“They're including me in some of their briefings. It helps us get a better perspective on what's happening over there. We can't broadcast what I hear, but it's useful information, and the President wants advice on how I think he should translate it to the media. I think I can help him on that.” It was exactly what she'd suspected the night before. Jack was becoming the President's spin doctor.

“Telling the American people the truth might be an interesting way to go on it. It would certainly be new and different,” she said, looking at her husband. Sometimes she didn't like his willingness to massage the truth, in order to put the “right” spin on things. He had a way of doing that which unnerved her. Maddy was much more of a black and white person. It was either true, in her point of view, or it wasn't. But Jack saw a rainbow of opportunities and subtler shadings. To him, the truth had a million hues and meanings.

“There are different versions of the truth, Mad. We just want to find the one that people will be most comfortable with.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. This isn't PR, it's about the truth.”

“I guess that's why I'm going to be there today and you're not. What are you doing today, by the way?” He glossed right over what he had just said to her, and the implications of it.

“I don't know. Hang around here, I guess. Relax. Maybe I'll do some shopping.” She would have liked to go shopping with a friend, but she hadn't done that in years. She never had time to cultivate friends anymore, Jack monopolized all her spare time and kept her too busy, and the rest of the time she was working. And the only people they saw socially were somehow related to business, like having the McCutchinses to Virginia for the weekend.

“Why don't you take the plane and go to New York for the day? You can shop there. You'd like that.” She nodded as she thought about the suggestion.

“That might be fun. There's an exhibit at the Whitney I'd like to see too. Maybe I can squeeze it in. You really don't mind if I take the plane?” It was a fantasy life, and she never forgot that. He provided luxuries and opportunities for her that she would never have dreamed possible while she lived in Knoxville. It reminded her of what he had said to her the night before, that she'd have no career at all if it weren't for him. It was painful to hear him say it, but she couldn't deny it. Everything good that had ever happened to her, she was sure, was because of Jack.

He called their pilot before he left, told him to expect Madeleine there by ten o'clock, and to get clearance for a flight to La Guardia with a return that evening to Washington. “Have fun,” he said with a smile as he left, and she thanked him. It made her realize again that there were small sacrifices she made for him, but in exchange, he gave her so much. It was hard to justify ever being annoyed at him.

She arrived at the airport at ten-fifteen, with her hair neatly pulled back, in a white linen pantsuit. Their pilot was waiting for her and half an hour later, they took off and headed for New York. They landed at La Guardia at eleven-thirty and at noon, she was in the city. She went to Bergdorf Goodman and Saks, and then walked up Madison Avenue, stopping at her favorite shops. She skipped lunch and arrived at the Whitney Museum at three-thirty It was a golden life, and she loved it. Jack took her to Los Angeles too, New Orleans, San Francisco, Miami, and now and then to Las Vegas for the weekend. She knew she was spoiled, but she was grateful to him for it. She never lost sight of the many benefits of her life with Jack, or the career he had given her. And she knew that what he said was true, that it was all because she was Mrs. Jack Hunter. She utterly believed what he said, that without him, she'd be nothing. Believing that gave her an odd kind of humility, which others found both ingenuous and appealing. She took nothing for granted and had no sense of her own importance, only his. He had even convinced her that the awards she'd won had been his doing.

She was back at La Guardia at five o'clock, they were cleared to leave at six, and she let herself into their house on R Street at seven-thirty It had been a perfect day, and she'd had fun. She had bought a couple of pantsuits, some bathing suits, and a great new hat, and she was in good spirits as she walked in with her trophies, and saw Jack sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, watching the seven-thirty broadcast. It was full of news of Iraq again, and Jack seemed intent on what he was hearing.

“Hi sweetheart,” she said comfortably, the animosity of the past week seemed to have dispelled between them the night before, and she was in better spirits. She was happy to see Jack, and he turned to her with a smile at the first break in the broadcast.

“How was your day, Mad?” he asked, pouring himself another glass of wine.

“Fun. I did a lot of shopping, and I went to the Whitney. How was yours?” It was a thrill for him to play spin doctor to the President, and she knew it.

