“And we don’t know if this is workable, but we want to throw a benefit concert. Between the people injured at Pennington, our fans outside the White House and those injured in the Rose Garden, we just feel like we want to do something. Take the proceeds and donate them to the victims and their families.”
“If you raise more than necessary, you could set up a charitable fund to help future victims of domestic terrorism in the US,” Kira suggested. The table shot her a look. “I talked to one of my partners about managing benefits last night. This was a suggestion he made.”
“Interesting,” Rawlins said. “The press would love this.”
“It’s not about the press,” Ethan said. “I just feel…Wefeel,” he said, looking at Blayne, “that we need to do something.”
“I’m in,” Ric said. “Just tell me when and where.”
The other guys agreed instantly.
“I’m betting we can even get some other groups, depending on when we can organize this.”
“We’ll have to find a venue,” Hightower said. “I’ll put our people on it.”
The group spent the next bit of time discussing their rehearsal schedule and what the next few days would be like as things calmed down. Before they knew it was time for Blayne and Ethan to head to the White House. They left the suite, and everyone promised to tune into the live stream from the White House.
Mr. S. and Ms. Z. were waiting in the hall outside the suite to escort them to the SUV in front of the hotel. The stroll through the lobby was surreal. People stopped to look at Blayne and Ethan. Blayne felt like a guppie in a bowl from all the stares they were getting.
“I don’t know if I’ll get used to this?” Blayne said. He realized he was sounding like a broken record, even as he said it.
“Just know you don’t have to get used to this alone. I’m going to be at your side every step of the way,” Ethan said, grabbing his hand.
* * * *
Ethan
The plans went precisely as they had been described. Mr. J. pulled up to the White House, and Secret Service agents greeted them on the sidewalk. They opened the doors, Ethan and Blayne exited and were seen through the East Appointment Gate. They walked through the magnetometers and entered the East Wing of the White House. An older woman was there, introduced herself as the White House Social Secretary and escorted them to the First Lady’s office on the second floor of the East Wing. Things were quieter than they had been the day before.
“So, what exactly is a social secretary?” Ethan asked.
“My job is to plan, coordinate and execute any social event under the White House umbrella—everything from state dinners to medal ceremonies, like the one we had yesterday…” She paused as she realized what she’d said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” Blayne reassured her. “We’re all struggling to come to grips with yesterday.” The woman nodded. “So, beyond the First Lady, what other offices are in this building?” Blayne asked.
“Great question. We have the Office of Correspondence. They handle any mail that comes to the White House and write back or ensure the most appropriate person writes back. We have the Graphics and Calligraphy Office, which technically falls under the Social Office of the White House.”
From the look on Blayne’s face, he regretted asking the question. Ethan tuned the woman out until she offhandedly mentioned that the East Building was built by Theodore Roosevelt.
“The building was built in 1942 to cover the Presidential Emergency Operations Center—PEOC—construction. It’s called ‘pee-ock’ around here,” she said, giving the phonetic pronunciation. “Anytime there’s a threat, the President, Vice-President and anyone else deemed necessary are evacuated to PEOC.”
“So, that’s where Barnes was taken yesterday after…?” Ethan didn’t finish the sentence.
“I would assume so, but I officially do not know. There are other secured rooms in the White House, but PEOC is the one people are most familiar with. And here we are,” she said, leading them into an ornate inner office. “I’m going to let the President’s office know you’re here.”
“How are my boys doing today?” Cleo asked, exiting her office. She paused for a second. “Sorry about that. I keep calling you boys. I know you’re young men. But I look at you, and you’re not even as old as my children. My oldest, she’s almost thirty, heaven help me. My youngest? He is just a few years older than you, which is probably why I keep thinking of you as children.”
“I take it you had her when you were ten?” Blayne said.
“You’re definitely a charmer, that you are,” Cleo said.
The door shut behind them, and Cleo’s pretense once again disappeared. “But really, how are you two doing? Phillipa told me she dropped by to check on you last night.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Ethan said.
“What did she do?” Cleo asked.
“Let’s just say that Blayne and I were alone in the bathtub when she visited.”
