The Slogan

He looks her up and down, this so-called journo that was brought in to ghost-write his latest autobiography.

Nice tits; top blouse button unbuttoned, his staff must have told her. He leans in closer for a conspiratorial whisper. “And that’s how I won the Nobel Peace Prize,” he tells her.

He sees her cringe, drawing back from him. As expected, who wouldn’t be overwhelmed by his presence? She grabs her purse, as if trying to steady herself, and rifles through it feverishly, as his bodyguards take a worried step closer. He waves them off; he trusts his instincts and sees no real threat here. Probably looking for lipstick or some such.

She takes out a small container, beaming at the find, and flips it open. “Breathmint, Your Excellency? Your favorite brand?” She smiles more widely now. Perfect, American teeth. So not a spy. Or at least a well-groomed one.

He returns the smile, spreading his arms wide. “I see you’ve spent some time studying me, Miss…” He leers at her chest again, pretending to struggle reading her name-tag as if he’s forgotten her name. “…Wallop?”

Has he called her that before? Her mouth shows just the slightest hint of irritation. Good, maybe he’ll get some useful TV footage out of this, after all. “It’s Wallace, Your Excellency,” she says, her smile appearing to hold.

“Ah, Wallace, yes, yes,” he agrees with a magnanimous nod. “What else do you know about me?” Chuckles. “Or would like to find out?”

Her eyes widen at the implication. He chuckles again. “You know,” he says, “it was just this kind of incident that started my career.”

Raised eyebrows, now. “A breathmint?” she asks, somewhat incredulous.

“More of a body-odor problem,” he confesses. “What do they call it these days? B.O? High school, and all that, you know?” Frowns at the memory.

She picks up the cue without missing a beat. “I’ve heard you were quite the jock, Your Excellency. A star quarterback? No doubt all the cheerleaders were fawning over you?”

He shrugs. “You would have thought that, Ms. Wallace, but times were different then. An entire generation had grown up being taught to erase our animal heritage.” He pauses for effect. “Our animal urges, as it were. We’re mammals, after all. Why would we deny our pheromones?”

Her face shows real concern. “I see, Your Excellency.” She hesitates, then seems to find the courage to follow up. “Surely a painful, but character-building episode, sir, one that your readers will find fascinating, no doubt…” She smiles, the smile of a big cat stumbling upon a fawn in the grass. “Does the lady have a name?”

He laughs out loud. “The lady does, but a gentleman never tells, and I’m nothing if not a gentleman, despite what my opponents like to call me. But you’ve heard it, of course. It was thoroughly covered during my last campaign.” He spreads his arms. “Another pathetic attempt by the Deep State to smear me. And you see how well that worked out.”

She nods. “But it’s been some time, Your Excellency, and we don’t anticipate another campaign for you, do we?” A sly smile on her face. “Would you like to set the record straight?”

He wags his finger at her. “Oh, you’re good, Ms. Wallace. But of course, the record has been set straight by the viral slogan of my last campaign. Have you seen the hats and t-shirts? It is why I remain the most popular politician in the country. In the world, I think.” He pauses to rifle through some papers on the Resolute Desk. “Ah, there it is! Have you seen these?” He shows her the renderings of the latest proposed updates for Mount Rushmore. “They originally wanted to squeeze me between Teddy and Abe, but that would have forced my face to be too small. So we’re doing it to the right of Lincoln. A nice counterpoint to George.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Waits for him as he takes a minute to admire the sketches.

He finally looks back at her. “Oh, so the story. It’s quite simple, actually, and there’s no truth whatsoever that she was in ninth grade and I was a senior, by the way, that’s fake news. Anyway, so I’d just won the last game of the season, three touchdowns, one rushing… Did you know I could run as well?” He waits for her acknowledging nod, continues. “So I’m like, elated, of course, and she is the hottest chick on the cheerleading squad, and really in the school, you know? How can we not be together after a night like this? Isn’t that the all-American story?”

He seems lost in the memory for a moment before continuing. “So right after the game, I walk into the girls’ locker room — and don’t you make that into some perverted new age thing, now, Ms. Wallace — but I walk into the girls’ locker room, and up to her locker, and she’s already all changed, and looking mighty fine, I might add, and I smack her locker door with my closed fist and say Jenny — let’s call her Jenny — why can’t we be together?” He shakes his head. “I bet she regrets it now.”

She knows what happened next. The whole world knows. But she has to ask it, that’s why she’s here, after all. “And what happened then, Your Excellency?”

The lines around his mouth harden. “Well, I’m quite a bit taller than her, and so her face is up to my armpit. And she says ‘You stink,’ Ms. Wallace. Why can’t you ever use deodorant, like normal people do? That’s what she says.” He pauses. “So it was then and there, Ms. Wallace. That’s where I decided to become the most powerful man in the world. So this kind of thing can never happen again. And that’s where I came up with my last campaign slogan.”

He bends down, takes a red hat out of the bottom desk drawer. “Would you like one?” He puts it on the table. “Nice logo, right? MASA…

Stands for Make America Stink Again.”