President Who?

Obama’s second day as President. The Cabinet meeting over, briefings finished, the President retires to the Oval Office for a little quiet time, alone. He sits in the big leather chair and begins to cut articles out of the Washington Post for his scrap book (“Is Obama More Lincolnesque than Lincoln?”, reads the headline of one fawning editorial. Hmm. Gotta save that one). Suddenly, he hears the toilet flush in the private bathroom. He jumps out of his chair, not altogether certain whether he should alert the Pentagon or simply grab a heavy paperweight in defense, and watches apprehensively as the bathroom door opens and… Bill Clinton walks out.

“Oh, hey, Mr. President! Say, did you know that the paper towel dispenser in there is busted?”

“Bill! Wha…what are you doing in here?”

“I had to walk through here to get to the bathroom.”

“No, I mean, what are you doing here in the White House? And, yes, to get into the weeds, why are you using this bathroom?”

“I had to go. Don’t worry; I put the seat down.”

Obama sank into his chair and rubbed his eyes. “Bill, you can’t just pop in and wander around.”

“Hey, buddy, don’t you worry. The Secret Service guys all know me. And with Hillary moving into the Lincoln Bedroom…”

Obama leaped out of his chair again. “Hillary moving into the Lincoln Bedroom?!?”

Clinton noticed the half-cut-out newspaper editorial and smiled. “Woooiee! Looks like you want that one yourself, huh, partner? No problem. Hillary and I can sleep in the presidential quarters.”

“Bill, you can’t possibly…”

“Now, now, it’s no inconvenience to us at all. Our sheets are still in the chest of drawers, there.”

“Bill, you can’t sleep in the White House!”

“I don’t intend to be staying here overnight too often, good buddy. Know what I mean?” Clinton gave Obama a lascivious wink.

“Well, I mean, Hillary can’t move into the White House.”

“Why not? Listen, you’re gonna need her on call, 24/7. Lotta things bustin’ loose in the world right now, what with Iran and terrorism and the best skiing conditions in Europe in ages. Come in!”

Clinton had responded to a knock on the office door. Two guys from Facilities Management walked in, each one pushing a chair identical to the President’s (but with higher backs). Smiling brightly, Clinton said, “Over here, fellahs! Just push ‘em right up to the desk.”

Obama reeled before this onslaught of presumptuousness. “Bill, surely I don’t need to remind you…”

“That cigar smoke irritates your eyes? Don’t worry. I didn’t actually smoke ‘em, you know.” Another lascivious wink. “Come in!”

Bill Richardson poked his head into the office. “There you are, Mr. President! Oh, hi, Barack. Eric and Rahm are ready, Bill. The poker table’s all set up, and I laid my hands on some prime mezcal.”

“Poker!” Obama shouted. “And where were you planning on having your poker game?”

“In that little bookroom upstairs.”

“That’s my private office!”

“Oh”, Clinton mumbled; he looked at Obama uninvitingly. “Why, did you want to play?”

The first thing Obama had done when he had initially set foot in the Oval Office as President the day before was to locate the emergency buzzer under his desk that could be used to summon instant assistance from the Secret Service. He sat down in his chair, gave Clinton a superior smirk and pushed the buzzer. Within a few seconds, two Secret Service agents burst into the room, hands thrust inside their jackets, ready to draw their weapons if necessary.

“No need to pull your guns, gentlemen. I just wanted to let you know that the President wants to be alone. Completely alone.”

Bill Richardson didn’t need any prodding. “Ok, ok, I’m going. See you upstairs, Bill.” Both Secret Service agents then approached the smiling Bill Clinton, walked right past him, grabbed Obama by the elbows and frog-marched him out of the office.

“H-e-y-y-y!! I’m the President!”, he wailed, as he was dragged away.

Bill Clinton popped into the bathroom to look into the mirror and straighten his tie before going upstairs to play poker with the boys - his boys. Before turning away, he mimicked the scowl and the voice of Edward G. Robinson in the closing moments of the movie, The Cincinnati Kid - the scene where Robinson bests Steve McQueen in a game of five-card stud. “You’re good kid. But as long as I’m around, you're still second best.” Chuckling softly, he flicked the bathroom light off and headed upstairs.