Campaign – Chapter 13
Campaign manager Katrina “Kate” Kindling is striving against all odds to get Senator Marcia Brute into the White House.
Chapter Thirteen – Breakups
“And we find that there is not enough evidence to pursue a criminal case at this time. Sen. Brute’s cooperation during this investigation was appreciated and we feel that any further involvement on the FBI’s part would be a detriment to the democratic process.”
Republican Presidential nominee Tony Flowers shuts off the television carrying the FBI director’s statement and tosses the remote across his hotel suite. “Lyin’ crooked bitch. Tweet that she’s a crooked bitch.”
“I’m not tweeting that,” Flowers ’16 campaign social media coordinator Emily Foxxx mutters, scrolling through her phone on the other side of the suite.
“But she’s a–“
“Lyin’ bitch!” speechwriter Roscoe Jones exclaims as he bursts into the suite.
Emily sets her phone down. “Can we all please cool it with the b-word?”
Roscoe shoves a finger in Emily’s face, on the brink of tears. “You said you’d be true to me. But now I hear from that Derrick Derrickson asshole that you’re hookin’ up with Alf? You’re probably hookin’ up with Derrickson too!”
“Let’s not discuss this in front of the presumptive Presidential nominee.”
“Forget it, Emily. We’re through.”
Emily grabs Roscoe’s arm. “Please baby, I’ll break it off with Alf.”
“You will?” Emily & Roscoe turn to see campaign manager Alfred Luntz standing in the doorway holding a corn dog, his mouth full of chewed up corn dog. “There’s corn dogs downstairs.”
Emily approaches her boss, “Alf…”
“I don’t need to hear it, Emily. It was inappropriate of us to be together in the first place. We’re through.”
“So are we,” Tony Flowers announces to the room.
Emily frowns. “Mr. Flowers, we were nev–“
“Oh please, the knowing glances. The long hours. Working deep into the night. Jotting down my every thought in your little diary.”
“Do you mean your twitter account that I run?”
“You’re obsessed. It’s pathetic. We’re through. Strictly professional from here forward. Unless you want one last make-out sesh.”
“We have never made out.”
Flowers stares off the balcony. “Then who the hell was I fumblin’ around with in the supply closet last night.”
An older Salvadorean maid quickly picks up some sheets and rushes out of the suite.
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