by James Ponti
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You audition behind a screen,” she explained. “All the people who pick are sitting in the audience, but they can’t see you. And you don’t talk so they can’t hear your voice. They only know how well you play.”
I saw her expression and wondered how rare it must be for her to ever be anonymous like that.
“You’re playing the cello on Monday at the Kennedy Center, right? We’re all going on a field trip to listen.”
“I am playing a cello,” she said. “Not the cello. That’ll be your buddy Yin.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the whole youth symphony will be performing, but Yin is the featured soloist,” she explained. “Of course, he should be, considering he composed the music we’re playing.”
“Seriously?”
“And it’s good,” she said with admiration. “He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. If he wanted to go to Juilliard he could go right now.”
“What’s he like to hang out with?” I asked.
“You can tell me after you guys go to the zoo this weekend.”
“You don’t know?”
She shook her head. “We don’t really talk much.”
I remembered that Margaret said Mrs. Chiang complained to the board of trustees about the way Lucy treated him and I wanted to dig further, but it seemed too risky. The conversation hit a lull until a booming voice came from the hall.
“How’s the homework going?”
I turned to see that it was the president with a friendly smile on his face.
“We’re still trying to figure out who to do our presentation about,” said Lucy. She started to introduce us. “Dad, this is Florian—”
“Florian and I are old friends,” he said, cutting her off. “We ran into each other in the hallway earlier.” He shot me a politician’s wink and added, “The British prime minister wanted me to say hello.”
“Thanks.” I laughed.
“So what’s the assignment?”
He was looking right at me, so I answered. “We’re supposed to give a five-minute presentation about a French person who impacts our daily lives.”
He nodded as he considered this. “Who’s in the running?”
“Lafayette, Napoleon, and Marie Curie,” said Lucy.
He gave us an unimpressed look and in desperation I threw in, “Maybe Blaise Pascal.”
“I’ve got one for you,” he said with a slight clap. “Pierre Charles L’Enfant.”
Lucy and I gave each other blank looks.
“Who’s that?” we said in unison.
“The architect and civil engineer George Washington appointed to design the city we now call home,” he answered. “He affects your life every time you’re stuck in traffic, whenever you get lost trying to find your way around Dupont Circle, and especially when you look out and admire views such as that.”
He pointed out the window toward the Washington Monument and the Jefferson Memorial.
“I like it,” I said. “We could talk about him for sure.”
“And if you promise not to tell anyone that I let you handle them,” he said conspiratorially, “I believe some of his original plans are downstairs in the library.”
He stayed and talked to us for a few minutes and it was obvious that Lucy and he had a good relationship. Then when he went to leave he turned and asked, “Florian, what are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“I think we’re having leftovers,” I said.
“Would you like to stay here and have dinner with us?”
I tried to keep calm. “I’d have to ask my mom for permission.”
He smiled at this. “I’m pretty sure she’ll say yes, but why don’t you call her and let me ask for you.”
My mind went wild trying to imagine how my mother would respond as I dialed and handed my phone to him.
“Hello, Ms. Bates,” he said when she answered. “This is Alex Mays.”
There was a pause before he said, “Yes, that Alex Mays.” Another pause. “No, I’m not joking.”
He listened for a moment and said, “Yes, ma’am, he’s been very well behaved and they’ve been working hard. I just wanted to see if it would be okay for him to stay for dinner.”
She answered, “Of course,” loud enough for me to hear it standing a few feet from him.
“I’ll have someone from the Secret Service drive him home when we’re done.”
He gave me back the phone and told me, “Now she’s going to remind you to keep your elbows off the table and your napkin on your lap.”
I took the phone and that’s exactly what she told me, along with other reminders about using my best table manners during dinner.
“We’re having Peruvian chicken, which is just delicious,” he said once the phone call was over. “With limoncello cake for dessert.”
“That sounds great,” I said.
Then he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. “And afterward, I want to show you something special.”
17.
Peace and Friendship
LUCY AND I DID SOME research on Pierre Charles L’Enfant and then went downstairs to the library, where the White House curator showed us a drawing from 1791 that laid out the original plan for the city. Although some of the names had changed (for example the Capitol and Capitol Hill were originally called Congress House and Jenkins Hill) the basic layout looked remarkably like modern-day Washington.
“Is that what I think it is?” I asked, pointing at the lower corner where someone had written “G. Washington.”
“President Washington’s signature,” said the curator, nodding. “And some of these notations over here are his as well. He’d been a surveyor, so he had a great interest in the design of the city.”
Even Lucy seemed impressed by this.
We ate dinner in the family dining room, which was small and intimate by White House standards but still bigger than any room in my house. Modern art hung on the walls, and while I didn’t recognize any of the artists, I could tell the works were museum valuable.
