with Caspar Weinberger and Donald Regan for a plate of Dotty's cookies. Oatmeal only."
Lee rolled his eyes. "I didn't realize you had a third job as a comedian. Very funny."
Brenda gave him her coolest smile, dipped her head, and moved on to the next table.
"I wonder what's got her back up," he muttered.
"Oh, Lee." Amanda sighed with exasperation. "She probably just wants to know why you can't just come in here and have lunch like a normal person."
"Or," Francine leaned in, "she can't believe three intelligence operatives don't know anything about the guy who runs to their own agency."
"You have a point," Lee admitted, chuckling softly, and resolved to make it up to her somehow. He did owe her, if he tallied up everything. She was always feeding him tips, even when he didn't ask, and in return he'd probably caused her more than her share of headaches.
"How would he even know about this place, anyway?" Francine wondered, turning back to her hot roast beef sandwich.
"How does anyone know about a place?" Lee muttered. "Someone tells them."
Amanda bit her lip. She suddenly became extremely interested in rearranging the croutons in her Caesar salad. Lee watched his wife through narrowed eyes, waiting for her to look up, but she kept her eyes on her plate, then her iced tea.
"Amanda," he said, finally.
"Mm-hm," she answered, fiddling with her napkin.
"Did you…."
"Did I what?" she asked, dragging on her straw, then adjusting her watch strap.
"Did you happen to, I don't know… in casual conversation, maybe… bring up this place with him?"
Amanda laughed, but it wasn't her real laugh. He recognized it right away as her 'i'm covering something up' laugh. "When would that ever happen?"
"I don't know, why don't you tell us?"
"When have I ever had a casual conversation with him?" she asked, tucking her hair behind one ear.
He studied her. He leaned back in his chair and watched her as she shifted in her seat, and he realized she probably didn't remember, but he did. He knew exactly when she'd had a conversation with Smyth. A fairly lengthy one, in fact.
"What about the night we cracked the Mortenson case?"
Francine sat watching the exchange with wide eyes. She set down her fork now and leaned in. "Wait, when did she…."
"What about when I went to pick you up from sick bay and you were talking his ear off? Do you remember that?"
Amanda's eyelids fluttered rapidly, and a blush crept up her cheeks. "You know I don't remember much from that night."
Francine waved her fork. "Wait a minute. She was what?"
"Oh yeah." Lee gave a laugh that held a note of disbelief. He still couldn't reconcile what he'd seen that night when he'd strolled through the infirmary doors with the imperious Smyth he knew. "She had him by the arm and she was telling him all about Phillip's track finals when I got there. Three sheets to the wind."
"I wasn't drunk," Amanda said indignantly.
"Under the influence, then," Lee said.
"It wasn't my fault," she insisted.
She had him there. It hadn't been her fault. She hadn't even been working — she'd come along for fun, as his date, to do a little dancing and act as cover while he and Francine picked up a microfilm from a contact. It wasn't her fault someone had spiked the non-alcoholic punch in an attempt to incapacitate that very same contact, a double agent at the center of a months-long investigation. After a glass and a half of what she'd thought was mostly juice and ginger ale, she was tripping over her own feet and talking to anyone within earshot about whatever was running through her head at the time.
They'd ended up here, trying to sober her up before they'd realized what had happened — that she wasn't the lightweight Francine had teased her for being and she had in fact ingested something accidentally, not simply mixed up the bowls — and hightailed it for the Agency. And after everything was squared away and their contact was safe, Lee had found her in the infirmary talking to Smyth. Apparently he'd been there for almost an hour, having come across her slumped in the hallway by the elevators after a failed attempt to 'go home.'
"And what was the old man doing?"
Lee paused. He took a bite of his sandwich and studied his wife, who looked as if she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. "He looked like he was enjoying himself, actually." Almost like he looked now, across the room, Lee thought, and then instantly felt uncomfortable.
Francine snorted. "Why am I only hearing about this now?"
"Because I swore him to secrecy," Amanda said, her expression dark. She set down her fork and crossed her arms over her chest. "And it wasn't me. It couldn't have been. It was probably in a case report somewhere, when you started making yourself a regular here."
