I once flew to Germany for 19 hours to watch Ivanka Trump sit on a panel with a bunch of female leaders and to be summoned by her later that evening for an off-the-record chat in her hotel lobby, where she ordered red wine in a white dress, which seems, in retrospect, like the boldest act I’d ever seen her make.
I once spent several weeks trekking to the White House, repeatedly, for additional conversations that were supposed to be on the record, but then suddenly weren’t, and that then collapsed into afternoons at a nearby bakery where my reporting partner and I would eat scones and try to dissect what had happened.