Oval Office: Secretary of Defense, occasional First Lover of the President, Roy Holroyd, forty-nine, looks fifty-eight, hair graying before the camera lenses of news media just in the past year: picked by former (and deposed) President Moe Lieden, he stayed on in President Parris's cabinet. Dinah Parris, goddess of Roy Holroyd's sex life, one of several men in thrall to her beautiful brown-skinned curvaceous body.
Seated next to Holroyd on the couch facing the fireplace, redwood fire chuckling and sparking,
something even more entertaining than television commercials. Problem to be addressed in the meeting: How to sell the glamor and romance of the current war in Eastern Europe? How to make it attractive to young Americans and Western Europeans.
Geneva Parth, for twenty-five years the chief editor of Modish Magazine, no longer paper now online! She sits regally in the Cassandra Blade addition to Billy Boy Blade's administration, the Oval Office "throne" chair, a Louis the 16th ripoff. Geneva wears a cream yellow hat with a white band, ostrich feather topping an attractive sixty-something face (looks like Diane Ladd). Scarf around her neck, prone to goose pimples if the temperatures drops a degree. Creased cream-yellow slacks, white lipstick, an onyx carving of a monkey her only earring. She wears one ring, a ruby in a gold and silver setting. Red fingernails, thousand dollar manicure. Cream-yellow suit jacket, white blouse, black velvet shoes with silver bands along their tops, forming circles around the heel, a necklace with a small gold cross. Born and raised Catholic.
Artie Sneffen, Secretary of State, perches on the edge of President Parris's Tank Desk. It unfolds and transforms into a mini-tank, piloted by the President in case of armed activity requiring armor-assisted escape, but through, a battle zone. What better way to protect the President--there is no room for Secret Service personnel inside the Tank Desk--than to have her drive around, firing away at the insurgents, or minorities, or poor, or homeless, or the kind of people Jesus helped? Make way for the President inside her one woman battle tank, with cockpit seat built-in toilet, and periscope that lets her see all the action. A terrorist pushing a bomb in a baby carriage? Line up those coordinates, Madame President. Having trouble? Maybe you should have paid more attention in Trigonometry class. The terrorist is getting away! She planted her bomb while you weren't looking. If you cannot conform to the discipline of Tank Desk operation, you cannot operate Tank Desk, until you complete and pass a course lasting five weeks.
These snide and impotent thoughts going through Artie Sneffen's always busy mind, lead him to wonder what the point might be in sticking it out in Parris's administration.
If she wins in Twenty-Four will she ask me to stay on at Foggy Bottom? I say no, she won't, but that's just a thought for the present. This Geneva Parth is a handsome woman. I wonder if she'd date a dynamic, slim, foreign policy professional? I should introduce her to Gabrielle Bongo, she'd make a handsome contributor to Gabby's PAC, NormalcyRestored.
Gabrielle isn't there but her husband is, the greatest bullshitter to ever occupy the Oval Office--saying a lot, given Billy Boy Blade--Amare Bongo, President of the United States, 2009 to 2017. Three days into his presidency Bongo drone-bombed twenty Pakistani civilians. Amare Bongo is a loving father of two children who don't have to live in the world he maims.
Amare Bongo, feeling expansive, reading Mario Puzo's The Godfather in his book club--Springsteen, Travolta, Ben Affleck, Benjamin Meek, Stu Heshl, Trevor Grinner, Bluray Saxhead, Ursula Peacock, and Demi Moore are also members. Bongo wears a tailored three piece gray pin stripe suit, a wide-brimmed white hat, a white suit, spats, a thirty-eight snug in a leather shoulder holster.
He shows it to everybody.
Bongo: If anybody gets frisky with me, see, I'll blow him, or her, away with this. Comprende?
Parris: (sitting down) Don't be ridiculous, Mr. President (a little chuckle follows, the laughing sickness is hard to master), now I've called you here in this august office, where Warren Harding found out about Teapot Dome. Just imagine! Warren Harding's health failed as a result of his shame over having crooks in his cabinet, crooks he picked, making him, in his mind, a poor judge of character. Well give the man a break. President Harding did his best! Just like I'm doing my best! What you see is what you get, people! I'm putting my money where my mouth is! Give me a copy of the U.S. Constitution and I'll tear it up and yell, "This is bullshit!" We don't adhere to these ideals. We don't want this!