There were four of us at a round table. The president sat across from me, while Lucy and the first lady sat to each side. Peruvian chicken comes with the leg and thigh still attached to the breast, so it was a constant battle to remind myself not to use my fingers, but instead to cut off small pieces. I was also thrown by the fact that a butler was serving us. I didn’t know when I was allowed to reach for something or supposed to ask. At one point I sat there frozen as I tried to figure out what to do.
“I know how you feel,” the first lady whispered as she leaned over toward me. “Sometimes I get nervous, and I live here.”
This made me laugh and I finally began to relax.
“Florian just moved to Washington from Rome,” Lucy said.
“Is that right?” asked her mother. “Are you Italian?”
“Half,” I answered. “My mom’s Italian and my father’s American. I was born in Boston, but I’ve lived most of my life in Europe.”
“Rome is one of my favorite cities in the world,” she replied. “When I was in college, I spent a semester there and loved every second of it.”
“Okay, Florian, I’m going to put you on the spot and I want an honest answer,” said the president as he flashed me a humorous version of a death stare. “Imagine it’s the World Cup and Italy is playing the United States. What team are you rooting for?”
I tried to hold back a smile as I answered, “I’d rather not answer that here in the White House.”
“That’s what I suspected.” He turned to the butler and instructed, “No cake for him.”
“Hey! That’s not fair,” I protested. “Besides, you said we’re having limoncello cake, and that’s Italian.”
“Good point,” he said. He turned back to the butler again. “He can have cake. Just make his piece a little bit smaller.”
After that it no longer felt like I was at the White House. It was just dinner with a frien
d and her parents. They asked a lot about my family and me. The president told bad jokes that made me laugh and Lucy roll her eyes. And we discussed the upcoming youth symphony concert.
“I’m really looking forward to the field trip,” I said. “I’ve never been to the Kennedy Center before and I can’t wait to hear Lucy play.”
“Well, you won’t be able to hear me,” she corrected. “I’m just part of the orchestra.”
I couldn’t tell if this was modesty talking or if she felt stung by the fact that she didn’t have a solo. But I didn’t mention Yin and neither did they. After an awkward silence her mother spoke up.
“You’ll love the Kennedy Center, Florian,” she said. “It’s a real treasure.”
“Now, if everybody’s done,” said the president, “why don’t we have dessert in the Treaty Room. There’s something I want to show Lucy and Florian.”
We got up to go but first Lucy’s parents made a point of going into the kitchen to compliment the cook on the dinner. The president also continued his joke about making my piece of cake smaller than everyone else’s.
The butler served the dessert on the coffee table where Lucy and I had worked earlier.
“There’s something I want to show you,” the president said after we had a few bites. “Put down your cake for a second and come over here. You too, Lucy.”
We walked over toward an antique cabinet in the corner of the room.
“You’ll never read about it in school,” he said. “But it’s an unofficial, somewhat-secret tradition that goes from president to president.”
He opened the cabinet to reveal rows of small little drawers—six across and nine high.
“What do they hold?” I asked.
“History,” he said. “Going back to Mr. Big—George Washington himself. Each president has left behind a small token to be shared with everyone who follows in the job. Each one is a cross between a memento and a good luck charm.”
He opened a drawer on the third row and pulled out a gold pocket watch. “This belonged to Abraham Lincoln.”
“Really?” I said.
“Really,” he answered. “And Lyndon Johnson had it in his pocket when he signed the Civil Rights Act because he thought he was continuing the work that Lincoln had begun more than a century earlier.”
I didn’t reach for it. I just looked closely and marveled at it.
“You can hold it, Florian,” he said. “Just be careful.”
I took it for only a few seconds, worried that I might somehow break it or tarnish it.
“It’s amazing,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” said Lucy as I handed it to her. “I love this cabinet.”
Her father reached for the first drawer and pulled out a small compass. “This belonged to George Washington. He carried it with him during the Revolutionary War and President Lincoln carried it at times during the Civil War. He said he liked it because the arrow always pointed north, toward the Union side of the battle.”
He handed the compass to me and I was mesmerized.
“This is so cool,” I said.
“I think so too,” he said. “And lately I’ve been focused on the third drawer.”
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Lucy. “You’ve never shown me that one.”
“Why don’t you open it and see,” her father said.
She opened the drawer slowly, careful not to disturb whatever was inside, but it was empty.
“There’s nothing here,” I said.
“That’s right,” he replied. “There should be a special coin that Thomas Jefferson had minted for the Lewis and Clark expedition. It’s a peace medal and has his picture on the front and the words ‘Peace and Friendship’ on the back.”
“Where is it?” I asked.
“That’s a mystery,” he said. “Because Jefferson is so popular, it was a favorite memento of many presidents. In 1904 Teddy Roosevelt carried it with him when he went to the world’s fair in St. Louis, which celebrated the Louisiana Purchase, one of Jefferson’s greatest achievements. But it was Franklin Roosevelt who found the most inspiration in it. He kept it on his desk when he gave his fireside chats.”
