White House Rules (8 page)

Sameera and the agent walked through the long, glassed-in colonnade to the East Wing, which was still bustling with activity even though it was five-thirty in the afternoon. In the sunny, large First Lady's office, Mom, Tara, and a couple of other staffers were sitting around the small oval meeting table. Sameera couldn't see JB's eyes behind his glasses, but she hoped they were taking in the tight-fitting navy suit with white piping that showed off Tara's figure.

“Hi, Sparrow,” Mom said. “We're trying to narrow down the choices for my domestic issue. Want to join us for a brainstorming session? I'm thinking illegal immigrants, but these people think that's too controversial.”

“Maybe later, Mom. Ran's waiting for me upstairs. Which reminds me—any progress on finding her a job?”

Mom turned to Tara with a questioning look.

Tara shook her head. “Nothing yet. But we're still looking around.”

“Good. Did you set up a school visit yet?”

“I've already contacted St. Matthew's,” Tara said. “It's the finest private school for girls in the D.C. area—most of the political daughters go there, so you should feel right at home.”

“Isn't that where you went?”

“It is indeed. I know the headmistress.” She flipped open her handheld and consulted the screen. “We've got an appointment this Thursday.”

“Great. Hey, Mom, what are you and Dad doing tonight?”

Another questioning look traveled from Elizabeth Campbell Righton to Tara, who tapped a stylus on the screen of her handheld Master First Lady Planner.

“You have a dinner with a dozen visiting governors, Liz,” Tara said. “And their spouses. Seven-thirty sharp.”

“Do you have to be there, Tara?” Sameera asked.

Tara looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. “No. Why?”

“I was wondering if you'd like to join Ran and me for dinner in Georgetown to night. That new bistro got a great review in the paper and we've been wanting to try it. Strictly for fun, of course. No business.”

“You should go, Tara,” Mom said. “You spend way too much time in the office. You need to have some fun.”

Tara seemed surprised. “You really want me to come?” she asked Sameera.

“Of course,” said Sameera.

“Okay. I'll meet you in the front hall at seven-forty-five,” said Tara, smiling. “I hope what I'm wearing is okay.”

“Looks great,” said Sameera. “Doesn't it, JB?”

He was still standing in the back of the room, as silent and vigilant as ever. “Yes, ma'am,” he answered crisply.

Mom threw Sameera an I-know-you're-up-to-something look. “Sounds like a plan. Now let's get back to our session. I'm not really interested in censoring the entertainment industry, Tara. I hardly watch any movies, and—”

The door flew open, and in rushed Miranda. She was breathless, flushed, excited. “You'll
never
guess what happened.”

“What happened, Ran?”

Miranda threw her arms open and spun around the room in her own partner-free version of the Viennese waltz, reminding Sameera exactly of Julie Andrews in the opening scene of
The Sound of Music
. “Jerry Gaithers wants to meet me,” her cousin was caroling instead of “the hills are alive.” “Jerry Gaithers. Me. Jerry Gaithers. Me. Jerry. Me.”

Sameera was sure that her own face was as blank as her mother's. Tara, however, looked amazed. “Jerry
Gaithers
? Are you sure, Miranda?” she asked.

Miranda stopped spinning and whirling, which was good, because Sameera was getting dizzy watching. And so was Jingle, who was leaping madly around Miranda, offering himself to her as a possible dance partner.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” said Miranda. “I was browsing through Sparrowblog to check in on the conversation. Well, guess what? Someone had
just
posted a comment asking me to contact Gaithers's secretary. I wasn't sure it was legit, but I sent an e-mail through his website anyway, and his secretary e-mailed a phone number back right away. We set up a meeting during his next visit to D.C. It all happened so fast. Can you believe it?”

Tara shook her head. “
I
can't. Gaithers is big.”

“Okay,” Sameera said. “
Who
is Jerry Gaithers? And why is he commenting on Sparrowblog?”

“Only one of the top agents in Hollywood,” Miranda said. “His agency has represented nine Oscar-winning actresses. And he wants to meet with me here, in the White House.”

“He does?” Maybe her cousin's dream of becoming a Hollywood hottie was about to come true. Too bad it was her aunt and uncle's biggest nightmare.

“Yes, and I hope it's okay that I invited him to come. Aunt Liz, his secretary told me that you'll have to be there, too, because I'm not eighteen yet.”

Tara was tapping her stylus on the screen again. “What date are we talking about here?”

When Miranda told her, Tara shook her head. “You can't make it, Liz. You're supposed to be in Texas to speak at a teachers' convention.”

“Can you switch the date, Miranda?” Mom asked.

Miranda's smile had faded. “I can't. His secretary said he was coming to town just for that one afternoon. I
have
to meet with him, Aunt Liz.”

Sameera shot her mom a look, and Mom rose to the occasion. “Cancel that speech, Tara,” she said grandly. “Jerry Gaithers—and my niece—trump the teachers. Book the fireside room; we'll even serve the gentleman some tea.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Miranda said, kissing her on the cheek. “You're the best aunt in the world.”