"I hardly think a case report is going to make him want to check out the breakfast special," Lee said. "Unless he does it just for kicks."
"Well you know good and well he's not likely to listen to my opinion about anything, so why are you pointing fingers at me?" Amanda asked, her voice a harsh whisper.
"Hope you enjoy the couch tonight, Scarecrow," Francine said, laughing.
"Anyway, it could have been his niece or whoever," Amanda continued. "We don't know anything about her. Maybe she likes pecan pie."
Lee and Francine exchanged grins. He knew she was thinking about the game they played when they came here together, just as he was. "Should we let her in on it?" he asked.
"And let her take on our most interesting subject yet? Definitely," Francine said.
"Let me in on what?"
"Francine and I sometimes play a little game," he said.
'We pick a subject," Francine explained. "Someone we don't know at all. And we, you know, fill in the blanks based on what we observe. What they do for a living, what their personalities are like. That sort of thing."
"You profile them," Amanda said.
"Right."
"Based on what you can observe here?"
"Yes. Just on what you see across the room. We have no idea how accurate we are because we've never really managed to verify it. It's just for fun." Francine tipped her head in the direction of Smyth's table. "So, what do you think?"
Lee thought she'd ask why they'd never played it with her before, but she didn't. Instead, she ate a forkful of salad and chewed thoughtfully, studying the woman across the room. "How detailed do you get?"
"As detailed as you want," Lee said. He and Francine watched her, waiting, wondering what she was thinking as she studied the pair. He knew it was going to be good. Amanda always noticed things other people glossed over — the way someone touched or didn't touch someone, the way they moved their hands when they spoke, whether their laugh seemed genuine.
"She's married," Amanda said after a minute, her right hand drifting to touch the gold band on her own left hand. "But I don't think she lives in DC. I think she's here for work or something. She has a piece of luggage under the table, so maybe she took a cab here and he met up with her. She's also got a briefcase, but it's red and expensive-looking, so maybe she works in something outside government."
"So not intelligence?"
Amanda shook her head. "He keeps scanning the room but she's oblivious. He's definitely seen us because he refuses to look this way." She took a bite of her sandwich and sipped her iced tea, tapping her fingers on the glass when she set it down. "I think she really might be a niece or a close family friend. Someone he's known her entire life. They seem really comfortable together. She's showing him pictures. She has kids. And they're definitely kids he knows, because he's leaning in to see better. Look." She nudged Lee. "He's taking them from her. He's interested."
Lee looked, chewing his sandwich. "It can't really be him," he said. He tried to imagine Smyth interacting with a child and couldn't, the many and varied references to nursery rhymes peppered throughout his speech notwithstanding.
"Maybe he has two identities," Amanda said suddenly. "I mean maybe this is the person she knows and we know a different version of him."
"Like a double life?"
"Not even that complicated. Just… maybe we know Work Smyth, and she knows this one."
"Smyth in the wild," Lee mused.
"He wouldn't be the first person to have a work persona," Amanda said, and Lee shifted in his seat as she looked pointedly at him. He wanted to argue that point with her, but not with Francine at the table. She was likely to take Amanda's side on the subject, as she so often did now.
"You think there's two Smyths," Francine said. "Interesting."
"You know what I mean," Amanda said. "Just two parts of his life that he keeps separate."
"You'd know about that as well as anyone," he said, catching her hand as she snuck a fry from his plate. She wrinkled her nose at him.
"Whose fault is that?" she asked, affectionate now.
"I never said there was blame to lay," he said, lifting her hand and biting the fry she was holding.
Francine rolled her eyes. "Ugh, you two. Focus."
"One of us could just go over there and say hello," Amanda said suddenly. "The way normal people do."
Francine shuddered.
"What?" Amanda laughed. "He's just a regular person, like anyone else."
"You can say that now, after your midnight confessional," Francine pointed out. "I'd be more likely to get back from lunch to find a pink slip on my desk."
