Stevie was dressed up in a blue blazer and gray pants and a carefully knotted tie, but he gawked when Susan Carol came downstairs in a tailored blue dress and high heels.
“Heels?” Stevie said.
“I’m goin’ to the White House to meet the president of the United States,” she said. “Should I be wearin’ sneakers?”
“No,” he said. “But it isn’t a state dinner, it’s an interview.”
“Lay off, Stevie,” said Kelleher, who was standing at the stove making eggs. “She looks great and so do you. Just make sure you both remember a tape recorder and a notebook. They’ll probably have someone there taping the interview too, but it’s always good to have backup.”
Stevie had been pretty calm about the interview-right to the moment they pulled up at the White House gate.
Bob Campbell was waiting outside for them.
“Right on time,” he said, looking at his watch.
“I don’t imagine too many people are late for appointments with the president,” Susan Carol said.
“True,” Campbell said. “Most of the time it’s the other way around. President Obama is actually pretty good as presidents go about staying on time.”
“Anyone who was really bad?” Stevie asked.
“President Clinton.” Campbell laughed. “On a good day he was two hours behind schedule. Come on, let’s get you through security and I’ll give you a ten-minute tour.”
The security check was thorough but not too bad. They had already been given clearance since their social security numbers had been submitted a couple of weeks earlier. The guards were friendly, no doubt in part because of Campbell’s presence. Once they were inside the gate, they walked through a small parking lot that sat between the White House and a massive older-looking building that was connected to the White House with a canopy.
“What’s that building?” Stevie asked, hearing Susan Carol sigh loudly as soon as the question was out of his mouth.
“That’s the OEOB,” Dowling said.
“The OEO what?” Stevie said.
Susan Carol was now rolling her eyes. “Steven Thomas, have you never even watched West Wing?” she said. “The OEOB is the Old Executive Office Building. It’s where most of the White House staff works.”
“I have watched West Wing,” Stevie said. “I just didn’t memorize it. So the White House staff all works over there?”
“Most of it, actually,” Campbell said. “Only those who need to be closest to the president actually work in the White House itself.”
They walked into a small lobby filled with photos of President Obama with various people, most of whom Stevie didn’t recognize. One he did recognize was Ken Niumatalolo, standing next to the president, who was holding up a Navy football jersey with his name and a number 1 on it. Seeing him staring at the photo, Campbell pointed at it.
“That’s the only one up there now that wasn’t taken in the last month,” he said. “Most of the photos put up here are recent. But for Army-Navy week they dug that one out. It’s from last April when the Navy team came here to officially receive the Commander-in-Chief’s Trophy.”
“So the winner of the game gets to come to the White House,” Stevie said.
“The winner of the trophy does,” Campbell said. “Since Army and Navy both beat Air Force this year, yes, the winner Saturday will be coming here at some point.”
They continued down a hall and Campbell stopped at a door with a guard on it. “Hey, Mike, I just want to give the kids a quick look if nothing’s going on,” he said.
“All quiet,” Mike said, hitting some kind of button on the wall that swung the door open. They walked into a small room with a long table in the middle, clocks on one of the walls, and what looked like a computer screen of some kind on the far wall.
“Know what this is?”
“The situation room, right?” Susan Carol said.
“No way,” Stevie said. “It can’t be this small.”
“That’s what most people say. But you’re right, Susan Carol. Come on, we’ll go upstairs and I’ll show you the press room. You’ll be surprised at how small it is too.”
They went up a flight of stairs, down a couple of very busy hallways, and through a door into an interview room that was about half the size of the interview room Stevie had been in at West Point a week earlier and maybe one-tenth the size of an interview room at the Final Four or the Super Bowl.
“The White House press room,” Campbell said.
The only reason Stevie believed him was that he could see a podium with the presidential seal and a White House logo behind it. It appeared to seat fewer than a hundred.
“Come on, it’s almost ten,” Campbell said, walking them back down the hall and into a large office that had three desks and about a dozen people, all seeming busy.
“This is Reggie Love. You guys may have heard or read about him…”
“You played at Duke!” Susan Carol practically shrieked as Love stood up to greet them. “I’ve read all about you!”
