Sunday, June 5, 2016

Hillary War Room:
There's No Business Like My Business

BILL CLINTON: Where is she?

: In the bathroom, spouse of She Who Must Be Obeyed.  

: [knocking] Darlin', you gotta face the media soon or . . .

HILLARY: Enough!  Schedule the damn thing tomorrow if that makes you happy, but it happens on my terms: only in-the-tank media are accredited to attend; I'll open with a twenty minute diatribe on Trump's lack of presidential decorum; first question I don't like, I'll have a coughing fit and leave.

Huma! I'm done.  Come wipe me.

HUMA: Yes'm.


: Much better.  Now order my breakfast: coffee, grapefruit, triple cheese and mushroom omelet, two sides of sausage, grits, home fries, toast.

HUMA: [writing] . . . and toast.  White, Empress?

: Where is your head, girl?  I'm already considered a white-bread candidate.  Someone in the kitchen hears you referring to me as the "White Empress," I lose 20% of the Black vote.  Then I'm toast.  Make it pumpernickel.


HUMA: Forgive me, Sensei.

: [yelling] Mook!!

[campaign manager enters, genuflects]

Rise, sirrah.
  I'll be peddling influence on the phone while I nosh.  Verify with mobile security that my eggs will go out scrambled.

: I thought you liked them "over easy," your Grace.

: Good grief, now I'm all confused.

BILL: Uh, Honey.  Listen, I been ponderin' the economy.  First thing I'm gonna do when we're in is use our Hollywood connections to help unemployed young starlets get their foot in my drawers--I mean, their foot in the door.

: I know what you meant. You botched the Polish vote with those insults the other day, so start packing for a new assignment.

: Head to Europe to mend fences?

: No.  Back to Chappaqua.  Lock yourself in and wait for my summons.  Go. [Bill exits]

: Your food is here, Excellency.  I taste-tested everything.

: Stay right there where I can see you.  [watches Mook warily as she eats]

HUMA: Attorney General Lynch is on line 3, Goddess.

: [picks up] Hi Loretta.  "Power to the People" right back atcha.  [listens]  Oh, wonderful! I'll send Mills by right now.  [forced laugh]  Ah ha ha ha. Yes [chanting],"Eight more years! Eight more years!" [hangs up] Blech. Cheryl!

: Here, my Queen.

: Run over to the DOJ and pick up yesterday's grand jury transcript.  The AG will also give you the jurors' dossiers.  Drop those off for analysis at Research and Destroy.

MOOK: I've informed staff and media of the extended exclusion zone around your person, Anointed One. They know the protocols when in your presence: bow; speak only when spoken to; avoid eye contact; don’t look at her legs.  And the Secret Service will extend your privacy bubble out to 50 yards at campaign events.


[singing softly from Evita score]

Don't get too close, all you peons;
The truth is, I've never loved you,
I've just been using you
Because you need me
To bolster welfare and mess with health care.
I'll keep my promise;
You keep your distance.

: M'Lady, regarding something you said a moment ago: you're not "peddling influence" if you state up front remuneration for your efforts would be unnecessary but appreciated. No more 250K speaking gigs, sure, but you can charge for access absent a clearly stated quid pro quo.

: Makes sense.  Reach out to my lick-spittle attorney, Lanny Davis, and tell him I want a fee structure for short, medium, and long conversations. [ Mook leaves]

You, sir, Secret Agent man. Approach me. You are Jones, the head of my detail?

: I'm Smith, ma'am.

: Whatever. Your family--they are well?

: All dead in last night's air crash outside Dulles, ma'am. Their plane ran out of fuel as it circled, waiting for you to debark your campaign jet and clear the area.

: Ah, yes, my on-board pedicure ran long. How sad for you. Huma, find a promo code and send a wreath in my name to the funeral home.

Agent Smith, you and your team are pledged to shield me from harm. Correct?

AGENT: That's right, ma'am.

: On my calendar next week is an interview with FBI investigators.  They are likely to ask questions that will breach my safe space and cause me emotional distress.  If you allow them to pose interrogatories, I will hold my breath until I expire.

AGENT: Ah, I can't . . .

HILLARY: Your charge supersedes theirs. Do you understand your duty, sir?

AGENT: [pause] Yes, ma'am. [exits]

HILLARY: Huma, it's going to be a long day. Tonight, I'll be the hard-bitten lifer and you'll be the meek young thing just arrived on the prison bus.