The First Counsel

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It's a five-minute walk from my office to the Rose Garden. Or a two-minute run. Cutting through the West Wing and looking at my watch, I'm already twenty minutes late. Accounting for the First Family's guaranteed lag time, that should put me there right on time. As I push open the doors to the West Colonnade, I expect to see a crowd. I find a mob.

There must be at least a couple hundred people--all of them angling toward the podium at the far end of the Rose Garden. Instinctively, I start glancing at ID badges. Most people have orange backgrounds--limited to the OEOB. A few have blue. And the ones who're hiding their badges in their shirt pockets--those're the interns. That's why the garden's so full. Everyone's invited. The odd part is, even young staffers don't usually get this excited by an event.

Behind me, I hear a man's voice say, "I been standing in lines like this my entire life."

I stand on my tiptoes and crane my neck to see over the crowd. That's when I realize this isn't your standard event. With the President's lead shrinking, they need the next few hours to be back-to-back grand slams. First the family party; then the live interview. They're putting on the ultimate pretty face for America--and sparing no expense to pull it off.

Next to the podium is the object of everyone's attention: an enormous vanilla-frosted sheet cake with an uncanny likeness of the First Lady drawn in different colored icings. To the right of the cake, behind a long velvet rope, is the Dateline team, collecting footage for tonight's intro. In front of them are two men with cameras. White House photographers. Damn, Trey's ruthless. Get a slice of cake; have your picture taken with Mickey and Minnie. In the final months before the election, they want us all to look like family. Family first.

Ignoring the photo-op, I step deeper into the crowd. I need to find Pam. I elbow my way through the sea of fellow staffers, searching for her blond hair.

Without warning, the mob begins to rumble. The cheers start up front and work their way to the back. In one sudden rush, the whole group presses forward. Clapping. Shouting. Whistling. The First Family's here.

With the President on her right and Nora and Christopher on her left, Susan Hartson greets the crowd as if she's surprised by the two hundred people on her lawn. As always, there's a velvet rope that separates them from the staff, but the President shakes every hand that's extended over it. Wearing a red-striped tie and a light blue shirt under his standard navy suit, he looks more relaxed than I've ever seen him. Behind him, the First Lady is beaming with requisite joy, followed by Christopher, who's wearing the same color shirt as his dad but without the tie. Nice touch. Finally, bringing up the rear, in a tasteful black skirt, is Nora. She's carrying a birthday present with red, white, and blue wrapping paper. As they move toward the podium, three TV crews, including the Dateline team, capture the moment. It's a brilliant event. Everyone--the staff, the Hartsons, all of us--we're one big happy family. As long as we stay on our side of the rope.