spin, Reynolds said, “Change ‘passengers on the commuter train’ to ‘hardworking people going home on Metro-North.’ The dead were more than commuters. Hell, they were voters!” He winked to Hiccock. “New York is an important vote. Don’t want them to think we can’t feel their pain!”
Cheryl looked to Hiccock and, although he tried to remain expressionless, she noticed his left eyebrow ripple almost imperceptibly as the sides of his mouth tightened ever so slightly, revealing a trace of disgust. She turned to deliver the speech to the president.
Hiccock asked, “Anything else?” in a way that said, “I have nothing else.”
“Yes. Let’s cut the crap. I know you don’t like me because I didn’t go along with your appointment.”
“Go along? You’ve tried to have me fired three times, Ray.”
“Chemistry, that’s science. Physics, that’s science. But artificial intelligence? What the hell is that? What kind of background is that for a president’s science advisor?”
“I have three degrees …”
“Please spare me. I’ve read your résumé. Scientific methodology, another winner.”
Reynolds’s dismissive tone triggered Hiccock’s retaliatory instincts, but he tempered it. “Don’t hold back, Ray. Real scientists don’t have any feelings.”
“But now you get to earn your title, Mr. Presidential Science Advisor. It is your job to see that the boss is not blindsided by any high-tech guano at the ‘speak-and-smile.’”
“How about if I just write my reports and hand them in?” Hiccock said in a tone usually associated with the words “You don’t pay me enough for that.”
With a small explosion for emphasis, Reynolds said, “Look, I am the goddamn chief of staff around here and you are staff!”
Hiccock maintained his composure as well as his resolve. Twenty years earlier he would have told this “scuzzbucket” where to stuff it and then stuffed it up there for him.
The chief, possibly sensing some latent Bronx rage in Bill, continued in a more reasonable tone. “The boss isn’t going to study all this crap in fifteen minutes and then go out there and be tested by the press corps. The need is immediate. That is why you are here, brain-boy. So forget the goddamn reports and be ready to win this press conference on your feet!”
“Why do we have to win anything? How about just telling the truth?” “Why is your type always so smart in gee-whiz science and so pathetically out of touch with political science?”
∞§∞
This won’t be that hard, Naomi Spence thought as she prepared her final briefing papers for the earlier-than-normal daily briefing. Before her job as White House Press Secretary, there were many mornings she got the girls and her husband up before the crack of dawn and rallied them into shape to face the day. This was all before her car picked her up at 6:30 for the 25-minute drive from Georgetown to the NBC news studios in the heart of D.C. With that kind of battle-hardened experience behind her, a room full of cranky reporters presented little challenge. The decision to take the job as press secretary was made easier by the fact that she and the family could stay in their home and the kids in school with all their friends. She took one last sip of English Breakfast tea and walked the few steps from her office to the podium.
In the White House pressroom, the members of the press corps were wiping the sleep from their eyes. This session was called earlier so the White House could “weigh in” on the explosion in suburban New York in time for the network morning shows. The reporters started pelting Naomi with questions as soon as she appeared at the doorway. She essentially gave the same non-answer six times. Then, when she felt they had settled down enough, she introduced Ray. Reynolds took the podium. “As Ms. Spence said, an investigation is currently under way into a massive explosion that happened a little less than ten hours ago. Obviously
Cheryl looked to Hiccock and, although he tried to remain expressionless, she noticed his left eyebrow ripple almost imperceptibly as the sides of his mouth tightened ever so slightly, revealing a trace of disgust. She turned to deliver the speech to the president.
Hiccock asked, “Anything else?” in a way that said, “I have nothing else.”
“Yes. Let’s cut the crap. I know you don’t like me because I didn’t go along with your appointment.”
“Go along? You’ve tried to have me fired three times, Ray.”
“Chemistry, that’s science. Physics, that’s science. But artificial intelligence? What the hell is that? What kind of background is that for a president’s science advisor?”
“I have three degrees …”
“Please spare me. I’ve read your résumé. Scientific methodology, another winner.”
Reynolds’s dismissive tone triggered Hiccock’s retaliatory instincts, but he tempered it. “Don’t hold back, Ray. Real scientists don’t have any feelings.”
“But now you get to earn your title, Mr. Presidential Science Advisor. It is your job to see that the boss is not blindsided by any high-tech guano at the ‘speak-and-smile.’”
“How about if I just write my reports and hand them in?” Hiccock said in a tone usually associated with the words “You don’t pay me enough for that.”
With a small explosion for emphasis, Reynolds said, “Look, I am the goddamn chief of staff around here and you are staff!”
Hiccock maintained his composure as well as his resolve. Twenty years earlier he would have told this “scuzzbucket” where to stuff it and then stuffed it up there for him.
The chief, possibly sensing some latent Bronx rage in Bill, continued in a more reasonable tone. “The boss isn’t going to study all this crap in fifteen minutes and then go out there and be tested by the press corps. The need is immediate. That is why you are here, brain-boy. So forget the goddamn reports and be ready to win this press conference on your feet!”
“Why do we have to win anything? How about just telling the truth?” “Why is your type always so smart in gee-whiz science and so pathetically out of touch with political science?”
∞§∞
This won’t be that hard, Naomi Spence thought as she prepared her final briefing papers for the earlier-than-normal daily briefing. Before her job as White House Press Secretary, there were many mornings she got the girls and her husband up before the crack of dawn and rallied them into shape to face the day. This was all before her car picked her up at 6:30 for the 25-minute drive from Georgetown to the NBC news studios in the heart of D.C. With that kind of battle-hardened experience behind her, a room full of cranky reporters presented little challenge. The decision to take the job as press secretary was made easier by the fact that she and the family could stay in their home and the kids in school with all their friends. She took one last sip of English Breakfast tea and walked the few steps from her office to the podium.
In the White House pressroom, the members of the press corps were wiping the sleep from their eyes. This session was called earlier so the White House could “weigh in” on the explosion in suburban New York in time for the network morning shows. The reporters started pelting Naomi with questions as soon as she appeared at the doorway. She essentially gave the same non-answer six times. Then, when she felt they had settled down enough, she introduced Ray. Reynolds took the podium. “As Ms. Spence said, an investigation is currently under way into a massive explosion that happened a little less than ten hours ago. Obviously