The crew of the Manleigh Cheese food truck finished with the last of the photo opportunities and interviews, and found the Press had vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. It was barely two o’clock in the afternoon, but they felt as though an entire day had passed since they arrived through the gates at the White House.
John sat on the back bumper of the truck, and rubbed his eyes.
“I hope you all don’t mind me saying this, but I don’t want to fry another Political Puff ever again, for as long as I live.”
Donna turned to look at him, and gave him a gentle pat on the crown of his head.
“I don’t want to be groped by a customer ever again, even if I made $10k off my right boob. All the Coach purses, and all the coachmen, can’t put me back together again.” Donna declared with a grimace.
“Do you think, now that we’re done,” Logan said, sitting cross-legged on the grass, “we’re allowed to go home?”
“Ah. That’s a good question.” Donna replied. “We should ask one of these Secret Service guys. I mean: we’ve got the check, the pretty certificate, psychological scars, and exhaustion. I can’t imagine there’s anything else in store, unless the First Lady is going to give you boys a reach around.”
“I really hope not. I’m still shocked at how much food she can put a way and maintain her figure.” John commented. “She must have an amazing personal trainer.”
Logan stood up, brushed grass off his behind, and strolled over to one of the dark-suited men nearby. Donna and John observed the brief exchange, and were relieved when he gave them thumbs up as he walked back to the truck.
“You two saddle up. I’ll drive us home.” Logan said as he helped John to his feet.
They didn’t waste any time, but packed themselves into the truck in record time, and got on the road. Within minutes, they were on Memorial Bridge, heading towards Route 66.
Donna’s eyes were closed, and she was nestled into the passenger seat of the truck. She wasn’t asleep, but she was pretty sure she’d end up taking a nap on the way back to Logan’s house.
John was buckled into the fold-down seat, directly behind the driver’s seat. He felt the telltale warm prickle at the base of his skull that he was quickly associating with his wife’s impending arrival. He barely had time to notify everyone else, before she materialized in front of him.
“Darling!” Etty cried, and embraced her husband. “You three did so well! All those people loved your food so much!”
“Oh God, Etty,” Donna’s voice came from over the seat, “tone it down a little. We’re tired.”
“I’m sorry, Donna.” She looked abashed at being reprimanded.
John thought it was strangely cute.