Here’s a story I wrote in response to this week’s terrible minds flash fiction challenge. The challenge consisted of a genre mash-up. I went with the espionage/time travel mash-up. The premise of my story is a man goes back in time to stop the Clinton affair. In 2044, the time the protag is from, it’s theorized that the political division that led to the civil war all started with the presidential affair. Weird idea–but hell, I’m a pretty strange person.
The Presidential Cockblock
Who knew that my lasting impact on the world would be cockblocking the President of The United States? Yes, it’s perhaps not the most admirable choice one could make in life, but not many people can say that they’ve made a profound impact on the world.
Of course, nobody would ever know I’ve accomplished said task. When you’re sent back in time forty- five years to stop something from happening, nobody will ever know if you succeeded or not, except you. If you do decide to tell someone, you’ll just be another drunk, crazy asshole telling tall tales. I digress.
I met Monica at Three Oaks bar in downtown D.C. in hopes of starting a relationship that could deter yet another embarrassing act from one of our so-called leaders. I saw her glancing at me through the bright barroom mirror, and I didn’t hesitate to take advantage of my opportunity. I approached her at once.
“Hey pretty lady, whatcha drinking?”
She smiled at me, and in an instant I saw why the President would be attracted to her—or her mouth that is. She had what my friends liked to call DSL. The SL stands for ‘sucking lips’, so I believe you can draw your own conclusions from there.
“Long Islands. You’re mighty handsome yourself…umm”
“The name is William—my friends just call me Will. What’s your name beautiful?” Of course I knew her name, but flattery is always the best policy when first meeting someone.
“Monica—my friends call me Monica,” she said with a wink and a smile.
I knew I had her from the jump. Picking up women has never been a problem for a guy like me. But keeping one, well, that’s a whole other ballgame. I agreed to this mission mostly because I had nothing tying me down in 2044. I didn’t feel like fighting in the Civil War, so why not stop it entirely? My objective: get into this woman’s pants and stay there until Bush gets into office.
IF Bush gets into office, I thought. They say the following election was the 2nd closest in history behind the Hillary-Carter race in 2020 where the former Rap mogul beat out the political titan. Perhaps I’d change the entire tide of the 2000 election.
“Monica it is,” I said at last. “So, do you come here often?”
“That’s the best you got?” she said. “Handsome man like yourself, I figured you’d have better lines than that.”
“Perhaps being handsome and having a large bank statement renders charm the slightest bit unnecessary,” I said. I put my head down and let my shoulders slump. “I’m usually not so good with words when I find myself around attractive women.”
Although, in reality, my confidence reeked through every pore in my body, I’d gotten pretty good at playing the, ‘I’m bashful around pretty women’ routine. It had won me countless nights in bed in the late 30’s—or would win me countless nights in bed—time is a funny thing when you travel to the past. I knew all too well what worked in the future might not work too well here in the 20th century, but I thought I had a pretty good shot.
“Oh, is that right? At work, I’m used to dealing with men who may not look the best, but are great with words. Maybe you have more work to do than you think.” She winked at this and once again, I was certain that I had her under my control.
I did feel it necessary to dig a little deeper into her thoughts on the President. “So who do you work with? If you don’t mind me asking, that is. Where do you work?”
“I actually work at the white house with the President.”
“No way. So?” I said while raising my eyebrows in an attempt to make my fake surprise seem somewhat legitimate. “Have you met him—the President that is?”
She nodded again.
“Well I’m no political figure, but I can keep you atop the poll.” I added a wink of my own to go along with the inappropriate pun. She smiled, so I decided to keep it going. “So do you have a boyfriend or what? Pretty girl like you, I assume the answer is a resounding yes. But please tell me I’m wrong in this assumption.”
“Well, you know what they say happens when you make an assumption.”
“No, what?” Apparently that was a common phrase in her day and age, but I had no idea what she was going to follow it up with.
“You make an ass out of you and me,” she said.
I felt my brow grow wrinkles and my eyes curl into a squint. “I’m not following you.”
She laughed. “Are you serious? What planet are you from?”
I thought fast. “I don’t know. I’m just not used to making an ass out of myself, I guess.”
“Good save,” she said.
“So, what’s your relationship status? Are you ‘in a relationship’?” I made air quotes with the latter question, then realized that Facebook didn’t take over the world until the end of the following decade.
“Not really,” she said, while mocking me with air quotes of her own.
“Do you wanna go have drinks at my hotel then? I’m staying at the Hilton near the airport—I could use some company.”
“And for what purpose?”
So I can lay some pipe and make you fall in love with me; thus nipping the political polarity in the bud before it grows large enough to tear this country apart, I thought. “Perhaps I can give a lady like you the presidential treatment.” I followed with a wink.
She thought about her ‘desk meetings’ with the President. They’d gone on for months, but nobody had found out to that point. She believed there was a possibility that nobody ever would find out, but she knew she ran the risk of public embarrassment for not only herself, but the president, as well.
“Yeah, I think I’ll be able to join you.”
Without hesitation, I took her hand and guided her toward the front door. Timidity is for cowards. Whether living in the past, present or future, women tend flock to the most confident guys.
We didn’t go within fifty feet of the Hilton’s bar—we went directly up to my room, and I did as I was told.
The deal wasn’t done, however. Whether I’m in 2044 or 1998, a one night stand is a one night stand. I sent her flowers the next day and prepared for what we on the mission team liked to call D-Day. Some interpreted the ‘D’ to stand for dome, while others had a less subtle interpretation for the letter ‘D’—but to each their own.
I embarrassed myself when I asked her for cellphone number after the night of play that we had the week before. Her exact response was, “Only real estate agents, and people who think they’re better than they really are, have cellphones.” Apparently my team didn’t do their research on that one. They assured me cellphones were around in 1998, and I took it for face value. I ended up getting her direct number she used in the White House instead.
“White House, this is Monica, how can I help you?”
“Hey pretty lady this is Will. Are you busy today?”
“Umm–” she said into the receiver. By the awkwardness in her voice, I knew this would be the critical moment. “I have a meeting around 2:00 p.m., what’s up?”
“I’m scheduled for a tour at one thirty. I was hoping to see you—I have a surprise for you.” The time for my tour was complete bullshit, of course, but I knew I’d be able to work my way into the 1:00 p.m. one if need be.
She gasped. “Yes, I’ll meet up. What is it?”
“A surprise—I’ll see you at one thirty.”
When I arrived I handed Monica the teddy bear after spotting her through a crowd of people. I knew I’d have to get something big enough for the president to notice.
If he was a good man, perhaps he’d stand down. Only time will tell, I thought. I knew that she was attracted to me, but did I make her fall in love with me?
Only time would tell.