Laurie Boris

Just a little political satire series I write to keep me sane in these completely insane times.

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The Council: Beyoncé Edition

Forty-four collapsed into the back seat of the black SUV, bound for yet another airport, and soon they were underway. He set up his phone for the prearranged call, raked a hand over his buzzcut. He didn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, or a time when he wasn’t talking, or rapping Eminem, God help him, but too many opportunities for secure channels were closing and he had to make contact before he got on the plane for the next rally. He felt a little better when her window came up on his screen.

“Hey, Madame Vice President. How’s it going out there?”

She laughed that wonderful laugh. “Oh, you know. Fifteen interviews before lunch, rallies with Bruce Springsteen, Beyoncé, and Willie Nelson, just like any old ordinary weekend. How’s it by you? Where are you, anyway?”

“Just leaving Atlanta. That arena was loud. I mean loud. You’d think Oprah was there.”

“Wait. Was she there? Are you bogarting Oprah, my friend?”

“Now, I would never do that to you. Magic Johnson, you can count on it. But Oprah, not if I value my life or my marriage.”

A new window opened and Forty-four flinched. All he could see was a nose and a mouth. These were features he knew well. The mouth was moving.

“Joe,” he said. “Joe, hit the unmute. And back up, wouldja? With all due respect, Forty-six, I can count your nose hairs.”

The current president came into frame, then into sound. “We doing this thing or not?” he asked. “It’s almost ice cream o’clock and I got a shit ton of stuff to get done first and Netanyahu’s a pain in my behind. Someone’s got to do this presidenting thing and my VP has her hands full.” He winked.

“Just getting everyone in the room. Hold on.” He did what he had to do and all available members were on the call.

Greetings went around. “There’s no official business on the agenda,” Forty-four said. “Basically this is just a vibe check.”

Forty-three-and-a-half cackled. “Did you actually just say vibe check?”

“I got Millennial kids, what can I say? At least I keep up. Aunt Hillary.”

She laughed louder. Then was all business. “Okay. I got dish. Seems a certain recalcitrant former president was spotted at a certain rally in Houston last night.”

All were silent. Then Forty-four said, “Where’d you hear that from?”

“Chelsea was at the rally trying to get interviews for her podcast. She said when she spotted him, he turned tail and disappeared into the crowd.”

“Okay. This can’t go unremarked-upon.” He punched up Dubya’s number.

The face of the forty-third president appeared. “I’m sorry. We had guests. I couldn’t get on the call right then—”

“It’s okay, George,” Forty-four said. Waited a beat. Then added, “How was Houston last night?”

The eyes widened. The mouth dropped. “Shoot. You all know? Okay. I love me some Queen Bee. There. I said it.”

“Is that it?” Forty-three-and-a-half said. “I would think that a man of your means, you could go to a concert any time you wanted.”

Time stretched. Even on the tiny screen, Forty-four could see the beads of sweat form on the forty-third president’s forehead. “All right. I am, my grandkids say, Kamala curious. I just… I just wanted to feel the energy, you know?”

Forty-four gave up a sly smile. “And how was the…energy?”

“Promise you’ll keep this between us.”

“It is the nature of this body, Forty-three, that what happens within the Council stays within the Council. Now spill the tea.”

“I’ve started White Texan Ex-presidents for Kamala. We had a great meeting last night.”

Forty-three-and-a-half sputtered. “Who, you and the ghost of LBJ?”

“Don’t make fun, Hill,” Forty-two said. “The man’s making an effort.”

“Sorry, Forty-three. Does this mean you’ll be joining us?”

“Well, um. Not officially. But I’ll be doing some behind the scenes work. And this entire wing of the, um, Forty-three family will be voting for her.”

“Good for you, man,” Forty-two said.

“Proud you’re stepping up,” Forty-four said. “And that last painting? You are improving by leaps and bounds, my friend. Okay, we’re at the airport, so I gotta bounce. Good luck, everyone, and go get ’em.”

———

“Very nice,” Lucifer said, perched atop Forty-three’s painting stool, stroking his pointed beard. “Very smooth.”

Forty-three sighed. “Glad I could meet with your approval. Say, I been thinking.”

The devil rolled his eyes, puffed out a sulfuric cloud. “Not that again.”

He stood up straighter. “I been thinking to ask if there’s any kind a loophole out of this deal we made.”

“You want to make a deal with the deal you already made with the devil? Interesting. Unprecedented, Mr. President. But I’m all ears.” He leaned forward. “Go on.”

“I been having some serious talks with my lord and savior.”

“Ugh. Him.” He waved a hand. “Lies. Nothing but lies.”

“I happen to think otherwise, but we can agree to disagree. No. I weighed all the pros and cons, and I… Well, when I heard that angel Beyoncé sing and Madame Vice President speaking, it all made sense in my head. I gotta take my lumps for this. For all I did. With no spiritual intervention.”

“So essentially you want out.”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Of course you know I will need something of equal value in exchange.”

“I’ve heard tell that Ted Cruz would barbecue his own grandmother for more power.”

“Feh. Ted Cruz. Nobody wants Ted Cruz. Tell you what. Let’s call it a temporary reprieve. I’ll give you three months. Do what you must and we’ll meet again.”

Forty-three smiled. But before he could thank Lucifer, he’d already disappeared, leaving behind a cloud of sulfur and brimstone.

“You all right, hon?” Laura said, coming around the corner toward his studio. “Good golly, it’s…rather stale in here.”

He opened the doors out to the patio, and she stepped out next to him. Together they surveyed the landscape.

“So I been thinking, Laura. About what you keep telling me. We got an awful lot of land, and so many of those poor migrants…well, they just want a place to wait out their asylum claims and do an honest day’s work. And I think we should do it.”

She slipped an arm around his waist and smiled.