Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 40662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
I know I have to get going. It’s late, and I’ve been in here for two hours already. Instead, we drift to the couch and sit together.
He asks about what I’ve been up to. We don’t talk about him much. He seems more interested in what I’ve been doing.
So I tell him everything, from my work life to what I’m watching on Netflix. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and considering the President just came in my ass over the Resolute desk, it’s surprisingly… normal.
“Oh, before I forget,” he says after maybe a half hour of chatting. “I’m making a speech on the Senate floor in a few days.”
I blink, surprised. “You are?”
“About healthcare.”
That straight up startles me. “What?”
He takes a breath and nods. “It’s time, Maggie. I know the polling isn’t great, and you’re coming up with some educational materials, but… it’s time I start talking about it.”
I stare at him. “I don’t know,” I say finally. “Are you sure?”
“Not at all,” he admits. “But I’ve gotten this far by following my instincts. So I’m going to keep doing that and hope my instincts don’t betray me.”
I stare into his eyes. I feel overwhelmed in this moment. All I can do is kiss him.
He kisses me back.
Not long later, I leave his office, my head spinning, my panties still in his desk drawer.
12
Adam
I look out at the austere and serious faces staring back at me, at the white-haired old assholes that compose the Senate, and I wish I could tell them all to go fuck themselves.
A bunch of old bastards in the pocket of lobbyists.
They’re barely politicians.
The poorest guy in this room is still worth twenty times what an average person makes in a year. And they’re supposed to represent this country.
I grip the lectern. I stare at the room. I know what they’re going to say about this speech, but I don’t care. I’ve heard it all before.
They don’t want Medicare For All. Not because it’ll actually be good for people. Not because other countries have already proven that universal healthcare is the only logical and humane way forward, that guaranteeing healthcare as a right is the duty of any civilized country, but because it’ll cost them money.
Personally. It’ll cost them, personally, money. Not the government, not the people.
Them.
Here’s the thing. Lobbyists pay their bills. It’s fucking public bribery, is what it is. And these bastards are being lobbied like crazy by big insurance companies that don’t want to see the world turn against them.
But I’m going to change all that.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Senate,” I begin, staring out at their faces. “I am here to talk about a right every man, woman, and child deserves. Not a privilege, not a thing that will bankrupt people, but a right. Ladies and gentlemen, I speak of healthcare.”
I can already see the eyes rolling. I can already hear the groans.
Idealist. Socialist. I know what they’ll say.
It’s too expensive. It won’t work in America.
Death panels! Poor care! Long lines! No more innovation!
Lies, every single one of them.
As I speak, I can feel them slowly turn on me. I can feel them thinking with their wallets. As I tell them how healthcare has to be universal, guaranteed by the government, I hear some booing. I hear some hissing.
It does not go well.
I knew it wouldn’t. I mean, I might as well have gotten up there and told them that there should be term limits for senators, which I do believe, by the way.
I basically told them that I want to see them all poorer. I basically told them to go sit on a rusty nail and fuck themselves with it.
When I finish, and the Senate finishes with their backhanded clapping that barely drowns out the booing, I leave the floor. My security detail flanks me as I head out into the hall.
Out into the rush and flood of waiting reporters.
I step up to the microphone and I start answer questions.
“Are you a socialist, President Clark?”
“No.”
“Do you want to bankrupt the country?”
“No.”
“Won’t people be waiting in long lines?”
“Of course not.”
I stare at them and I hate them just as much. They parrot back these stupid arguments, because they don’t know any better.
“President Clark,” Linda Torres says, stepping up in my face. Camera flashes go off.
I’m angry. I hate the world. I wish they’d see the vision of the future that I have, how this can save so many people.
“Why has Maggie Thomas been sneaking into the Oval Office late at night?”
I’m taken aback. I stare at her, eyes wide for a second. I’m not sure that I heard the question right.
This fucking shit again.
I thought Charles buried that already.
But apparently not.
Apparently, she knows something new.
“Excuse me?” I ask suddenly.
Everyone’s dead silent.
“Maggie Thomas, a member of your polling staff, has allegedly been sneaking into the Oval Office late at night, according to my sources. I’ve brought this up to you before, Mr. President. Do you want to comment on this?”