Geneva Parth: The ideals of our nation, you mean?
Parris: What is a nation but a concept dreamed up by the ones who own the real estate?
Geneva Parth: I'm shocked by your cynicism.
Parris: Give me a break, sister! You're in the music video business. You judge the kind of talent that dances and sings and plays instruments. I judge tools, how fit they are to do the job I give them to do. Look at Roy Holroyd over there, hugging his knee with interlocked fingers. He's uncomfortable, our Roy. The war's not going well. He's needing to justify expenditures, keep the weapons flowing, got a lot on his mind, well so do I! Did you see how Iran and Saudi Arabia, for christ's sake! They're unified, and it's to spite us! Never trust a man in a robe.
Sneffen: I advise you not to say that to anyone outside this room.
Geneva Parth: I'm going to report it to our political columnist at Modish the minute I walk out of here.
Sneffen: You're going to be taken somewhere you've never been before, somewhere possibly in Virginia, but maybe your own basement. Your electronic devices will be confiscated, you will remain as a guest--
Geneva Parth: In my own home?
Sneffen: For forty-eight to ninety-six hours.
Parris: You made all that up. Look Geneva, you can report it if you want, but you could also let it alone. You'd be awfully nasty for reporting it. I can be your friend, or your enemy.
Geneva Parth: Madame President, your design scheme in here is perfect for this room.
Parris: Thank you, but in fact this design scheme was conjured by Dr. Amanda Lieden.
Geneva Parth: You haven't redesigned?
Parris: Other matters have arisen requiring my attention.
Geneva Parth: I would be glad to offer the services of Chet Free, my most experienced set designer in our video production division, and would you like me to make for you a campaign video?
Parris: (eyes don't match the mouth smile) We'll talk.
Enter General Bomb, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Air Force uniform covered. with ribbons, badges, five-pointed stars. He stands next to Sneffen.
Sneffen: Bombed any school buses lately, Chairman?
General Bomb: Only one.
Sneffen: A tragic mistake, no doubt.
General: My Air Force doesn't make mistakes.
Sneffen: Have it your way. I wish I could say the same of my State Department. Would you be interested in bombing my Deputy?
General: I balk at such activity directed at an American government official, no matter how incompetent.
Sneffen: Oh, Caleb is most competent, that's why he threatens my own project, a little something I have going on that, if it works, may provide a place for you.
General: Tempt me not while I serve President Parris. Check with me when I'm unemployed.
Sneffen: Which will be never, since you will immediately pursue and gain a book contract, the ghost writer will tap out the manuscript for some thousands of dollars and a written promise not to ever talk about the book to reviewers or interviewers, but who ever interviews ghost writers?--I know a good ghost writer for when you need one, she'll make you look special; presidential material, even, but don't get your hopes up. I'm working on something that will guarantee no plausible rivals to her, or his, power for some years to come.
General: You just driveled out a lot of content, Mr. Secretary. Are you referring to your supposedly secret support and development of First Lady Gabrielle Bongo's presidential campaign?
Sneffen: How dare you guess such a thing! Of course you're wrong. I'm helping Cassandra Blade.
General: She's running in twenty-four?
Sneffen: She's always running. Notice how she never leaves the public eye for long. That's my tactic. I've given her some things to go on, like expressing continued support for President Lieden, speaking out against Dinah's controversial ascension to the presidency. I'll never forget how that happened, General Bomb. You know, you could have taken over as a military dictator, a la Burt Reynolds in Seven Days in May, why didn't you?
General: With Vice President Parris on-deck, doing what you suggest (a traitorous statement, by the way) wasn't necessary. I did not assassinate President Lieden. I dealt him a blow he could handle, the physical blow, I mean. The greater blow, to him and to those who support him, like my colleague and itch in the middle of my back General Beak, is the loss of his dream job, and it was Burt Lancaster, not Burt Reynolds.
