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better than what I had in mind. Sit down.”
    Ms. Martindale arranged herself artfully in a chair.
    “Do you have any idea why I made you do the do-over?” Holly asked.
    “I suppose you’re adopting the sexism of the men around here.”
    “The men around here aren’t sexist,” Holly said.
    “Then they’re unlike the men anywhere else.”
    “The difference is, they’re all working for a woman, and if you walk up and down the halls of the West Wing, you’ll see that a small majority of the people at the desks are women. Men work for them.”
    “Okay, so why’d you put me through this?”
    “Because I want you to be effective while you’re working here. If you look like somebody who doesn’t give a damn about how she looks to other people, you will put yourself at a distinct disadvantage.”
    “You mean, I only get to make a first impression once?”
    “If you want to reduce it to a cliché, yes. You might recall I demanded something else from you besides clothes and a hairdo.”
    “Oh, yes, the attitude adjustment.”
    “You don’t seem to be quite there yet.”
    “I’m working on it.”
    “I know, it’s hard to present yourself well when you don’t give a shit what people think of you. The trick is to start giving a shit. If you do, they’ll look upon your advice more favorably, and they’ll remember it, instead of trying to forget it.” Holly sighed. “I don’t know why I have to explain this to you.”
    “My parents have been explaining it to me my whole life.”
    “Try and remember that your parents don’t work in the White House, so there’s no point in continuing to rebel against them here.”
    “I get your point, I really do,” she said, looking at her nails. “I despise nail polish,” she said as an afterthought.
    “Better keep a bottle in your desk so you can repair chips.”
    “You’re not wearing nail polish.”
    “It’s clear—you might try that, if color offends you.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    “How’s your memory?” Holly asked.
    “Excellent.”
    Holly picked up a thick file on her desk and tossed it to her. “That’s the latest on Al Qaeda. Memorize it. There’ll be more tomorrow, if not sooner. It’s classified Top Secret and Need to Know, but your security clearance came through on Friday, and you need to know, because I say you do.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Millie said, then got up and went to her desk alongside that of Marge in Holly’s anteroom.
    Holly was alone at a table in the White House Mess, having lunch, when another woman pulled up a chair and set down her tray. “Mind if I join you, Holly?”
    “Not at all.”
    “I’m Ann Keaton, the president’s chief of staff.” She extended a hand.
    Holly shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot.”
    “I understand we have a mutual acquaintance in Stone Barrington.”
    “We do?”
    “It’s more in the past tense for me—I’m seeing somebody else now.”
    “Good for you.”
    “I just wanted to clear the air, because you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other.”
    “The air is clear,” Holly said. “I look forward to working with you.”
    Ann had some soup. “I hear you’ve been working practically underground for a while.”
    Holly laughed. “Practically. Now I get to see the sun sometimes.”
    “I know how you feel—working in the campaign was like that for me. I hear you found an apartment already. Where?”
    “Down Pennsylvania Avenue a good ways, over an antique shop.”
    “Have the security people vetted it yet?”
    “They spent most of the weekend with me, stomping around the place in their work boots.”
    “And you gave them a key?”
    “Yes, and they were kind enough to give me my entry code, after they installed the new security system. They put in a direct line to the White House switchboard, too.”
    “Did they explain that any intrusions will alert our security police, instead of the old alarm system operators?”
    “Yes,