Red interlocked his fingers and cracked his knuckles. He then pounced on the keyboard as if the keys had been waiting for him. A furious melody of Sinatra songs ensued.
“I’m not just a looker. I can play, too,” he winked.
____________________________
From the time Jen was old enough to talk, she had been in awe of the State Department building in which her father worked. The ornate hallways and tall doors gave Jen the impression that important and powerful people worked there. Her father Gerald was a well- respected undersecretary who, due to his sterling reputation and extreme competence, had consistently weathered the election tides and administration changeovers. When she was 13, she met then-Secretary of State George Schultz. She was supposed to shake his hand while posing for a picture for posterity. Instead, she asked him a complication question about U.S.-Soviet relations. Mr. Schultz said that her question was better than most of those asked by reporters three times her age. And he meant it.
Gerald Savin was Jen’s career mentor. He was the only person she knew outside of academic circles who’d appreciate the significance of a call from Arthur Cromwell.
“Undersecretary Savin’s office,” said Maria, his secretary since Jen was seven. Jen still loved the way his title sounded when spoken. So regal and important. Unless he was talking to the secretary of state, there was no way Gerald Savin would miss a call from his daughter.
“Afternoon, Jen. Everything all right?”
“I need your advice. Do you have a minute?”
Of course he did. It felt good to be needed by his children even after they were grown.
Page 259
