Elizabeth Warren comes calling on Hillary Clinton at home, raising eyebrows and setting tongues a-wagging all over the punditsphere.
Hillary greets Liz in her morning coat made of 101 Dalmatian furs and offers her a Bloody Mary. Liz says, “I bloody well will,” as they both cackle on their way to the bar.
In the Clinton’s Louis XVI living room, Hillary pushes the emails scattered all over the couch to the lush lama carpet, and the two of them curl their legs under themselves girl style to face each other from opposite ends of the Democratic spectrum.
“Tell me, girl,” says Hillary, “What do you think of Maureen Dowd?”
“The Heather?” asks Liz.
Hill lets out another cackle, but louder this time. “That’s good. We call her Alex Forrest. Every time I hear she’s about to write another column about us I tell Bill, ‘Hide the bunnies.’”
“Did you see that nasty column she wrote about you and me?”
“Meow.”
“We should do something mean to her.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I know. You tell her you want her to run as your VP and invite her for a sleepover to discuss it. Tell her Bill will be here.”
“Oh, cruel kitty! But then what? Do I flip-flop in the morning?”
“No…no. I’ll hide in the bathroom and when she steps into the shower, you know…totally naked…I’ll climb up on the toilet and pour a bucket of pig’s blood all over her.”
“Oh, Lizzie, you're a mean old Mommy, but I like you. Where do we get the pig’s blood?”
“Trump! A twofer.”
“High five!”
“Okay, seriously, Hillary, why did you invite me here?”
“Well, of course, my back channels have been talking to your back channels, and so you know I’m kinda interested in you being my Veep and I know you’re kinda interested…”
“I’m listening."
“And so, Elizabeth Ann Warren, will you be my running mate?"
"Hmm, can I be honest with you?"
"Ha! Can you not?"
"They say you won't be able to handle the comparison in the enthusiasm gap between my crowds and yours."
"Jesus, as if I've never shared the spotlight with a rock star before. Two of them in fact. Don't sell me short, Liz."
“Oh, I don't, I just want to make sure I don't have to be self-conscious in front of 10,000 excitable fans."
"Be my guest...bask in it. As long as they vote."
"And you're sure you don’t need a Hispanic?”
“With Trump out there, not necessary.”
“And you don’t want a younger white male?”
“That will only raise more mommy issues with the Bernie bros.”
“And you don’t think having two older white women running together will be a problem?”
“I’ve already written off the Limbaugh/Fox News/NRA vote.”
“Okay then, I’m on board...but with one stipulation.”
“Your principles, right?”
“Remember that time you came to me and I convinced you that the bankruptcy bill was bad and then you became Senator from New York and voted for it?”
“How can I forget? I see that interview you gave calling me out on it in my sleep. I thought that would be the end of my candidacy right there.”
“To tell ya, since I got into electoral politics, I have more sympathy with where you were coming from…things don’t look as easy from the inside as they do from the outside. That being said, I have to be up front with you. If you were ever to send me out there like Colin Powell with a vial of snake-oil to sell to the American people, I won’t do it…and I’ll be loud and proud about it.”
“That’s why I want you as my running mate, Liz. Bill and I have got all the money we could ever need, and when we win this election, I’ll have all the power I could ever want. What’s left is legacy, and mine will not be 'the era of big government is over.'”
“What will it be, Hillary?”
“You. Me. Half the cabinet will be female. Gender matters. Feminine values matter. After 250 years we’re going to finally put the stamp of womanhood on this country in a way Barack could not put the stamp of blackness on it. I’m so done cozying up to their power, fluffing up their egos, polishing their nobs. All of them...if you know who I mean. We’re putting compassion ahead of aggression, nurturing ahead of exploitation, principle ahead of expediency."
“You’re turning me on here, Hillary.”
“I’m serious, Liz. We’re doing it for all the women out there…even the young ones who hate me...who think that losing your virginity is just a sex act and don’t get yet that you really lose it when you laugh at a man’s joke that’s not funny, you tell a man he’s wonderful when he’s not, you agree with him when you don’t. The older cynical ones too, like our Heather, Maureen, hollowed out from the inside trying to write things her entire life to please her father, her older brother, her male bosses.”
“And don't forget the working middle class women and single mothers, Hillary.”
“Absolutely…and you know who else? All the sisters who have struggled to hold onto their humanness while living these imposed public lives…Laura Bush and Pat Nixon having to paint on phony smiles and stand silently by while their men made messes of the country; Lady Bird and Barbara Bush and Rosalyn forced to bite their tongues election after election; Nancy and Michelle turned into hideous, unrecognizable she-monsters by their husbands’ political enemies; Mamie turned into a great man’s appendage; Jackie made a martyr’s ghost. Betty Ford consigned to dependency. And foremost my hero, Liz, sainted and abused Eleanor. I don’t know if you know this but I’ve conducted what I call vagina dialogues with her over the years. She tells me our time is now...that we can do this...that I can do it with someone as strong as I am by my side...and that someone is you.”
“I’m with her! I mean you…When do we launch this thing?”
“I’m thinking Cincinnati, Ohio, June 27.”
“Right on.”