As a setting, the White House is proving more interesting than I thought it’d be.
But the suggestion of more money coming into the till didn’t make Alexander’s eyes light up a little, which was what Whitman was looking for. He’s probably not skimming more than a little bit from the top, Whitman decided. And he maybe doesn’t even think of it as “skimming.” It was a rare steward who lived entirely on his salary, but the White House looked in good shape and so did its staff. Whitman decided that Alexander simply had gotten his nose out of place from having a literally legendary boss show up all of a sudden to disrupt everything.
Speaking of disrupting: “Two visitors from, ah, Georgetown were in my party. Are they still here, Chief Alexander?”
Alexander looked up from the silver tray where he had been fussing with the Madeira: Whitman noted that there were five glasses there. “My wife and several other ladies of the staff offered them an opportunity to freshen up and see the Rose Garden by night, Mr. President. They seemed most appreciative of the chance.” He smiled, still a little thinly but perhaps that was just the way of the man. “Representatives from the head authority in Georgetown generally do not visit.”
“Interesting,” said Whitman. “I reckon they don’t wish to impose.”
“Indeed, Mr. President. Ah, a question?” At Whitman’s gesture, Alexander went on, “Will the First Lady be joining us at a later date?”
Whitman sighed. “I’m afraid not, Chief Alexander. Asenath – that was my wife’s name, Asenath – passed ten years ago.”
“Oh, my apologies, sir!” Alexander even seemed to mean it. “And condolences. News from the outside comes to us slowly, here.”