“I'd better get back to being First Lady, girls, so that these good people can get home at a decent hour.”

The cousins got the hint. “How did he find out that you want to act, Ran?” Sparrow asked, as they made their way up the staircase to the Residence.

“Don't you read your comments, Sparrow? Your friend Sangi posted a question for me a couple of days ago, asking what I was up to at the White House, how I was doing, what my dreams were, and stuff like that. I can't wait to meet that girl on Friday night; she's awesome.”

“What? I don't remember seeing that at all.” One of the things Sameera wanted to ask an expert blogger was how to process so many responses at once, both positive and negative. She was battling a tendency to skim over approval from the friendly visitors and focus on challenges from more controversial posters like Sparrowhawk.

“This was in a nested thread with Sangi and me going back and forth,” explained Miranda. “You'd have to click two or three times to get to that level.”

“Oh, no wonder. I hardly have time to read the comments, let alone responses to responses.”

“Anyway, I answered Sangi by saying my dream was to become an actor. Gaithers's people must have read that.”

“Wow. They're certainly scrutinizing Sparrowblog closely.”

“This could be my big break, Sparrow. Do you know how much actors get
paid
?”

“Mom and Tara are still trying to find you a job here, Ran.”

“Good. I need some money
now.
I'm glad Tara's on it; she's so organized and efficient, she's bound to find something.”

“In the meantime, it looks like we might have found something for
her
,” Sameera said. “Or someone.” She explained her matchmakers-Tara-Colby plan to her cousin.

“Young Cougar…and Tara?” Miranda asked. “He really thinks she's hot?”

“Yep. Told me so himself. His name's JB, actually. Now we just have to figure out a way to get him to sit down and join us at dinner to night.”

“Well, good luck with that one. Sparrow, what if Gaithers asks me to audition something for him? Maybe I should start reviewing my lines from
Our Town
so I can show him what I can do.”

When Maryfield's community theater staged a production of Thornton Wilder's play
Our Town,
Miranda was cast in the lead role. The county paper gave her a rave review; Maryfield was still buzzing about her outstanding performance.

“You go ahead and rehearse. I have to make a reservation for to night. For four, because if we have an empty seat, JB will be more likely to sit down.”

When the restaurant manager informed her over the phone that they were completely booked, Sameera decided to pull rank. If any woman needed help in the romance department, it was Tara Colby.

“Oh, of course, Miss Righton,” the woman at the bistro gushed as soon as Sameera revealed her identity. “We'll have a table for four reserved for you at eight o'clock. Thank you for choosing our restaurant.”

Miranda always took twice as long as her cousin to get ready, so while she waited Sameera scrolled through the long archive of comments on her blog. She tried her best to track layered side threads that spun off from her original posts, but some of them stretched on and on. Sparrowbloggers were apparently just as interested in what others had to say as they were in the First Daughter's thoughts. The conversation took odd turns, headed into uncharted territory, and lured casual surfers into heated discussions.
Good
, Sameera thought. She wanted Sparrowblog to be elastic, flexible, a work in progress created by many different hands.
And it's still a close race between fun people and serious people. Guess I'll have to keep providing both types of posts…oh, here's that comment from Jerry Gaithers. Or his secretary.

She read the note, which seemed legit, and opened a new browser window to search for his name. Sure enough, he was a top-notch, hotshot agent in Hollywood, forty something, bald with a comb-over, just divorced from a third wife, who was in the process of suing him for everything.
Hmm, sounds like a charmer,
Sameera thought.

Miranda was finally ready, and the girls headed down to meet Tara. Inside the bustling bistro, Sameera followed Tara, Miranda, and the maître d', answering greetings from strangers who called out things like “Hey, Sparrow!” and “How's life in the House?”
At least they're all friendly,
she thought.
No hecklers in this crowd.

Tara was still wearing the navy blue suit with white trim, her hair hadn't budged a centimeter since the afternoon, and her lipstick looked like it had been tattooed in place. “Why four place settings?” she asked as they sat down. “Are we expecting someone?”

Sameera elbowed her cousin; she hadn't thought through an answer to this obvious question.

“Oh, you know
everybody
in this town, Tara,” Miranda said brightly. “We'll leave a chair so that your acquaintances can sit and chat for a while.”

Tara looked suspicious but didn't say anything. The girls opened their menus and decided what to order. “I'll have a cappuccino,” Tara said, sighing as she put her menu aside.

“That's it?” the waiter asked.

“Tara, you have to eat something,” Sameera said. “Here—I'll order for you.”

“Okay, but nothing too heavy,” Tara said. “I don't have time to work out these days so it goes right to the hips.”

Despite the empty chair at their table, the girls' matchmaking didn't progress during dinner. JB remained on task, standing vigilantly at the door with the other agents. He didn't look Tara's way once, and Tara certainly paid no attention to him. She was too busy gobbling down the Caesar salad with grilled salmon that Sameera ordered for her. Occasionally, she looked up from her plate and gazed into the distance, murmuring with plea sure as she chewed a bite of fish or a piece of romaine lettuce drenched in dressing.

