Full of stories and details by turns dramatic, humorous, and heartwarming, The Residence reveals daily life in the White House as it is really lived through the voices of the maids, butlers, cooks, florists, doormen, engineers, and others who tend to the needs of the President and First Family. No one has insight into their true character like the people who serve their meals and make their beds every day. “The President almost broke up when he saw those ashtrays.America's First Families are unknowable in many ways. West, you outdid yourself,” she exclaimed. “… And you see, this is where you would have spent the night if Jackie hadn’t been redecorating again,” he told the unsuspecting lady. He pointed out the bedraped Queen’s Room. Before dinner, though, President Kennedy strolled down to the East Hall with his wife’s guest. Kennedy entertained a Princess for dinner upstairs in the President’s Dining Room. West, all I can say is that this place has finally got to you,” he said. As I brought in the finishing touches, ashtrays filled with cigarette butts, Bonner shook his head. “Just make it look as if you are.” The crew had a good time, even though they didn’t know what it was all about. “You mean you don’t want us to paint?” said the painters. “Now proceed to make these two rooms look as if they’re being redecorated,” I directed. Two of the buckets in each room should be empty-off-white-and I need four or five dirty brushes.” I met the crews on the second floor.

“I need six paint buckets each for the Queen’s Room and the Lincoln Room. “Oh yes, and bring a stepladder.” I called the paint shop. Roll up the rugs and cover the draperies and chandeliers, and all the furniture,” I instructed. “Bring drop-cloths up to the Queen’s Room and Lincoln Bedroom. I called Bonner Arrington in the carpenter’s shop. “The guest rooms will be redecorated immediately,” I said, and almost clicked my heels. “Would you fix up the Queen’s Room and the Lincoln Room so that it looks like we’re still decorating them, and I’ll show her that our guest rooms are not available.” Her eyes twinkled, imagining the elaborate deception. “Could you help us cook up something so we can get out of having her as a houseguest?” Without waiting for a reply, she rushed on, her request becoming a command in mid-breath. “I’ve invited someone to stay here,” she said, “but now we’ve changed our minds.” She cast a glance in the direction of the President’s bedroom. Can you help me get out of it?” “What can I do?” I asked, wondering who was next in line to be fired. West,” she whispered in her beguiling child’s voice. Her dark hair was tousled, her light robe very feminine against the soft blue of her bed.

“On Monday morning, she called me into her bedroom.

Jb west upstairs at the white house