When the cameras zoomed in on Jackie, her beautiful face visible despite the veil, Maria thought that she, too, looked numb. “I wronged you,” Maria said to the face on the screen. “God forgive me.”

She was startled by a ring at the door. It was George Jakes. He said: “You shouldn’t be alone for this.”

She felt a surge of helpless gratitude. When she really needed a friend, George was there. “Come in,” she said. “I’m sorry I look like a slattern.” She was wearing a nightdress and an old bathrobe.

“You look fine to me.” George had seen her worse than shabby.

He had brought a bag of Danish pastries. Maria put them on a plate. She had not had breakfast but, all the same, she did not eat a pastry. She did not feel hungry.

A million people lined the route, according to the television commentary. The coffin was taken from the White House to St. Matthew’s Cathedral, where there was a mass.

At twelve noon there was a five-minute silence, and traffic stopped all over America. The cameras showed crowds standing silent on city streets. It was strange to be in Washington and hear no cars outside. Maria and George stood in front of the TV set in her little apartment. They bowed their heads. George took her hand and held it. She felt a wave of affection for him.

When the five-minute silence ended, Maria made coffee. Her appetite returned, and they ate the pastries. No cameras were allowed in the church, so for a while there was nothing to watch. George talked to distract her, and she appreciated it. He said: “Will you stay in the press office?”

She had hardly thought about it, but she knew the answer. “No. I’m going to leave the White House.”

“Good idea.”

“Apart from everything else, I don’t see a future for myself in the press office. They never promote women, and I’m not going to spend my life as a researcher. I’m in government because I want to get things done.”

“There’s an opening in the Justice Department that might suit you.” George spoke as if the thought had just occurred to him, but Maria suspected he had planned to say this. “Dealing with corporations that disobey government regulations. They call it compliance. Could be interesting.”

“Do you think I’d have a chance?”

“With a degree from Chicago Law and two years’ experience in the White House? Absolutely.”

“They don’t hire many Negroes, though.”

“You know something? I think Lyndon may change that.”

“Really? He’s a Southerner!”

“Don’t prejudge him. To be honest, our people have treated him badly. Bobby hates him, don’t ask me why. Maybe because he calls his dick Jumbo.”

Maria giggled for the first time in three days. “You’re kidding.”

“Apparently it’s large. If he wants to intimidate someone, he pulls it out and says: ‘Meet Jumbo.’ That’s what people say.”

Men told such stories, Maria knew. It might be true and it might not. She grew serious again. “Everyone in the White House thinks Johnson’s behavior has been callous, especially toward the Kennedys.”