"Oh come on," Amanda chided. "He just likes to push your buttons." She wiped her hands on her napkin and pushed her plate away, then reached for another of Lee's fries.
"Amanda," he protested, "why don't you get a side order if you like them so much?"
Amanda's fry thievery was a running joke between them. She'd done it since their first visit there, and Brenda had heard him complain often enough that he knew she added a few extra to his plate to compensate. Not that he needed them, he thought, surreptitiously checking that the buttons on his shirt still closed all the way.
"Because I only want a little taste. Just one or two." She took another. "Think of it as me making room for the pie you know you want."
Lee was just digging into that pie a few minutes later when a familiar figure approached the table. "Well, well," Smyth said, and Lee sensed the work persona Amanda had been talking about was firmly back in place, even if Smyth's handmade, Italian-leather wingtips were safely stashed in what Lee imagined was an impeccable closet. "If it isn't the Three Musketeers."
"Hello, sir," Amanda said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to see him there. "We were going to come say hello, but you seemed involved in your conversation and we didn't want to interrupt."
Francine's spine straightened, as if she were about to be taken to task by a teacher for cutting class. Smyth noticed, and Lee saw a flash of amusement cross his face.
"Bet you were surprised to see me here, outside the confines of the Agency."
"Well, uh…" Lee shrugged. Of course he knew Smyth had a social life. Elisa Danton seemed to like him, for one, though Lee had always written it off as transactional. He wasn't sure people who moved in their circles ever really liked each other or had true friends. "This doesn't seem like your kind of place," he said, echoing the words people often used when he'd first brought them here.
Smyth smirked. "I was raised on meat and potatoes too, Scarecrow. I even eat a slice of pie on occasion, and the pecan here is highly regarded." He gave Amanda a pointed look, and Lee saw a glimmer of amusement again. "And it's important to remember who and what we're doing all this for, don't you agree?"
Amanda's cheeks turned bright pink, and Lee suspected Smyth was repeating words she'd rambled into his ear months ago. He wondered if she remembered more about that night than she was letting on.
"Of course," Lee said.
"For the record, Melrose told me about this place over a year ago. Agent Stetson — your far better half — just refreshed my memory with her midnight monologue a while back. My… niece… likes it." He rocked on his feet, hands in his pockets. "Behave yourselves, children. And leave a nice fat tip for Brenda. She's run off her feet." He turned for the door.
The three watched in silence as he wove through the crowded dining room to meet his mysterious table mate, who was waiting patiently by the cash counter, luggage at her feet, briefcase in hand.
"See?" Amanda said, trying not to laugh. "It wasn't me."
"Billy. I should've known," Lee grumbled.
"I wonder how he let it slip," Francine mused. "At the country club? After a lecture?"
"I can't begin to guess," Lee muttered. "But I'm gonna find out."
"Oh come on," Amanda coaxed. "I'm sure Billy meant well."
"He might have meant well but look," Lee muttered. "Every time the Agency touches this place it gets more complicated and less…."
Amanda sighed. Then she laughed a little. "You're just mad because your worlds keep colliding."
"Yes. I am." He knew he sounded like a whiny kid, but he felt like a whiny kid right then. He just wanted to eat a piece of pie in peace, without running into coworkers or, worse, the insufferable person who ran the show.
"Aw, sweetheart." Amanda reached over and laid her hand over his, and her voice sounded the way it often did when she was trying to placate one of the boys. "You should take it as a compliment. Every time someone comes here they end up enjoying it and wanting to come back. You have good taste."
He sighed. She was right, he supposed. But he couldn't help feeling Smyth wasn't really here because he liked it. Smyth was here because he liked needling people and he knew this would drive Lee crazy.
He stuck his fork into his piece of pie with more force than necessary and sat chewing vigorously, like the whiny kid he felt like, watching through the window as the Agency director crossed the parking lot. He was carrying a takeout box, Lee realized. Pie. Highly-regarded pecan, most likely. Lee's favorite.
He sighed again. He couldn't blame the guy. It really was delicious after all, and Smyth was only human.
Probably.
