Lion's Den

The erratic hum of chaos grows on the lawn outside my window as dozens of staff members scramble to finish last-minute preparations. The scene reminds me of when I kicked over anthills as a kid and tried to crush as many of them as I could while they searched frantically for their queen.

Cupping my hands around my mouth, I chuckle and whisper, “Your king is here!”

I never lost hope in the years leading up to this moment. When they had my back against the wall, I didn’t tap out. No one expected me to make a comeback, but the numbers didn’t lie this time. So many betrayed me that I lost count (but I did keep a list). You’d think after the early years when I gave so much of myself that it would have always been that easy to support me. I solved all of their silly little problems and made them so much more money—more than any of the ones before me—and where were my reparations? Bunch of fucking Judases. 

When they robbed me of my rightful place, I tried following the rules, tried using the courts. Even with mountains of evidence of wrongdoing, the court still tossed out my case. They made a mockery of me, of my name. I knew when I found myself on top again that I could erase the damage, so next I opted for less civilized, more direct tactics. It was messier than I prefer, but justice will be served soon and all will be well again. The pendulum has swung back.

My stomach rumbles loudly, reminding me I need to eat before the day gets more chaotic.

“Siri, text Wife, please pick up my favorite on your way to the office.”

She won’t be happy because she never is, but her mood is the least of my worries these days. As long as she can fake a smile or a moan when it matters, her job is done. Appearances are still of consequence, and I cannot allow her affections to be the topic of speculation again. 

I lean back in my armchair and swivel around in a half circle, feeling a weightless tingle in my lower belly that I enjoy, so I swivel again and again and again. When the dizziness forces me to pause, I spot the gardener watering a row of white flowers just by the window. A tiny rainbow has formed in the spray’s arc. A goddamn sign.

Pressure on my bladder grows insistent, so I rock my body backward and forward, garnering the momentum to get to my feet. The wall greets my forehead as I launch, stopping me from ending up on all fours. I will have to remember not to sit in that chair when others are around, unless I don’t intend to get up.

The hall outside my office is empty, and my bathroom is only a few feet away. The attendant has been relieved to view the ceremony, so there is no one around to look at me disapprovingly when I don’t wash my hands.

As I return my office, I hear conspiratorial whispers emanating from the cracked conference room door across the hall. Intrigued, I stop to listen.

“Yes, ok, that may be true, but we can’t put it out there like that. He will never go for it. You know we have to be delicate with our approach. I’ve talked to my team about allocating the funds. Don’t sweat that shit, just get his signature.”

Russell. He’s my guy. My mastermind.

“I’m already sick to death of the whole charade. It’s going to take too long to do everything we have planned if we have to worry about his ego every step of the way.”

A woman. Sounds like… Kristy. Who the fuck does she think she is? What the fuck is going on here?

“Kristy, are you fucking new here? How else do you think we are going to accomplish anything? He needs to feel like it was his idea. This is imperative. Then we can give him the roll-out plan. Same strategy as before: be complimentary but not overly flattering, and be delicately suggestive—like it was a thought that just came to you, and you want to know what he thinks. Always ask what he thinks, and then use that information to guide him down the path. We cannot make the same mistakes that were made last time.”

Pete. He might be slicker than I give him credit for. I will have to watch that one. 

“I am not a fucking idiot, Pete. I know how to work him,” Kristy hisses. 

“Okay, okay, enough kids,” Russell interjects. “I don’t think it’s unwise for everyone to be reminded of who we are dealing with and our best approach for doing so. We each have a lot to lose, and getting past him is our biggest hurdle. Once he has his mind set, the rest is managing the execution of the program and waiting for the stock price to rise. Everybody calm down and let's keep our eyes on the target.”

A frenzy of electronic chimes startles me and a tiny squeak escapes from the back of my pants. I freeze, rigid, certain it was loud enough to reveal me. 

“This is Pete.”

A faint odor tickles my nose; I fight off a sneeze, but remain in place. 

“George, hey man, good to hear from you. I’m here with Russell and Kristy right now and we are discussing our approach.”

“Ask if he’s talked to him,” Kristy whispers.

“Have you, uh, by chance, spoken to him? Gotten a feel for his attitude towards how we want to do this whole thing?” 

Kristy’s beady eyes must be boring holes into Pete. 

“Okay, no worries. We’ve got everything under control. We will lay the groundwork later today after the ceremony. You all just be ready to go because we want to get everything into place to handle large numbers by the end of week one…Great, yep, thanks George, talk soon.”

“Well?” 

Christ, she is irritating. 

“Everything is ready; they ordered the materials, cleared the land, and have contacted several bigger players to get contracts in place for the labor. All we have to do is get his approval.”

“Fantastic. See? We are fine,” Russell says with a triumphant little laugh. “Now, what about the convention? That will drastically simplify things—and not just for this project, but for everything else we need to do.”

“I got word this morning,” Pete says. “We have a quorum.”

“Amazing! This is turning out to be a celebratory day, indeed.”

“And we shouldn’t have to do much dancing to get him to agree to that. It’s practically all he’s talked about since he’s been back. He knows how critical it is that we remove this major obstacle upfront.”

Kristy snorts. Fitting. 

“Take the wins where we can get them, I guess.”

“Fucking hell, Kristy. Is it going to be like this every day? This is the job, and sometimes it involves placating and dancing and ass kissing. The payday alone should be enough to keep you satisfied.”

I make a mental note to google the word placating, and another to remind Pete of this remark when the moment is right.

“Spoken like the apple polisher you are, Pete.”

“Stop it. Jesus. Grow up, you two. We are professionals, we are here for the same reason. Get your fucking panties out of a bunch and let’s carry this thing across the finish line. The hard part is over. We are here. We made it. You don’t have to love each other, but a little fucking civility wouldn’t kill you.”

If he wasn’t conspiring to manipulate me, I would appreciate Russell’s no-nonsense attitude. Instead, I’m wondering if I truly need him to carry out the master plan he spent years building. He’s no average lackey to be sure, but the bench is deep with loyalists and he’s already done all the hard work. I will need to keep my ears and options open. 

A door slams around the corner and startles me again. Another tiny squeak liberates itself from my backside, but this time there is no ringing phone to provide cover. 

“Did you hear that? It sounded like a mouse or something.”

Shit. 

I turn the knob on my office door, open it a crack, and then shut it as loudly as I can. Russell leans into the doorway and hides his surprise with a congenial smile. I return the smile, offering my hand for a shake.

“Mr. President-elect, perfect timing! We were just chatting about the migrant issue and the best way to deliver on your campaign promise. Kristy floated the idea of having the Guard help with the collection, but then we got stuck on what to do with them all. We could certainly use the labor, but the real question is, where do we put them? Didn’t you suggest maybe some privately funded soft-shell housing? I think Pete has a conta—.”

I hold up a hand to silence him and remove the buzzing phone from my pocket. It’s a text from Melania. She will be here in five with my Big Mac meal. 

“Fellas, gal, let’s get through this circus first and then we can talk. I’ve got lunch coming.”

I slap Pete on the back a little too hard. Kristy reaches out and takes both of my hands in her own abnormally large ones.

“It’s your big day, sir! Are you ready? Record-breaking crowd out there already, I hear.”

I manage a half smile as I extricate myself from her grip and raise both fists over my head.

“Time to make America great again, folks.”

Everyone cheers.