“What were the fireside chats?” I asked.
“They were speeches he made directly to the American people. They weren’t flowery with a lot of poetic language, just plain talk about the problems the country faced. He did thirty of them and they were carried on the radio all over the country. They really helped the nation get through the Great Depression and World War Two. He liked to keep the medal turned so that he could see ‘Peace and Friendship’ while he talked. He wanted to remind himself what was most important.”
He returned the compass and pocket watch to their proper drawers and closed the cabinet. As we walked back to the sitting area, he picked up a file from his desk and placed it on the coffee table. He opened it to reveal a stack of pictures.
“Here it is in this picture,” he said, picking up a photograph of President Roosevelt delivering one of his fireside chats. He handed it to me and I looked at it with Lucy.
In the photo President Roosevelt was behind a desk crowded with microphones featuring the names of different networks like NBC and CBS. He was reading his speech from a binder and right next to it you could see the small medal.
“Right there,” I said, pointing it out to Lucy.
“That’s the last time he saw it,” said President Mays. “He forgot to take it and when he went to look for it later it was gone.”
“Someone probably picked it up as a souvenir,” suggested Lucy.
“Maybe,” said her father. “But everyone who was there was questioned and they all denied taking it. He even offered a reward and a promise of immunity.”
I looked up at the president and realized this was the reason he’d invited me to stay for dinner. Admiral Douglas had told him about me and he wanted to know if I could figure out what happened to the peace medal. The problem was that he also knew that I was covert and undercover, so he couldn’t ask me directly to solve it. All he could do was bait the hook.
“What room is this?” I asked, referring to the picture.
“The Diplomatic Reception Room,” said the president. “Down on the ground floor.”
“Do you have any other pictures of it from that time?”
Now he knew he had me. “Here’s a whole file of them,” he said, handing me the folder.
I started looking through them while he continued talking.
“Every president since FDR has tried to find that coin. They’ve scoured that room. They say that one night John Kennedy and his brother Robert spent hours crawling around on the floor looking for it.”
“What about you, Dad?” asked Lucy.
“I’ve looked more often than I’d like to admit,” he said. “You know how much I love Jefferson.”
“If no one’s seen it since 1940,” said Mrs. Mays, “I think you might have to just accept that it’s gone.”
While she was saying this, I was comparing two of the pictures and blurted out, “Maybe you don’t.”
The president grinned. “Why’s that, Florian?”
I double-checked the pictures to make sure I was right. Then I looked up and kind of sheepishly said, “I think I might know what happened.”
18.
Mind the Gap
LUCKILY, THE DIPLOMATIC RECEPTION ROOM was being used the next day for an event, so it’d already been blocked off. This meant there were no visitors or staff walking through on their way to the South Lawn. Still, President Mays instructed the Secret Service to momentarily “secure the perimeter of the room” so no one could peek in on us.
“What are you doing?” Lucy asked me as we hurried down the stairs trying to keep up with her dad. He was excited and taking the steps two at a time.
“I think I know where the peace medal is,” I told her.
“How’s that even possible?”
I didn’t have an answer for tha
t. At least not one I could fully explain in a couple flights of stairs without blowing my cover.
“It just is.”
We reached the ground floor and the president poked his head into the curator’s office asking him to join us. “John, why don’t you join us in the Reception Room. We’re working on a little project and could use your expertise.”
“What type of project?” he asked.
“Just indulge me for a moment.”
The room was directly across the hall and Secret Service agents were already standing at each door. I had no idea how they got there so quickly but it sure was impressive. Once we were all inside, President Mays shut the door and said, “All right, Florian, take it away.”
I’m more confident in my mystery solving than any other aspect of my life, but at that moment I was worried about what would happen if I’d misread a clue. I hadn’t foreseen all the people who were suddenly involved. I hadn’t realized how many eyes would be on me. It hadn’t dawned on me how incredibly embarrassing it would be if I was wrong. But there was no going back, so I just forged ahead.
I looked at the picture of FDR giving his fireside chat and then I looked at the room. They seemed drastically different. “How has the room changed since 1940?” I asked the curator.
“In 1960 it was redecorated as a drawing room in the Federal style,” he informed us. “That’s when the color scheme was changed, and soon after that Mrs. Kennedy selected the wallpaper. The regency chandelier was added in 1971 and the rug in the 1983.”
“Okay, wow,” I said, impressed. “You really know your stuff.”
“Yes, I do,” he answered with a fair amount of pride.
“Were the dimensions or basic layout of the room changed?”
“No,” he replied. “They are still the same as they’ve been since 1902.”
“That’s good,” I said as I walked to the center of the room and stood directly beneath the chandelier so I could orient myself. The room was a large oval about thirty-five feet long and thirty feet across. A portrait of George Washington hung over the fireplace, the wallpaper featured a panorama of hand-painted scenes of American life, and the rug had emblems of all fifty states along the border.