Sneffen: In my version it's Burt Reynolds. General Reynolds, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs! A four star general with a handsome dark mustache and a cackling laugh, a need for speed, and Sally Field in blue jeans for a sidekick!
Parris: Artie, are you talking about Smokey and the Bandit again? (To Holroyd and Parth) He's obsessed with that movie! Have you seen it?
Holroyd: Of course.
Amare Bongo, on a two-person couch with Geneva Parth.
Bongo: I've seen it! I had a Smokey and the Bandit poster in my dorm room at Harvard. The image of Sally Field in her uh...her blue jeans...was a...was a...most delectable sight. You know the movie, Geneva?
Parth: Of course not.
Parris: Oh! Are you a snob, of the culture variety?
Parth: I don't like cross country chase films. They're too busy.
Parris: You're more of a Bergman gal.
Parth; Persona, yes, is my favorite film.
Parris: Is that the one with two women who merge faces?
Parth: That's a photographic effect occurring at the end, yes.
Parris: I saw it in college. They should make a remake. Julia Roberts and Julianne Moore let's say. They merge faces. What's Bergman's deal?
Parth: He was cinema's poet of the inner workings of the soul. The psyche's struggle to deal with life and death, I suppose.
Parris: Sort of a Kierkegaard for the movies?
Parth: Yes, I think you could argue that.
Parris: Holroyd, what's your favorite Bergman movie?
Holroyd: The only one I've seen was The Silence. As I was building my card tabletop-sized toothpick and popsicle stick model of the Pentagon, my younger brother Chad watched The Silence. Three people come into a nation preparing for war and they don't speak the language. I remember the premise, and I remember the woman washing her breasts. I remember those breasts.
General Bomb: Gunnel Lindblom.
Parris: I beg your pardon?
General Bomb: Gunnel Lindblom is the actress washing her breasts.
Parris: Sounds risque. Is it a good date movie?
Holroyd: If date movies now are supposed to be depressing.
Parth: The Silence is a remarkable film, though my second favorite film is Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits.
Parris: Who's this Fellini goombah?
Parth: Federico Fellini, great Italian director. He made Eight and a Half.
Parris: Eight and a half what?
Parth: 8 1/2 is a movie.
Parris: Weird title.
Parth: It's about a creatively blocked film director.
Parris: Maybe this Fellini was blocked, but that title has an intriguing sound. I don't get it, but I like it.
Parth: Juliet of the Spirits, though--
Sneffen: His worst film. Even more so than Satyricon.
General Bomb: Disagree. Casanova.
Parth: You're all wrong! Even Orchestra Rehearsal is worth watching! He never made a bad film!
Sneffen: Juliet of the Spirits doesn't hold a candle to Nights of Cabiria.
Parth: Both are great, Mr. Secretary. I said Juliet is my favorite film. MY.
Sneffen: I understand the principles of objective reality better than you, though. I know that due to my knowledge. You're really a Fellini fan phony. You own on Bluray Juliet of the Spirits and on DVD 8 1/2. Your familiarity with his films overall is spotty at best.
Parth: Has the State Department taken an interest in the movie cabinet in my condominium?
Sneffen: Not the State Department, but some other Intelligence agency.
Parris: We didn't trust you, Ms. Parth.
Sneffen: We still don't.
Parth: Why am I here?
Parris: We want you to write a favorable review of the Parris administration for the teens and twenty-somethings who read Modish. Young, impressionable voters.
Parth: That's not my line of writing, Madame President.
Parris: Forget the leader of the free world shit. You and me, woman to woman, will you do this for one of your comrades? Will you treat us with kindness in your magazine? Or will you be critical, bringing up irrelevant shit about moviemakers I never heard of?
Parth: I'll write something straight from my analytical brain, it will be fair, I promise you.
Parris: Well, that's a little non-specific, but I'll take it. Roy, are you asleep?
Holroyd: Resting my eyes until we get to the meat of the meeting.
Parris: Which is?
Holroyd: Getting you up to date on what's going on in the world.
Sneffen: (snidely) You summoned us here to discuss this subject, get some details and learning into your cranium, Madame President.
