everyone has had a boss who is an idiot

“I mean, why not say something if you don’t agree with it?” she said, eyes glued to the television set.

“It’s not that simple,” he said, eyes closed. He appeared so peaceful in bed, a sharp contrast to his usual fiery personality.

“Humor me. What’s not simple about it?” she pried. 

He let out a big sigh. This was becoming a weekly routine. She knew what he did and more importantly why he did it, but that didn’t stop her from asking him to explain himself… and since he loved her, he did. 

“Honey, it’s politics, nothing is simple,” he grumbled, still half asleep.

The air around her grew silent; he smiled with relief. When he could only hear the TV playing, he tried to close his eyes again. When she noticed his peepers shut, she grazed his chest with her well-manicured fingers. He perked up. He reached for her bosom and she allowed it for a Mississippi or two, but then cradled his hand in her own. 

“Now, as I was saying, why don’t you say something?” she said, knowing she had his full attention now.

He sighed again.

He rubbed his tired eyes in a circular motion and propped up his pillow so he could form a right angle with the bed. As he reached over to the nightstand, her hand shot out indicating she cared to partake in his filthy habit. A habit he promised he’d give up one day, but never told her what day that would be. He pulled two cigarettes out of the white and gold packaging and placed both in his mouth. He then lit them and passed one on to his companion.

“Lights, I’m proud of you,” she said, right after the puff of smoke left her body.

“Is that sarcasm?”

“No, I’m serious. Anything is better than those Reds you usually smoke. Hell, my daddy sounded worse than an out-of-tune choir by the time he was on his death bed, all because of those Reds. At least these are Lights.”

“Well, I hate to cut you short when you’re praising me, but light cigarettes really ain’t safer than the regular ones. It’s just a marketing tool Big Tobacco uses. Tar exposure is tied more to how long/frequently you inhale, so if you take prolonged, recurrent inhales it’s all the same, regardless of tar content.”

“Well, fuck me two ways from Sunday.”

“Six ways.”

“No, that seems excessive.”

He rolled his eyes and then followed it up with a smirk. Half the time he couldn’t tell if she was making witty retorts or if she was dumber than a doorknob. It didn’t matter though, he loved her and as anyone who has been in love before knows, all things go out the window when you are.

“Listen, everyone has had a boss who is an idiot and as any dummy knows, the last thing that you do is tell your boss that, otherwise you’ll just get canned,” he said.

“I mean this wall thing, it doesn’t even make sense. I get the whole point of trying to curb illegal immigration, but how the hell is a wall gonna stop that? Don’t most people come over by planes and boats and what not?” she asked quizzically.

“It don’t stop jack shit. But the people don’t care about that… it’s what the wall symbolizes. Hell, I have an eight-foot fence around my premises, but it’s not really going to deter someone who wants to get into my house… but it still helps me sleep better at night. The wall is like a night light, it keeps the dark away for these people.”

“You mean hicks don’t you?”

“Now honey, those so-called hicks are my constituents and they help keep the lights on in my mansion and the champagne flowing in your glass, so I’d ease up a bit buttercup. Besides, they ain’t bad people.”

She shot him a dirty look.

“What?” he said after he took another long drag of his cigarette. He was almost at the butt. Sometimes she could be tougher on him than the opposition at a congressional hearing.

“So what you’re telling me is that you let the President say and do whatever he wants without argument because it keeps the money flowing,” she said with a hint of melancholy hanging on her tongue.

“And that’s also what a large portion of the American people want. You left out that crucial part. We can’t do anything that they don’t want. If you foot the bill, why shouldn’t you be able to pick the restaurant?”

She sighed and took an equally long drag of her cigarette. She nodded in agreement. As much as she wasn’t a fan of this answer, she knew he was right. That being said, it was still demoralizing. It was hard to ignore that these last few years had shades of 1939.

“So let me just ask bluntly… do you think most Americans are racist?” she said, eagerly anticipating his response.

After a long pause, he said, “I think most people are racist to some degree or another.”

She sulked. “You know what I mean! I know everyone is a little bit racist, but that’s not what I’m talking about! Don’t give me a political answer!”

“Well if I was giving you a political answer, I don’t think I’d be saying that I think most Americans are racist, so I don’t think you have a leg to stand on right there missy,” he said with a slightly elevated voice. She could tell he was annoyed. It didn’t take much to make Vesuvius erupt prematurely.

She touched his chest again with those long, slender fingers, and just like that the fire quelled. Apparently, it didn’t take much to make it stop either.

“Yes, I think a lot of Americans are racist, just bigotry under the guise of patriotism. Hell, the Civil War was only about a century and a half ago and even that was mostly fought for economic reasons. So yeah, I’d say racism runs a bit rampant over here, specifically some white Americans… they just don’t like being called Nazis. Now don’t ask me that again. All it takes is one hot mic somewhere and my career would be over. I’m serious Brielle.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Brielle said emphatically. 

Brielle paused for a second and then tippy-toed another question out of her pouty lips.

“Do you think he will win again?” she asked.

“I hope not. I really, really hope not. This nation needs to heal this divide.”

Her eyes got misty. His voice was genuine; she knew the words he said were real. It was times like this that concretely reminded her that she loved him so dearly. He was a closeted idealist, trapped inside the body of a realist. His mind always going to war with itself. She knew it wasn’t an easy thing to do on a daily basis... to live a lie. She knew that all too well. She would be his ally, through thick and thin.

Brielle placed her head upon his chest. It felt stubbly to the touch. She liked his furry chest, but he said it made him feel old.

“When are you going to stop shaving your chest and just let me enjoy the natural soft pillow that God has given you?”

“I dunno, you don’t seem to mind all the shaving I do,” he said while slowly redirecting one of her hands underneath the sheets.

“You’re such a dick,” she playfully teased.

“Well, my daddy did name me Richard,” he said with the biggest shit-eating grin he could muster.

Brielle moved her body south, slowly down his chest, and disappeared under the covers. A few minutes later, she snaked her head back up onto Richard’s chest. Brielle smiled. She closed her eyes and felt at peace with the world again… and apparently from the stupid look on his face, Richard did too. Both Brielle and Richard were drifting in and out of sleep. To what destinations their dreams would take them, nobody was the wiser. However, their journeys would be cut short as the incessant ringing on the nightstand grew more and more boisterous.

“Shit!? Is that the time? It’s getting late and I have an early meeting with the President tomorrow. I need to get some sleep,” he said abruptly.

Brielle’s eyes shot open. Just like that, her makeshift pillow was pulled from underneath her and it quickly put on its pants.

“Babe, can’t you just sleep here tonight? It’s already past two,” Brielle said, half asleep.

“Are you kidding me? My wife is gonna kill me if she wakes up and I’m not home! I’ll see you when I get back from DC. Love you pumpkin.”

She sighed.