“And I’ve read about both of you,” Love said, smiling. He was huge, at least six foot six, and built like a football player.
“Reggie started playing football at Duke,” Susan Carol was explaining. “But in 2001, Coach K. asked him to join the basketball team because they needed depth inside, and he played on the national championship team that year.”
Reggie Love held up his left hand. “Yup, I still wear my championship ring,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you both. The president’s nine o’clock is wrapping up right now.”
Almost on cue, a door behind Love opened and a half dozen people poured out. Stevie recognized one of them instantly. “Hillary Clinton,” Susan Carol hissed as the secretary of state gave them a smile walking by.
“That I know,” Stevie said.
“Come on in,” Love said, walking to the door. Campbell, Stevie noticed, had not followed them.
“Mr. President,” Love said. “Susan Carol Anderson and Steve Thomas.”
At first, Stevie only heard the familiar voice.
“Thanks, Reggie,” he heard him say. Then, as Love stepped back to let him and Susan Carol walk inside the Oval Office, the president of the United States walked around his desk to come and greet them.
“Steve, Susan Carol, this is a real pleasure,” he said, shaking hands. “I’m Barack Obama.”
A photographer took several pictures of Stevie and Susan Carol sitting on the couch, notebooks poised, while the president sat in an armchair.
“We’ll send you copies,” he said.
“Do you need our addresses?” Stevie asked.
The president laughed at that one. “We have your addresses, Steve,” he said.
Oh yeah, Stevie thought. They have everyone’s address.
Stevie and Susan Carol started the interview with softball questions about Army-Navy and what connections the president had to the rivalry.
“I’m a fan,” he said. “I can remember watching the game one year when a Navy kid missed a short field goal at the end in a driving rain to lose the game and then took all the blame on himself, didn’t make any excuses. I was impressed by that.”
“Ryan Bucchianeri was his name,” Susan Carol said. It figured, Stevie thought, she would know that.
“That’s it, I remember him,” the president said. “Then there was a game where Army drove, I think, ninety-nine yards to win.
“Of course now the game means even more to me. As commander in chief, I have a connection to these young men that goes beyond being a football fan.”
They continued in a jock vein for a while. President Obama either was a real fan or had been briefed well. He certainly knew all about Stevie and Susan Carol. At one point he asked Susan Carol what her current national ranking was in the 100 butterfly.
“I’m actually a little higher in the 200,” she said. “I’m fourth right now.”
“The 200 ’fly?” the president said. “I get tired just watching that event.”
Susan Carol smiled, clearly delighted that the president could talk swimming. “The last time I swam it, I died completely at the finish.”
“You’ll get ’em next time,” the president said.
It was Susan Carol who finally brought up security at the game. Pete Dowling had told Kelleher that the president was always briefed on security issues, but they weren’t sure if he knew they knew.
“Are you concerned about it at all?” Susan Carol asked.
“No-I have the Secret Service to be concerned about it for me,” he said. “When you’re president, there are always going to be people who have some kind of grudge against you. It comes with the territory.”
“More so when you are an African American president?” Stevie asked, proud that his voice wasn’t trembling.
“I’ve been an African American president since the day I was sworn in,” the president said, smiling. “Again, that’s just part of who I am. I know that adds some new stresses for the Secret Service, but I also know just how good they are at their jobs. I don’t look over my shoulder. Lots of professionals are there to protect me.”
Stevie knew they were out of time. Reggie Love poked his head in the door. “Mr. President?” he said. “It’s ten twenty-five. Your ten fifteen is waiting outside.” They had been scheduled to have fifteen minutes. They’d been given twenty-five.
The president stood up. “I know you two understand that the security questions have to be off the record at least until after the game. Pete told me you’d had that conversation.”
They both nodded. Stevie wasn’t about to explain to the president of the United States that technically he should have gone off the record before answering the questions.
Then the president laughed. “And also off the record? I think the officials have more to worry about from you, Ms. Anderson. People will be paying more attention to them than to me, I suspect.”
Susan Carol blushed fiercely, so Stevie thanked him again and they were escorted out.
As they were leaving, Stevie couldn’t help but notice the president’s 10:15 standing up to be escorted into the Oval Office.
It was Bill Gates.