I assume the Secret Service agents will arrive first, checking out everyone in sight. But suddenly the door opens, and in she comes, all alone, dressed casually in an inexpensive gray dress with a matching cotton sweater, her sandy-blond hair held back with a rubber band.
"So is this okay? Mexican food?" asks Jenna Bush. "I figured it might make you feel more at home."
It's a mild July evening in Washington, D.C., and Jenna has agreed to meet me for dinner at the upscale Oyamel Cocina restaurant, between the Capitol and the White House, where Jenna is, as she likes to say, "living with the folks." When I ask her why her Secret Service detail is not with her, she shrugs and says, "I made them drop me off at the corner. I don't want to cause a scene."