The huge, op nient meeting room was already filled with a well heeled crowd busily chattering and nibbling on their breakfasts of fresh fruit, croissants, and Kona coffee. Jenny, feeling much restored, escorted J. D. to the entrance of the room and vouched for him to the Secret Service agents working the door. One of them still waved a handheld metal detector up one side of J. D. and down the other. Then they let Jenny take him inside. “I’ll be sitting at the head table,” she told him. “But I’m way over on the right. You’ll be sitting at a table front and center. Del reserved your seat himself.” “How come?” “He said he wants to get an honest opinion of what he has to say today, and he told me you’re the one person he could think of who doesn’t have a hidden agenda.” “He’s too kind.” Like the other tables in the audience, the one at which J. D. would sit was round. His seat was the nearest to the head table, which meant he’d have to turn his chair around to see Del Rawley speak.