Parris: Could you sound more smug, Arthur? Why don't you shut up for a while? I'm tired of your comments. You're always putting me down. Stop it! In fact, apologize to everyone here for being such an asshole every time you're around people.
Sneffen: I had no idea you feel that way. (To Holroyd) Roy, do I behave like an asshole when I'm around you?
Holroyd: I've always known you're an asshole, ever since my wife interned for you.
Sneffen: That's nothing to apologize for, since my behavior is consistent with you, yes?
Holroyd: Sure, whatever.
Sneffen: Madame President, shall I apologize to Ms. Parth? Was I the source of your discomfort since you entered this noble room of high dignitaries?
Parris: You're doin it again, Artie.
Sneffen: And to you, Madame President, I sincerely apologize for rubbing you the wrong way. I admit to flintiness in your presence. The overthrow of President Lieden's authority rubbed me the wrong way. I've seen two movie versions of Marie Antoinette.
General Bomb: I prefer the Norma Shearer version. Such a lovely woman.
Sneffen: Sofia Coppola's version is superior, plus it has a lively music soundtrack.
General Bomb: Anachronistic stuff. I'm certain that Bow Wow Wow wasn't playing gigs at Versailles.
Sneffen: To conclude, I support you, President Parris, as a person. I would call nine one one if you were involved in an accident. I would accompany you to the hospital. I would spoon Jell-O into your mouth if your arms don't work. I would run the ship while you're gone--
Parris: You'd--run the ship. I see. By ship, you mean the country.
Holroyd: Big ship.
Bongo: I've run it. It's uh...it's too big to run!
Parris: Artie, you're in the line to be President, but don't count on that happening. Oh sure, Gabby Bongo might reward you just fine for getting her ass into this room, but that ain't gonna happen, Sugar. Gabby Bongo ain't gonna get near this room, unless I pin a Presidential Medal of Freedom Award around her neck and make a little speech about how much I admire someone I actually can't stand. But thank you for the apology.
Sneffen: You're welcome.
Doug Gard, First Gentleman, enters, waves to his wife, the President.
Parris: What is it, Doug? Can't you see we're busy?
Doug Gard: A strange man accosted me in the Stool Pigeon Room in the East Wing. Said his name is Mr. Charles, he wants to have a "confab" with you so you can "talk turkey en privado,"--Yes! he spoke it with a perfect Spanish accent.
Parris: How did he get in? Is it time to get into the TankDesk?
Doug Gard: Honey, you know I worry when you drive that thing.
Holroyd: Madame President, you need to be with us to lead in this challenging, albeit bizarre, situation.
Parris: I guess there's no harm in meeting with Doug's "strange man."
A man resembling, to a mirror-quality level of accuracy, the actor William Powell in the movie The Thin Man, from Dashiell Hammett's novel. Nick and Nora Charles, husband and wife detective team, Powell and Myrna Loy made a series of "Thin Man" movies. He's shown into the Oval Office twenty minutes later. A security officer found him puzzling over a bust of Eleanor Roosevelt.
Into the meeting Nick Charles from The Thin Man. He's in color. Imagine William Powell with his sharp well-shaped mustache in fullness of complete form and the presence of his voice, and not in a flat black and white screen image.
Sneffen: How do you do, I'm the Secretary of State, I'm in charge (titters).
Charles: (genuine concern) Is the President dead?
Parris: Dead? (laughs, wiggling forward, favorite thing in life meeting a new man) If I'm dead, I'm a zombie (walks with her arms out, eyes closed, mouth open, Zombie rattling groan) Oh I'm just workin off a little steam! Is it wrong to work off steam, Mr. Charles?
Charles: Certainly not, Madame President. I must say the world has changed a lot. A distaff president. I must tell the fellows at the club.
Parris: I was a Vice President, too. And a Senator from the great state of California. I was Attorney General of California. And San Francisco D.A. The rule of law is in my blood. This is Mr. Holroyd, I'm Dinah Parris, forty-seventh President of the United States, a woman of color, breaker of the glass ceiling, I won't sweep up the shards cuz I'm on the rise, baby! Me, Dinah! In charge! (Sits at her TankDesk and puts up her shoes on the desktop.) What is it you want, Mr. Charles? We got business here, my statesmen colleagues and I. Are you connected to Sam Spade? What about Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee?