When the waiter came to clear their table, Tara grabbed the unfinished basket of bread and butter from his hand. “I'm not done with that,” she said.

Leaving their dinner companion blissfully buttering another roll, Sameera and Miranda excused themselves and headed past the agents on their way to the ladies' room. In a whispered aside, with Miranda blocking her from Tara's view, Sameera asked JB to join them at the table for dessert. He shook his head no without saying anything, while the other agent smirked knowingly.

“We'll have to bring up the subject with Tara,” Sameera told her cousin as they washed their hands at the sink. “You get things started, and I'll follow through by asking if she'd go out with him.”

“Right,” Miranda said. “I'm all over it.”

Tara was leaning back in her chair when they returned to the table, a look of contentment on her face. The bread basket was empty; no trace of lipstick remained on her now buttery lips.
She certainly looks more relaxed,
Sameera thought.
Maybe the key to helping Tara enjoy life is to stuff her with calories. That's it—she's underfed AND underloved.

“The photos of you in church on Sunday and walking Jingle on the South Lawn are great,” Tara said, smiling. “It was a good idea to pose with the lab, Sparrow. Maybe you should join our brainstorming sessions—you've got quite a feel for what the public likes, don't you?”

“I didn't really plan to pose with Jingle,” Sparrow admitted. “He chased a squirrel over to the gate, and I chased him.”

The waiter brought over the Death by Chocolate dessert that Tara must have ordered while the girls were in the bathroom.

“I've been thinking,” Miranda said, trying to sound natural. “Some of those Secret Ser vice dudes are
cute.
I've got some stills on my camera that I could use to turn into a calendar—
HOT MEN OF THE SECRET SER VICE.
”

“You're so right, Ran,” Sameera added quickly. “That one over there, JB, is definitely a hunk. Not to mention the nicest guy in town. He was so sweet on our walk the other day, and I hear he's single, too.”

“Girls, come on. You can't make a calendar like that, and you can't go after an agent,” Tara said. “You're under-age, and you'll get him in trouble.”

“Oh, definitely, he's way too old for
us
, Ms. Colby,” Miranda said. “But for the right single woman of say, thirty-something…he's definitely a catch.”

“
You're
not dating anyone, are you, Tara?” Sameera asked, after what she hoped was a long enough pause.

Tara speared the last bite of the Death by Chocolate with her fork like a fisherman who hadn't caught anything all day. “No. I always seem to go for the wrong type,” she murmured, her eyes closed as she chewed and swallowed. “I've given up. I'm going to dedicate myself to making your mother the most successful, popular First Lady in history.”

“You can't work all the time,” Miranda said. “It's not good for the soul.”

“Not good at all,” Sameera piggybacked, deciding to take the plunge. “How about going out with JB on your day off, Tara?”

Tara's eyes flew open. “What? Me? Oh no, I couldn't.
That
guy? And me? It wouldn't work. He's…And I'm…”

“He thinks you're beautiful,” Sameera said.

Tara's eyes darted over to the door where JB was standing. Just then, the agent folded his arms across his chest and sizeable biceps bulged under the sleeves of his dark gray suit.
Good timing, JB,
Sameera thought.

“He said that?” Tara asked. “That…I'm
beautiful
?”

Pink cheeks,
Sameera thought.
Good sign.
“Yep. That's what he told me earlier this afternoon.”

“But…but…” Tara lowered her voice and her eyes darted around the room before she finished her sentence. “He's black…and I'm…not. I've never dated anybody who wasn't, well, white.”

Sameera was shocked. She hadn't stopped to think about the fact that JB was African American and Tara was white. She was even more surprised to see her cousin nodding in understanding. But, of course, Miranda hadn't grown up in diplomatic communities where people from different cultures and races mingled without much fuss. Even Sameera's Turkish teammate and his Armenian girlfriend had eventually won their families' blessings.

“I know. That's what I thought when Sparrow first brought up the possibility, Tara. But—” Miranda was saying.

“What's the big deal?” Sameera interrupted, taken aback by her own intensity. “Why are people
still
stressing out about stuff like that?”

“Calm down, Sparrow,” her cousin said. “I was just about to say that race definitely doesn't matter as much as it used to. JB's smart and strong and brave. If he were fifteen years younger, I'd date him in a heartbeat.”

Tara was ogling JB again. He smiled at something the other Cougar said; they could see the dimples from all the way across the room. Sameera capitalized on the perfect moment: “How about it, Tara? I could give him your number if you wanted.”

“Well…” Tara said, tearing her eyes away from the agent. “I suppose I could try one date. It wouldn't hurt. My ancestors would probably have a fit, but they can't do anything about it now, can they?”

“No, they can't,” Sameera said firmly. “Ancestors have no power
at all
.”