The colonel and James Stickley exchanged a look.
“He’s been there before,” Stickley replied.
Every Monday afternoon diplomatic sessions for new ambassadors were held in a conference room on the eighth floor of the State Department.
“In the Foreign Service, we have a strict chain of command,” the class was told. “At the top is the ambassador. Under him (under her, Mary automatically thought) is the DCM—the deputy chief of mission. Under him (under her) are the political consular, economic consular, administrative consular, and public affairs consular. Then you have agriculture, commerce, and the military attaché.” That’s Colonel McKinney, Mary thought. “When you are at your new posts, you will have diplomatic immunity. You cannot be arrested for speeding, drunk driving, burning down a house, or even for murder. When you die, no one can touch your body or examine any note you may have left. You don’t have to pay your bills—the stores can’t sue you.”
Someone in the class called out, “Don’t let my wife hear that!”
“Always remember that the ambassador is the personal representative of the President and to the government of the country to which he is accredited. You will be expected to behave accordingly.” The instructor glanced at his watch. “Before our next session, I suggest you study the Foreign Affairs Manual, volume two, section three hundred, which talks about social relationships. Thank you.”
Mary and Stanton Rogers were having lunch at the Watergate Hotel.
“President Ellison would like you to do some public relations for him,” Rogers said.
“What kind of public relations?”
“We’ll set up some national things. Press interviews, radio, television—”
“I’ve never—well, if it’s important. I’ll try.”
“Good. We’ll have to get you a new wardrobe. You can’t pose in the same dress twice.”
“Stan, that would cost a fortune! Besides, I don’t have time to shop. I’m busy from early morning until late at night. If—”
“No problem. Helen Moody.”
“What?”
“She’s one of Washington’s top professional shoppers. Just leave everything to her.”
Helen Moody was an attractive, outgoing black woman who had been a successful model before she started her own personal shopping service. She appeared at Mary’s hotel room early one morning and spent an hour going through her wardrobe.
“Very nice, for Junction City,” she said frankly, “but we have to wow Washington, D.C. Right?”
“I don’t have much money to—”
Helen Moody grinned. “I know where the bargains are. And we’ll do it fast. You’re going to need a floor-length evening gown, a dress for cocktail parties and evening receptions, an afternoon dress for tea parties and lunch parties, a suit for street or office wear, a black dress, and an appropriate head covering for official mournings or funerals.”
The shopping took three days. When it was finished, Helen Moody studied Mary Ashley. “You’re a pretty lady, but I think we can do even better for you. I want you to see Susan at Rainbow for makeup and then I’ll send you to Billy at Sunshine for your hair.”
A few evenings later Mary ran into Stanton Rogers at a formal dinner given at the Corcoran Gallery. He looked at Mary and smiled. “You look absolutely ravishing.”
The media blitz began. It was orchestrated by Ian Villiers, chief of press relations for the State Department. Villiers was in his late forties, a dynamic ex-newspaperman who seemed to know everybody in the media.
Mary found herself in front of the cameras on Good Morning America, Meet the Press, and Firing Line. She was interviewed by The Washington Post, The New York Times, and half a dozen other important daily papers. She did interviews for the London Times, Der Spiegel, Oggi, and Le Monde. Time magazine and People did feature articles on her and the children. Mary Ashley’s photograph seemed to be everywhere, and whenever there was a newsbreak about an event in some far-off corner of the world, she was asked for her comments. Overnight, Mary Ashley and her children became celebrities.
Tim said, “Mom, it’s really spooky seeing our pictures on the covers of all the magazines.”
“Spooky is the word,” Mary agreed.
Somehow, she felt uneasy about all the publicity. She spoke to Stanton Rogers about it.