I think that this may become a technothriller.
The White House staff had prepared a “buffet” for Whitman and his party; the Executive Chef looked highly gratified at Whitman’s vocal enjoyment of the portable feast, and even happier when the President idly inquired about their ability to do a small state dinner. At the mention of that, Chief Alexander’s face pursed slightly, suggesting that the man was either annoyed at Whitman’s unexpected ability to adapt, or just a pinch-purse. Probably both, decided Whitman. He also decided that he didn’t care, beyond making a mental note to start having Baltimore pay the staff. That would probably annoy Alexander, too.
But the Chief of Staff certainly knew how to run a sprawling and iconic office/residential building. Rooms had been found for the few members of Whitman’s entourage who had accompanied him this far; and it wasn’t long before Whitman found himself sitting in the Red Room, being poured what he was assured was a precious Madeira from President Haley’s personal and legendary stock. Chief Alexander did the honors himself, and from the slight tremble of his fingers this probably was the real stuff, at that.
Whitman insisted that the man take a glass himself, of course; he might have disliked or at least mildly distrusted Alexander on sight, but Whitman wasn’t a monster. Alexander looked surprised at the courtesy, but happily so. The look on his face when he savored the eight hundred year old wine also spoke well for Alexander’s essential character. Clearly the man wasn’t raiding the Presidential cellars on a regular basis.