“Terrific. I think we've got a handle on things.” He looked pleased and as though he felt very important, which he was. No one who knew him was ever unaware of it, and certainly not Maddy

“Anything you can tell me about, or is it all top secret?”

“Pretty much.” She would know it from what they gave her to report on the news. What she would never know, nor would anyone else, was the reality, or the original, undoctored version. “What are we doing for dinner?” he asked as he turned off the set.

“I can whip something up if you want,” she said, setting down her packages. She still looked impeccable and beautiful after her long day of shopping. “Or I can order something in.”

“Why don't we go out? I've been locked up all day with a bunch of guys. It might be nice to see some real people.” He picked up the phone and made reservations for them at nine o'clock at Citronelle, which was the most fashionable restaurant in Washington at the moment. “Go put on something pretty.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled at him, and disappeared upstairs to their bedroom with all the things she'd bought in New York, and she returned an hour later, bathed, combed, perfumed, in a simple black cocktail dress and high-heeled sandals, with her diamond studs and a pearl necklace. Jack bought her pretty things from time to time, and she looked wonderful in them. The diamond studs and her eight-carat engagement ring were her prize possessions. Not bad for a kid from a trailer park in Chattanooga, she often admitted to him, and he called her “poor white trash” when he wanted to really tease her. She didn't love it, but it was true. She couldn't deny it to him, although she had come so far and grown so far beyond it. It was obvious that he thought calling her that was funny, although hearing the words always made her wince at the image he conjured.

“You clean up pretty good,” he said by way of a compliment and she smiled at him. She loved going out with him, being his, and letting the whole world see it. The thrill of being married to him had never dimmed for her, even now that she was a star in her own right. More people knew her than him now, or it was fairly even. He was the tycoon behind the scenes, the man the President consulted for media advice, but she was the woman other women and girls wanted to be, and the face that many men dreamed of. She was the presence in their living room, the voice they trusted, the woman who told them the truth about tough things, as best she could, as she had about Janet McCutchins and countless other women like her. Maddy had a lot of integrity, and it showed. And it came in a hell of an attractive package. As Greg said about her constantly, she was “gorgeous.” She looked it now, as they left for the restaurant for dinner.

Jack drove her himself, which was rare for him, and they chatted about New York on the way. It was obvious that he could say nothing about his meetings. And once at Citronelle, they were taken by the headwaiter to a highly visible table. Heads turned, and people commented on who they were and how beautiful she was. The women looked at Jack too, he was a handsome man, with a sexy smile, eyes that took everything in, and a great deal of presence about him. Everything about them exuded success and power, and in Washington that was important. Dozens of people stopped at their table to chat with them, mostly politicians, and one of the President's advisers. And every few minutes someone would come hesitantly up to them and ask Maddy for her autograph, and she would scribble it for them with a warm smile, and chat with them for a few minutes.

“Don't you get sick of that, Mad?” Jack asked as he poured her another glass of wine. The waiter had left it chilling in a bucket next to their table. It was Château Cheval Blanc 1959, Jack was an expert on fine wines, and this was a great one.

“Not really. I think it's sweet that they know who I am, and they care enough to ask.” She was always gracious about it, and people came away from meeting her feeling as though they'd made a new friend, and liking her even better in person than on TV. Approaching Jack was a little more daunting, he was a lot less friendly.

It was nearly midnight when they left the restaurant, and on Sunday, they flew down to Virginia for the day. Jack hated missing a minute he could spend there. He rode for a while, and they had lunch outside. It was a hot day, and he commented that it was going to be a great summer.

“Are we going anywhere?” Maddy asked on the way back. She knew he hated to make plans, and he liked deciding at the last minute and just springing it on her. He would arrange for a stand-in for her on the news, and then he'd whisk her away. But she liked it better when she had a little advance notice. Sometimes he only told her the day before or that morning. And she could never say that she needed more time. They didn't have kids, and he was her boss, so if he decided she was leaving with him, there was no one to say that she couldn't. She was always free to go with him.