Tammy says, “I doubt it. I don’t have any scheduled appointments.”
Ralph nods, his face bright red above his equally red bow tie. “I know that but this woman … she’s from the Secret Service. And she says she needs to see you, straightaway.”
Tammy waits for a moment, says, “All right, Ralph. Show her in … and get me a cup of coffee, the way I like it. And see if she wants one as well.”
Ralph slips out, and about ten seconds later, the Secret Service agent comes in. Tammy stands up, extends a hand, gives her a close look. Tammy has gotten to know about a half-dozen Secret Service agents after meeting … Harry, and she’s not one of the protective team that travels with him. She’s older, tall, and very tired-looking, with frizzy brown hair and swollen eyes. She has on a black wool coat that goes down to her knees, along with a red scarf that looks handmade. After the initial awkward private meetings with Harry, she’d gotten along well with his Secret Service detail, with smiles and little shared jokes here and there.
This woman doesn’t seem to be in a joking mood.
She reaches into her leather bag, pulls out a small wallet, which she displays, showing a star-shaped badge and a photograph of the woman. “Miss Doyle, I’m Sally Grissom, special agent in charge, Presidential Protective Division for the Secret Service. Thanks for seeing me.”
The Secret Service agent sits down, and Tammy does as well, and then the door opens up again and Ralph comes in with a large white coffee mug branded with the firm’s blue logo, and she says, “Are you sure we can’t get you anything, Agent … Grissom?”
“No,” she says, and Tammy notes hard steel behind that one syllable. Ralph leaves, and Tammy says, “Do I need a lawyer?”
“Do you think you do?” Grissom shoots back.
“I’m not sure … why are you here?”
Grissom says, “You’re a smart woman, you’ve worked here for three years, you know the ways of the world in DC. And I’m sure you know that the agents who … allowed you within the President’s company were violating Secret Service regulations.”
“But they were … well, the President knew.”
“The President isn’t their boss,” she says, voice hard and sharp. “I am. And I’m here to do an interview, to ensure you weren’t a threat then, and are not a threat now.”
Tammy relaxes some, smiles, and takes a healthy sip of her coffee. Outside is the constant hum of traffic on K Street, with her windowed office overlooking the key avenue in this town, where deals are struck and money changes hands, all in the name of greasing the so-called wheels of power up on Capitol Hill and at the White House.
“Please,” she says. “I’m not a threat. Honest.”
Grissom says, “When did it start?”
“Ah … you mean, when did I start seeing the President?”
“Exactly.”
“About … eight months ago. At a function in Denver.”
“Had you been following him prior to that?”
“Following? Like … stalking? No, I’m not a stalker.”
“Your meeting in Denver, then, it was just an accident.”
“Yes.”
“How did it happen?”
Tammy doesn’t like being put in the spotlight like this. It feels like a job interview that’s going off the rails.
“It … happened.”
Grissom says, “Sorry, that’s not going to be good enough. I want details, or I can take you into custody right now.”
“You’re bluffing,” Tammy says.
“Try me,” Grissom says quietly.
Tammy pauses. “It was in Denver. My firm represents companies that have … pipeline interests in Colorado. There was a reception. We chatted for just a few seconds … and later, people were leaving, and Harry … I mean the President, caught my eye. He motioned me to follow him … and we went into this little conference room. And … we talked. That’s all. Just talked. About Denver. The campaign. Weather. And … you know what? He seemed lonely. The poor man … just lonely.”
“And?”
Tammy says, “A Secret Service agent knocked on the door, told him his motorcade was about to leave. We embraced … kissed … and … he asked me if I was going to be at an event in Saint Paul the next week.”
She feels warm now, thinking about that first time. “I lied. I said I was. And that’s when … we became intimate.”
Grissom says, “During your times together … did you say anything about the First Lady?”
Something is changing in Tammy’s office. It’s no longer the safe cocoon she loves.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand your question.”
“Grace Fuller Tucker. Did you and the President talk about her? Did you talk about her as a rival? An enemy?”
Tammy says, “Not on your life.”
“Prove it.”
Tammy feels trapped by the cold eyes and look of the Secret Service agent across from her. “I … we hardly ever talked about her. Honest. Our time together was so limited that we made it count … and that didn’t mean talking about his wife.”
“Did the President make promises to you? About your future together?”
Tammy hesitates. Maybe now is the time for a lawyer, but still … she can’t stand the thought of being dragged through that mob downstairs with her arms cuffed behind her, still being the lead story on every television and cable news network on the planet.
“Yes … he said that after the election he’d put out news leaks about his relationship with the First Lady, that they had grown apart. And after the inauguration … he’d separate from her. And eventually bring me into public view.”
Grissom says, “Nice plan. Tell me, how much do you dislike the First Lady? Have you been following her? Sending her anonymous threats? Or are you jealous about her relationship with the President?”
“No, no, I have … look.” She takes a deep breath. “This is rotten. I know it is. But the President … he was lonely. And … we connected. The two of us. I love him, and he loves me. We hardly ever talked about the First Lady … and you know what? I admire her. She’s trying to help homeless kids, she’s trying to make a difference … and I admire her for that. Honest to God.”
“One last question,” Grissom says, and Tammy is nearly faint with relief.
“Okay.”
“Did the President make any mention of the First Lady having an affair of her own, with another man? Did he have any suspicions that she was cheating on him?”
Tammy couldn’t reply for the surprise she felt. She recovered and said, “No. Not a word. Not a hint … nothing.”
Grissom abruptly stands up. “Very well. Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Doyle … and good luck in the days ahead.”
Before Grissom reaches the door, Tammy calls out, “Can I ask you a question?”
The Secret Service agent, leather case in one hand, rearranges the handmade red scarf with the other. “Sure. I can give you that.”
“I’ve heard … rumors. About the First Lady. Whether she’s … really in seclusion in the family quarters at the White House.”