“Thank you,” Potus said. He started digging through the drawers in the large vintage desk. “What is all this stuff,” he wondered aloud, pulling out a 1950’s era tape recorder reel.
A staffer came forward and took the reel, muttering something.
“What do we have here?” asked Potus, his head disappearing below the level of the desk. Some knocking and clinking noises rose from behind the desk. “Gin, vodka, rum,” Potus said in a muffled voice. He raised his head, holding up a bottle of vermouth. “Huh?”
The same staffer came forward and took the bottle. He frowned and walked away muttering.
Potus’ head disappeared behind the desk again. In a muffled voice he said, “Dentures, sulfer skin crème, some spectacles, a bottle of pills… Hmm.”
Potus kept digging through more drawers in the big desk. “Yowza!” he exclaimed. He held up a shiny black sequined dress. Chief of Staff whistled through his teeth appreciatively. Secretary of State moved forward with her arm outstretched to take the dress.
“I can wear this for our little encounter later,” she drawled over her shoulder to Secretary of State. Secretary of State blushed and looked at his shoes.
The staffer came by once again around Secretary of State’s outstretched hand and grabbed the dress roughly. He walked away yet again.
“And what does this phone do?” Potus asked, pointing.
Secretary of Defence made a hasty motion. “Don’t touch that Sir sir. It’s just for show.”
“Why not? What will happen?”
“Well, I don’t know Sir sir. But you shouldn’t touch it.”
“Like this?” Potus asked, touching. Everyone stepped back instinctively.
“Sir, really, it’s just for show. Ignore it,” said Secretary of Defence.
“Hello?” asked Potus, picking up the phone.
No comments:
Post a Comment