Lois spoke into the microphone that reached down from her earpiece.
“Davis, here are the logistics. After all the interns have cleared the area, secure the grounds, and walk POTUS and FLOTUS over to the food truck. Let everyone press the flesh, and have them back under cover in four minutes.”
“Roger.” Davis responded.
She looked across the Kennedy Lawn at the horde of college-age men and women noshing on free food. Her feelings were split between envious disgust, and plain envy. They had youth, and infinite possibilities on their side, when she had scandals, responsibilities, and an awful bargain to deal with.
It was her turn to go to the truck and press the flesh with the idiots who were hiding the most precious thing to National Security she could imagine.
She’d gone over the reports of the surveillance from the previous few days and nights in a cursory manner. They weren’t even remotely a threat to her, the President, or anyone other than themselves… and that threat was basically due to being crazy and stupid. It didn’t occur to these cheese-loving, craft-hippies, that nothing came for free.
“Good afternoon!” Lois exclaimed as the approached the window in the side of the truck.
“Hi there!” Donna replied, not entirely understanding why the dark-haired woman walking towards them set off all her internal alarms. “What can we make for you?”
Lois looked over the menu on the side of the truck, to the right of the window, and actually had to think about it. The descriptions of their offerings sounded pretty good, and provoked an unusual reaction in her: she smiled.
“What are the interns going wild for?” Lois asked the bubbly blond at the window.
“Well, they’re hopping up and down over the Political Puffs. They’re also pretty interested in the Red Light District stuffed tomatoes. We’re getting a lot of orders for the Press Crush sandwich, too.”
“I don’t want to copy them too much, but I think I’d like an order of the puffs, a Life Coach sandwich, and… I can’t decide on which dessert. What do you recommend?”
Donna looked thoughtful for a moment, and turned to ask someone inside the truck what they thought, in context of what Lois was ordering.
Someone with the deepest voice Lois had ever heard answered.
“Life Coach? The Merry-in-Berry parfait. Definitely.”
“Thanks, Logan!” Donna said, and turned back to the woman at the window.
“Was that Logan Manleigh?” Lois asked.
“Yep.” Donna turned and told him to come over. “Logan, say hi.”
The man was so tall he was bent over in the truck, and folded himself down more to poke his head out the window. Lois was surprised at the man’s nearly-Roman features. It wasn’t what one would expect with a surname like Manleigh.
“Hi. I’m Logan.” He stuck his hand out.
Lois reached up and shook it.
“Lois Nasen-Hedges. I’m the President’s Social Secretary. Thank you for being so willing to visit us, and put up with the security measures.”
“No! Thank you! We’re thrilled to be here… but a little nervous about serving the President and First Lady.” His anxiousness was written all over his face, and Lois found it strangely charming.
“Just be your, obviously, charming selves. The First Lady is really, really, looking forward to trying your dishes fresh from the truck.” Lois didn’t have to lie. Mrs. Chillum had been perky all morning.