Excited as a Little Leaguer who just hit the winning grand slam, President Trump dances into his office at Walter Reed, strokes the screen for his cell phone contacts, and touches: Melania.
“Can’t wait,” he says to a couple of secret service agents pressing their backs against the far wall.
The phone keeps ringing.
“Would’ve expected a quick answer after this triumph,” he says.
There’s an automated response: “Good day. This is Melania. Please leave a brief message at the beep.”
“Hello, my little princess, I bet you’re still watching replays of my great comeback ride around the hospital. I thrilled my admirers on the streets and no doubt all around the country. Call me as soon as you can.”
In less than a minute his screen shows the magic word and Trump says, “Hello. Wasn’t I great?”
“Donald, are you a fucking idiot?”
“Relax. I wore a big heavy mask. It was uncomfortable as hell but photographed pretty well.”
“I’m talking about your health. And the health of the secret service agents.”
“Melania, they wore tons of protective equipment. A couple of them are here right now. Guys, guys, say hi to Melania.”
They smile. One waves. The other raises his voice and says, “Hi, Melania.”
“No, I mean come on over and talk to her.”
Almost in unison they say, “That’s all right.”
“Of course they’re not going to get near you,” she says. “Everyone who does gets infected.”
“You’re watching too much fake news, Melania.”
“The fake news, Donald, is coming out of your pie hole. Stay away from Barron until I say so or I may start making speeches for Biden.”