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Did you learn anything there?”
    “Less than I’d hoped. One or two of the interns, including me, seemed to know more about foreign relations than some of the committee members.”
    “What do you read?”
    “American history, biography, and every relevant monthly magazine.”
    “Do you read any political magazines?”
    “No. I despise politics.”
    “What sort of family background do you come from?”
    “Wealthy and Republican. My father is CEO of a large, family manufacturing concern.”
    “So you’re not short of a few bucks.”
    “Nope. I have an income from a very substantial trust fund.”
    “I’m considering hiring you, Millie, but if I do, you’re going to have to go through what will be a very difficult learning process.”
    “I’ve never met a learning process I couldn’t master. And I prefer Millicent.”
    “This one is going to be new to you. You start Monday morning at seven AM . Between now and then I want you to find a makeover artist. Do you know what that is?”
    “I know what a make
up
artist is. I don’t know
over.
”
    “You don’t read women’s magazines, do you?”
    “They make me want to vomit.”
    Holly picked up the phone and buzzed Marge.
    “Yes, ma’am?”
    “Marge, I want you to find the best makeover artist in D.C. and block out all her/his time between now and Monday for Millicent Martindale.”
    “Give me half an hour,” Marge said.
    “Wait a minute,” Millicent said. “I think I’m beginning to get this: you want me to change the way I look, and I’m not up for it.”
    “Then I chose the wrong assistant.” Holly closed her file, picked up another one, and pretended to read it. Millicent sat in stunned silence. Holly looked up. “Why are you still here?”
    “All right, all right! I’ll do it!”
    “This isn’t just about appearance,” Holly said. “Of course, when you come in here Monday morning I want to see somebody dressed the way your mother would approve of. I want to see a hairdo and appropriate makeup, but I want a lot more than that: I want to see an attitude that is cognizant that you are the lowest form of life on the White House staff, and that
everybody
knows more about
everything
than you do. And I want to see you smile at least a third of the time. Another thing: ask Marge to find you an optometrist—get some contacts, and I don’t ever want to see you in those fucking glasses again. And that’s not all, there’ll be more every day, and you’d better learn fast. You don’t report to me, you report to Marge. Got it?”
    Millicent seemed to have shrunk. “Yes.”
    “Yes,
what
?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Marge breezed in and handed Millicent a sheet off her steno pad. “His name is Terry Tift. He’s just what you need, and he knows the White House drill. He’s expecting you in half an hour. You need an optometrist, too. His number is at the bottom of the page—you have an appointment tomorrow morning at nine.”
    “I’d better not recognize you Monday morning,” Holly said. “Get out.”
    Millicent fled.
    “Marge, tell everybody she likes to be called Millie.”
    Marge beamed. “Got it!”
    Holly had been surprised to be included in the president’s daily intelligence briefing. She found herself seated at the long table in the Cabinet room with the vice president, the secretary of state, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the director of Homeland Security, the director of Central Intelligence, the director of the National Security Agency, and the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, each of whom had brought a minion, all of whom were seated in chairs around the perimeter of the room. Place cards had been put out for the participants, and Holly found herself next to a chair with no place card.
    Suddenly, everyone leaped to their feet, and Katharine Lee swept into the room, a bound legal pad under her arm. “Seats, please,” she said. As they sat down she leaned over and whispered to Holly, “Remember,