Charles: I don't know any of the gentlemen. I'm in Washington with my wife, Nora. We had to leave our famous pooch in New York in the care of a well-compensated servant. A little too well-compensated, but Nora often gets her way.
Parris: Nora, you said, is in Washington? I'd like to meet her.
Sneffen: Is she the spitting image of Myrna Loy?
Charles: I'm afraid I don't know that lady.
Sneffen: Sam Spade all over again. Do we know Spade has gone away, or is he going to pop up again?
Parris: I hope he pops up (lifts eyebrows in a private smile) Mr. Charles, can I get you a drink? You look like a bourbon man, or maybe a rumaholic?
Charles: Your wordplay, Madame, dances upon the porches of mine ears, rattling a Caribbean beat, oh, the carefreeness of it, but alas, I turn down a drink, this time.
Parris: Mr. Charles, your poetry lives in your blazing heart! Speak more of this mundane reality of rich people's lives, how it's to be viewed as through an Acid lens, as in a party given by Grace Slick in 1967 type of lens.
Charles: I don't know the lady, this...Miss or Mrs. Slick. Is she a debutante?
Parris: Acid queen, baby. You ever drop acid, Mr. Charles?
Charles: Chemistry class, eleventh grade, I spilled some hydrochloric on my shoe, had to get new shoes. Didn't have the money. Became a criminal. I commit crimes, I solve crimes, pretty clever, eh?
Holroyd: You have a conscience.
Charles: Naturally. I'm married to a thoughtful woman, someone who cares about people, and animals, and outcomes. She doesn't just decide to rob a jewelry store. She plans it out for a year or even two years, then scraps it, but she did pull off a switcheroo of the Declaration of Independence let's see, just twenty minutes ago.
Parris: And you're breezing into my presence! Confessing to this heinous crime?
Charles: No one's been killed! This isn't one of your daily drone strikes, Madame President. It's just a piece of paper. You can still display it, people won't know it's a fake. To get back the original you must give us one million cash, the bills of our time, thank you.
Holroyd: I'm thinking of adding a new category to Unknown encounters, the encounter with a fictional character of unknown origin.
Sneffen: We know the origin: the mind of Dashiell Hammett, the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien. Who knows which other books have been leaking protagonists and antagonists? Can we enlist Sauron to our cause?
Parris: I'm placing you under arrest, Mr. Charles. (Buzzes secretary) Vonda. Send in two beefcake guards.
Charles: If I don't rendezvous with Nora in fifteen minutes she will destroy the Declaration of Independence.
Parris: Oh man, this is worse than National Treasure! We need time to gather the money, and from the thirties for godsake!
Charles: Up to forty-one. We came from December 7, 1941.
Sneffen: You heard what happened, then?
Charles: The attack? Just a few headlines. Was it bad?
Sneffen: Mostly old ships got destroyed. How convenient.
Charles: How many casualties.
Holroyd: Oh, a bunch, Mr. Charles!
Sneffen: One whole ship went down with all aboard. It's still leaking oil and it's become a kind of museum. Macabre.
Parris: I've got the Treasury Department and Numismatists of North America working on it. Great organization. My brother works in their Old Cash Department.
Charles: Thank you, Madame. I must depart, intercept the missus before she destroys your precious document. Ta-ta!
Parris: Charming rogue.
Sneffen: I don't trust him.
Holroyd: I don't trust you, but so what?
Parris: General Bomb, what do you make of it?
Bomb: I've gotten used to fictional characters coming to life. Spade brought me around to that acceptance. This is old hat.
Parris: Bomb, you're a dud. Mr. Charles, we'll have your money, give us ten days, no more no less.
Charles: Ten days, Madame, from this moment, six-fifteen p.m. ten days hence, the, let's see, third of July.
Sneffen: Madame President, you'll be in Senegal on the third, The Gambia on the fourth and fifth.
