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“So you’re going to this place so these Russian ex-Spetsnaz émigrés can protect you from the attention of your millions of fans?”
“Not exactly. The last time I was there, they said if I ever came back, they would show me how to slowly and painfully kill people by breaking their bones one at a time.”
“You want to break the bones of your fans?”
“Not of my fans, stupid. I want to break Matthew Christian’s bones. If I ever run into that miserable twerp, I intend to be ready for him.”
[THREE]
The Lady Bird Johnson VIP Guest Room
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.
Washington, D.C.
2205 19 June 2007
The President of the United States knocked softly on the door and politely inquired, “May I—or more specifically, may I and Robin Hoboken—intrude?”
When there was no reply, President Clendennen slowly and carefully opened the door.
The First Lady and the First Mother-in-Law were seated on identical red-leather-upholstered reclining armchairs, which were in the reclined position, watching a wall-mounted flat-screen television.
“Mommy, dearest,” the First Lady inquired, “what do they call that gold-plated thing Miss Ravisher is cradling so lovingly in her arms?”
“I don’t know what they call it, Belinda-Sue,” the First Mother-in-Law replied, her voice coarsened by cigarettes from what once had been a three-pack-a-day habit, “and as a Southern lady, I’m certainly not going to say what it looks like.”
“Getting settled in comfortably, are you, Mother Krauthammer?” President Clendennen inquired politely.
“Shut up, Joshua,” the First Mother-in-Law snapped. “Can’t you see that Belinda-Sue and I are watching Pastor Jones interview Red Ravisher live from the Climax Awards at the Streets of San Francisco in Las Vegas?”
“Mommy, dearest,” the First Lady inquired, “what’s ‘borscht’?”
“I think that’s what the Russians call grits, darling.”
“Actually, Madam First Mother-in-Law,” Robin Hoboken offered, “borscht is a soup made with fresh red beets, beef shank, onions, carrots, potatoes, cabbage, dill, and sour cream.”
“Belinda-Sue, darling,” Mother Krauthammer said, “guess who Whatsisname has with him? The talking encyclopedia.”
“Is there any chance, girls,” the President asked, “that you’d be willing to turn Wolf News off for a minute or two—”
“Not a chance in hell until Pastor Jones is finished interviewing Red Ravisher,” Mother Krauthammer said.
“I gather you’re a fan of Miss Ravisher, Madam First Mother-in-Law?” Robin Hoboken asked.
“Yes, I am. On several levels. I was deeply touched by her portrayal of Catherine the Great. It brought on a flood of memories of my time as the Magnolia Queen of the University of Mississippi. The Ole Miss Rebels weren’t cavalry, of course, they were football players, but they sure knew how to ride, so to speak.
“And then I certainly admire her for throwing that French pervert at the other one. I refer, of course, Joshua, to your dear
friend Roscoe J. Danton.”
“Actually, Madam First Mother-in-Law,” Robin Hoboken said, “that might be a slight mischaracterization vis-à-vis Mr. Danton’s relationship with the nation’s Commander in Chief and that incident in general as reported by Mr. Matthew Christian.”
“Joshua, do you have any idea what the hell he’s talking about?” Mother Krauthammer asked.
“Miss Ravisher,” the First Lady said, “just said she wants to break Mr. Christian’s bones.”
