The assistant poked her head into the office.
“Mr. President?”
She hesitated. The desk was vacant. The president’s favorite high-backed, green leather chair sat to one side.
“Sir, it’s the president-elect.”
She scanned the silent, high-ceiling room. She caught the miniscule swivel of the chair as she turned to leave.
“President Zelenskyy?”
She crept to the desk and leaned over. What she saw under the writing surface left her in shock. The man she admired for rallying a country in the face of Russian aggression was in the fetal position. His face against the carpet.
“Ah, there you are sir. It’s President-elect Drumpf.”
Zelenskyy, attired in his olive-green t-shirt and pants, turned to face her.
“I lost my pen.”
“That’s okay, sir,” she said. “I can help. There’s no need to keep looking.”
She felt his reluctance to leave the wooden cocoon.
“Yes certainly,” he said and crawled out.
“Orange one is on line two,” the assistant instructed.
Zelenskyy became stern. “What have I told you about showing disrespect for 45Drumpf?”
“Keep it up!”
They laughed.
“Hey,” he said as she reached the door. “It was a coincidence; dropping my pen when I heard his voice.”
“Works for me,” she said.
Zelenskyy moved his chair to the desk. Before he could speak, his caller’s voice filled the room.
“Voldy, this is the Dah-nald. I’m back for another “perfect” call. This is gonna be beautiful. They say it will be the best presidential phone call in history. Imagine that, even better than when Abe Lincoln would call Jeffy Davis. I tell ya, those two got into it. But we’ll see what they say. Who knows.”
Zelenskyy suppressed the bile filling his throat.
“Congratulations on another term…” was all he was allowed.
“Yup. Fight! Fight! Fight! You and me buddy. I fight those soft, nefarious treasonous Americans who don’t like me, and you fight the Russians. Did you hear someone shot at me? Has anyone shot at you?
“Turns out, I didn’t need you to go after doddering Joe. Time did that and we got his son anyway.”
Zelenskyy coughed. He was feeling uncomfortable. “Mr. President-elect ….”
“Now, now Voldy, I won both the electoral and popular votes. I hear Ukrainians are calling it the most beautifully run election they’ve ever seen. They liked the balance between offensive snark and attacks on that woman. I tell ya, no one can beat a woman like a Drumpf.”
Zelenskyy heard whispers from the U.S end of the call.
“I did?” Drumpf said. “I don’t do this often but I need to clarify something. No one beats a woman in an election like a Drumpf. That’s what I meant.”
“A clarification,” Zelenskyy said. “Truly historic. Is there someone with you?”
“Yeah, Elon,” Drumpf said. “God I’ve always loved the smell of musk. Not sure if I like him or it’s just an association with that fragrance. I’m telling you; interesting things happen when the colognes are near the women’s dressing rooms.
“Hey, Elon. Maybe we should do our own? We could package ’em with my leftover Bibles, teddy bears, trading cards and steaks. Should be a lot of demand for the ‘ol Drumpfster between Christmas and Inauggy Day? We start with a potential market share of 75 million votes. You put up the money, okay?
“Hey Voldy, you want in? For a licensing fee we can give you rights for whatever’s left of Ukraine on Jan. 21st.”
The Ukrainian’s blood was boiling. “January 21st?”
“I promised folks I’d end this thing on Day One. That would be Jan. 20th. But since it’s a half day – it doesn’t’ start until noon – I’m giving myself through the 21st.”
Zelenskyy knew the walls weren’t moving but they felt closer. “Ukraine is open to a realistic solution that protects ….”
“That’s great,” Drumpf said. “Elon’s in charge. He’ll work it out with Vladdy and be back in touch.”
The line went dead before Zelenskyy could object. He hadn’t noticed his assistant near the desk.
“What are we going to do?” she said. Her voice raw with fear.
“We will fight,” Zelenskyy said. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
45 Drumpf 