Charles: You needn't deliver the money. Perhaps this gentleman...
Sneffen: A bag man, me? No, I know someone who will drop off your lucre. In front of the Washington Monument, six-fifteen p.m. July third.
Charles: Agreed. Madame, gentlemen, General. (Exits like a rush of air).
Parris: (intercom pressed) Get me the FBI...Hello, FBI? Who am I talking to? What? Are you a robot? Am I talking to a robot, goddammit? Listen here, robot, hook me up with the Director! What's her name? Artie, what's the FBI Director's name?
Sneffen: Beth Jury.
Parris: Oh, Beth Jury. I was at her wedding. I want to speak with Director Jury! Oh, it's ringing! Yes, this is the President. Put me through to the Director, Beth Jury. Identification code? What are you talking about? How bout you give me your identification code, missy! Your President demands to speak with your Boss. Put me through to Beth Jury! You impudent little twit! What is your name, dear? Alyssa? What's your last name? Alyssa Hurlbarf. Is that German? Miss Hurlbarf, do you know how to raise Director Jury? You're putting me through to someone who can. Hello? Yes, this is the President...yes, President Dinah Parris. No, really. I need you to put me through to Director Jury. Director Jury's in a meeting? An after dinner meeting. I'm in one, too. Do you know Alyssa Hurlbarf? You don't? That's strange, she works there. I want to give her a tour of the White House. Hello, Director Jury? This is the President.
Beth Jury: Madame President, an honor.
Parris: First Lesbian FBI Director.
Beth Jury: First African-American Woman President.
Parris: Have you heard about the Declaration of Independence?
Beth Jury: That it's been stolen?
Parris: Yes.
Beth Jury: What about the ransom?
Parris: We're paying it.
Beth Jury: To fictional characters?
Parris: They seem real enough.
Beth Jury: Keep me posted. (Hangs up).
Parris: She hung up on me!
Sneffen: She never accepted the supposed resignation of Moe Lieden.
Parris: Still cold about it with me. How can I warm her up?
Sneffen: She's married to Tracy Von Rule.
Parris: I know, I was at their wedding.
Sneffen: Tracy owns a bauxite mine in Jamaica.
Parris: Well la-dee-da!
Sneffen: Tracy spends time vacationing with former President Richman's daughter. Tracy's political.
Parris: Tracy said she liked my chances in 2020.
Sneffen: Then you dropped out.
Parris: I couldn't start out by losing Iowa!
Sneffen: Moe Lieden did you the best favor you've ever received, undeservedly. Making you Vice President, giving you things to do on long trips, but you failed every time, and now you're president, failing some more. You entertain me.
Parris: Artie, I'll keep you around at least until January 2025.
Sneffen: I resign.
Parris: It's not time and you would regret jumping the gun.
Sneffen: A remarkably wise comment, Madame President. I withdraw my resignation.
Parris: I accept your withdrawal.
Chet Free, interior designer, from New Jersey, wears a light brown cowboy hat, shiny hand-tooled leather cowboy boots with no scuffs or dirt, tight blue jeans with C and F stitched in gold thread on the back pockets. He always has a wrapped cigar in his shirt pocket. Today's shirt, blue, green, and white blob shapes on a white background, something ugly vintage from 1974. Purple-lensed dark glasses complete the look of a balding forty-eight year old fashion man shown into the Oval Office to make backgrounds to the play of the high and mighty.
Chet: Yes, I can see quite clearly, as if a mist has gone from my eyes' view, what was described to me by Geneva, but now I see it clearly. A woman with no imagination designed this room. The former First Lady, Mrs. Lieden?
Parris: Bingo. The heavy drapes, dark blue, ugh! The carpet, bone white. I spilled Beaujolais there, see those faint red spots?
Chet: I can do wonders with a black carpet.
Parris: That sounds good, I'm Black.
Chet: It's so good we have a Black woman president.
Parris: Thank you, Chet!
Chet: Madame, there's a lot to do to make this room habitable. A space you can work in.
Parris: Could you put in a Murphy bed?
To be continued....
