No knickers, as requested. My favourite red dress and black sling-back heels completing the outfit. I had spent some time in the shower too, removing hair. My arms, legs and pubic area. I dressed quickly. I knew he would want another drink soon. That was my responsibility. Light make up, gloss, mascara. A light spray of Lolita and I was ready to descend downstairs. I turned the handle of the door and moved quickly into the room. It was quiet, the curtains closed, the only light the flicker of the mindless television, turned down to eliminate all sound. In the far corner on the sofa was Jason, half in shadow, a thin stream of smoke escaping his lips from his cigarette. I collected his glass and walked into the kitchen. I refresh his gin and tonic and pour myself a large one too. Experience tells me I am going to need it. I can feel him waiting. Back in the room I sit on the sofa opposite. I know better than to go to him just yet. I know what he wants to see. I will wait for. For starters, they had bought a building in Hollywood with plans to sell all of their books there, do signings, and meet and greet with all of the celebrities who backed them over the years.The shop wasn’t quite ready yet, with only a few shelves set up and no signs or banners to speak of. They had just sat down for a break when Hillary said to Bill, “I bet any minute now some old Republican is going to walk by, put their face to the window, and ask what we’re selling.”“Well,” replied Bill, “you know these senior Republicans are the nosiest bunch around!”No sooner were the words out of his mouth when, sure enough, a curious old woman walked to the window, had a peek, and in a soft voice asked, “What are you selling here?”Hillary, still reeling from the presidential loss, replied sarcastically, “We’re selling assholes!”Without skipping a beat, the old dear added, “Then you must be doing well for you only have two left.”I was in the six item express lane at the store quietly.
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