CELL PHONE NOISE

“Y’know what? I’m gonna be optimistic. Maybe this is good news. Good news comes at three in the morning sometimes, right? Sure. Hello. Are you good news?”

“Maggie! It’s Rexy. You’re having tea with the Tiller-man.”

“Guess not.”

“Listen to me. I’m gonna bitch-slap him.”

“The president?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone because that’s probably a crime.”

“No ‘probably’ about it.”

“Maybe the next cabinet meeting. Yeah, the next cabinet meeting. I wanna do it in a room full of people.”

“So they see it happen?”

“No, so they pull me off him. If it was just me and the dipshit, I wouldn’t be able to stop beating him once I got started. I know ju-jitsu, y’know.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll fuck a man up, Wouldn’t even need the ju-jitsu. Tai chi would work on him. You know that slow shit Chinese ladies do in the park?”

“I know what tai chi is, Secretary Tillerson.”

“Jesus, don’t call me that. Don’t fucking remind me. I was in charge of Exxon, Maggie. Fucking Exxon. I controlled armies. I could crash a country’s economy in a morning. It was the bee’s tits, Maggie. Now look at me. Waltzing out in front of these parasites to defend a fucking simpleton.”

“Today was not a great look for anyone.”

“You know where I’ve been all week? China. Ever been to China? The air is so thick you could fuck it. But y’know what? I’m trying to keep the world from collapsing from under the dead weight of that crayon-eating sonofabitch and he’s tweeting pitchforks up my ass. Fuck him. Fuuuuuuuuck him. Brain made of roadkill and dried piss.”

“I’m guessing the story about you calling him a moron in a meeting is true, then?”

“Not entirely.”

“What was wrong about the story? You didn’t call him a moron?”

“No, no, no: I called him a fucking moron. It’s that I also called him a lot of other shit.”

“Such as?”

“Corky.”

“That’s not right.”

“You remember that show ’bout that retarded boy who got into adventures? Name was Corky.”

“I know the show you’re talking about.”

“So I like to call Trump that.”

“In meetings?”

“Everywhere. Called him dumber than a shit salad in the State Department cafeteria in front of everyone. Lunch-ladies heard me.”

“Inappropriate.”

“They laughed real hard. Gave me a double-helping of mac and cheese.”

“Still.”

“Can’t help it, Maggie. He’s just so fucking stupid. You know what stupid means?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Okay, see, you got four types of people. Some folks are wise, and they figure out a way for everyone to win. Other folks, they’re wicked; they succeed only at others’ expense. Third kind is the foolish man who profits all but himself. And last, you got stupid fuckers. Stupid fuckers manage to fuck it up for themselves and everyone around ’em. That’s what stupid means.”

“That’s actually pretty good.”

“I’m doing the thing he wanted me to do! I’m trying to destroy the State Department! And he won’t fucking let me!”

“Stop yelling.”

“That’s fucking stupid. This fucking guy. You look in one ear and you can see straight through to the other size of the wig.”

“I don’t think that’s a wig.”

“It’s fucking fascinating is what it is, Maggie. I spend most of my time during cabinet meetings trying to figure it out. When you get up real close, it looks like a sick kitty-cat.”

“It’s not normal, no.”

“For Christ’s sake, I didn’t even want to do this job. But, you know, he talked me into it.”

“He? President Trump?”

“Putin.”

“Right. Secretary, I’m going to bed.”

“Fuck that. You ever drink $10,000 scotch?”

“I don’t think so.”

“C’mon over. Me and the maid are doing shots.”

“Good night, sir.”

“Gonna get freaky.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE