| General Fiction posted March 4, 2025 | Chapters: |
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I woke up this mornin' feelin' fine...
A chapter in the book No - Say It Ain't So!
NO! Say It Ain't So! Ch. 15-16
by Wayne Fowler
Readers visited the real Trump and then a guard at the safe house. In the White House, Tom and Phil discuss the Supreme Court plan.
Chapter Fifteen.
Trump in the White House
(3rd person, omniscient)
(3rd person, omniscient)
It was 8:50, the real President Trump was going to get to the bottom of things. He got to the West Wing early, according to his norm, to see who was working and who was goofing off.
“Betty. Send for my doctor and then come into the Oval. Betty, what’s going on? And I don’t want to hear any bull. Where’s Elon?”
“Sir, Elon, as far as I know, is in California. And let me tell you. He is not happy.”
“Well, let me tell you, who else isn’t happy. What’s going on?” I nearly shouted. I would have except for struggling to get air.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. President. You’ve been here every day. Nothing happens after you leave the office that I haven’t told you about. Yesterday, you met with the Vice President, and…”
“No, I di…” But maybe I did, Trump thought. Maybe that prison house is just in my head. That guy who I was yesterday, maybe I’m in and out of him while I’m right here all the time. Maybe I’m not myself anymore. “What did we discuss?”
“I don’t know, sir. You wanted privacy and you gave me no notes to have transcribed.”
“I…” I couldn’t tell her that it was not me. That would mean I was somebody else. She would call for Amendment 25. I couldn’t tell anyone that I’d been held captive off and on in a tiny prison-house for the last few weeks. Or that I might be two people. I would be committed,” Trump thought. “Where’s that doctor?”
“Are you not feeling well, sir? Is there something I can do?”
“Send for Elon. And get Senator Thune on the line. And Paté.”
“Yes, sir. But I’m going to be surprised if Elon will come back. He was pretty put out. I got wind that he’d met with the Cabinet Secretaries who’d been confirmed and was waiting for the others before coming back.”
“A coup. That’s what Elon was planning, a 25 coup. He and the Vice President would put me away, and then run things themselves without me.” Trump’s mind was sailing.
“Where’s that doctor?”
“Oh, here’s a nurse, sir. He can take your vitals. The doctor is just a minute away.”
“Mr. President, my name’s Thorne, Stuart Thorne. I just go by Thorne. If you would give me your arm, sir. I’ll check your pulse and blood pressure. Are you experiencing any pain, Mr. President?”
“No! I… I what?" What could I tell this stranger? How would I know who’s behind this, this coup? Maybe every time they take blood, they’re injecting something? How do they put me into another body? Or are they, maybe it’s all psychology stuff. My brain sees that other man, but I’m really me. But the police didn’t recognize me. Where’s Paté? Trump sat quietly, fearful that his thoughts would land him back in the prison-house.
“Oh, hello Doc, Where’s Paté?” He just stared at me with his mouth open. “He‘s in on it,” Trump thought.
“Good morning, Mr. President.”
“One forty-one over ninety-six, pulse eighty-four, temp ninety-eight five,” Thorne said to the doctor's nod. He was by then listening to Trump’s heart.
Trump took a chance. “Doc, what if I’m not myself? You know what I mean?”
“Mr. President, we all feel like we aren’t our normal selves from time-to-time. Can you be more specific?”
“No. False alarm. I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“How’s the bursitis? The medication working?”
“I don’t have bursitis.”
“Mr. President, Paté’s on the line.” Betty looked at me with questioning eyes.
“Hello, Paté. Can I call you back in a few minutes? Yes. I’m fine.”
“False alarm, Doc. I’m fine. Feel better already. I woke from a bad dream, I guess.”
“Mr. President, have you been trying to lose weight? It looks as if you’ve lost some inches around the middle. We could do a full blood workup.”
“No! No blood. I think we’re finished here. Thank you for checking on me.” After that Trump went stone-faced, pinching himself together. Eventually, everyone was gone and he could call Paté. He agreed with her that he should go down to Mar-a-Lago. Soon. She would meet him there and they would have a long talk. Trump figured that that was when he could tell her about the house in the woods. Friday. In two days.
There was no one at Justice or the F.B.I. that Trump trusted. Neither position nominees had been confirmed yet, but even then, he doesn’t know them well enough to trust them. “Robert Schlape. He owes me,” Trump thought.
“Robert. I need to see you… Okay, not at the White House. That’s fine… No, today… Fine, at Air Force One… No, in my car by the jet… One hour… Okay, two hours. I’ll be there.”
President Trump told Betty to have him taken to the airport and that he wanted to be there at 12:40.
“No, I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll eat when I get back.”
He didn’t tell her who he was meeting, believing that she probably thought it would be Paté. He took that opportunity to tell her to schedule him at Mar-a-Lago on Friday for three or four days, telling her that he badly needed to play golf where it was warm.
+++
After the pleasantries, President Trump got right to the point, ignoring his starting to talk about the House of Representatives. “Robert. I need you to do me a favor.” Trump gave him Philip Jansen’s name and address, telling him that he needed to know everything there was to know about him. And if he owned a small house in a clearing in a forest somewhere.
He had to clam up after that. “He owed me,” Trump thought, “but he might owe others more.
“But I only just returned,” Melania cried in a huff when President Trump told her about the trip to Mar-a-Lago. “If I knew only two days here I would stay in New York. No. I will go back to Barron in New York when you go to Mar-a-Lago unless you change your plan.”
“I can’t.’
“You won’t. Is your children. Don and Paté. They will be there.”
Trump tried to give her an I don’t know expression.
“See. It is yes. Tomorrow I return to New York.”
+++
Once more Trump and Schlape met at the airport. This time aboard Air Force One.
“Mr. President, I know everything there is to know about Jansen except where he is right now. But I will. He can’t escape me.”
Robert told Trump Philip’s history, that he was fired from his job and had been missing ever since he was picked up by police. The neighbors knew him and liked him, but had not seen him in weeks. There was no evidence of a house in a forest, but Robert and his team would continue their inquiries. His ears perked up when I told him there was a guard shack and a high cement fence in the back. They agreed to meet again when Trump returned from Mar-a-Lago. The information would be useful for a detailed Google Earth search.
Satisfied, Trump returned to the White House.
Trump then had the strangest conversation with Betty about the third-floor man who served as a butler, the one Trump said he wanted replaced, but then returned, only for a moment though. Trump then guessed that he went to another duty.
“Why would I need a butler to go to Mar-a-Lago?” Trump asked Betty, who nodded like his point made perfect sense.
Betty made a note to do a full background check on Tom McQuin, the butler.
Chapter Sixteen
Trump (Phil)
(Mar-a-Lago)
(1st person)
(Mar-a-Lago)
(1st person)
I woke at 4:30, a bit late for me, but within range. I was Trump. We'd switched the first night in Mar-a-Lago. I’d never been to Mar-a-Lago, of course, but I knew that’s where I was – this was not good. The only other time I’d been to Florida was an expensive vacation taking the kids to Disneyworld, the beach, and Cape Canaveral.
This experience would not be nearly as much fun. The first thing I did was jump up, dress, and search for some coffee as I gave myself a tour of the conspicuous consumption, both inside and out, giving the Secret Service detail conniptions.
Golf, family, people who I’m supposed to know… not good.
“I want to go out on a boat.” The Secret Service agent I spoke to was perplexed. It was clearly neither his job to orchestrate such a doing nor within his purview.
“I guess you would have to see Jeremy for that,” he said. Ahh, that must be the Jeremy with the Trump wanna-be hair who met us at the door. I barely saw his name on the lanyard ID. It appeared all employees wore such.
I angled back toward the entry foyer where I saw Jeremy yesterday. No wonder he looked a bit put out. I didn’t pay him enough attention, and I didn’t inform him of my schedule.
He greeted me at the door the same as yesterday. “Mr. President. Good morning, sir. The breakfast buffet opens at eight, but we can get you anything you would like. Would you like a table, sir?”
“Have some toast sent to my suite.” His instantly furrowed brows told me I’d already messed up. I wondered if I usually said room or rooms instead of suite. Or if I never, but never, ordered room service. Or if I always made breakfast, or had it made, in my suite. Nothing to do about that now.
“Jeremy, I want to go out on a yacht. Can you see that it happens? Lunch on the yacht? Some sort of seafood?”
“The McMaga is moored in the bay, sir, Jeffrey McKnight will be delighted that you’ve finally accepted his offer. Shall I arrange for an 11:00 departure? And the golf foursome, shall I reschedule them for tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know on that.” I swiveled fast enough that Trump’s frame nearly toppled. I’d forgotten where his center of gravity was. I suddenly realized that I should have called Tom, which I did as soon as I was in the privacy of my quarters.
“Tom! Am I glad to hear your voice. I feel like I’m in hell down here. What’s happened that I have to know about?”
“Trump is trying to woo Musk back. California bloggers got that. Also, he’s trying to figure things out. I don’t think he believes he’s as crazy as he did at first. He’s having you investigated but not using the FBI, probably Schlape, or Flynn, or Bannon. One of their connections. I got that from Hakeem. He called me.
“You might expect a keeper or guardian to be tethered to you at any time now. But that might not be until you return to DC.”
Of course, Tom couldn’t see my nodding head, but he probably imagined. “I’m going on a yacht ride today. That should make me sick enough to stay secluded.” I imagined his nodding head. “One thing. Get us some new burner phones, just in case.”
At 11:20, fashionably late, I sauntered from the elevator, wearing a ridiculous-for-the-occasion suit and tie.
“Mr. President. Forgive me, I should have called you. But I’m told that the seas are a bit rough. I’m afraid it won’t be the ideal conditions for a cruise.”
I waved him off. “Let’s go. It didn’t feel too windy to me. And we would play golf, right?”
“Yes sir, but…”
I was already halfway to the door.
Catching up, he waved toward one of the golf carts that was waiting for me. I let the subtle motions of a Secret Service agent indicate where I was to board.
At the yacht, I was met by a dapper fellow in his fifties, wearing what I would call a Jimmy Buffett version of a Love Boat captain’s outfit – except for the white MAGA cap that was two or three quality grades above my own.
“Mr. President. I’m honored and humbled that you would accept a cruise. The seas may be a bit rough, but at least we don’t have to swim in it.” He chuckled like an idiot.
“The Coast Guard will have a High Endurance Cutter, the USS Point Comfort, and two helicopters in the area.
“I hope not too close,” I said, pointing to my ears. “Noisy.”
“Oh, I’m certain not. And we’ll steer clear of any other boats.”
“Just so we get out where I can see nothing but ocean in every direction. Can we do that?”
“Oh, yes, sir. We were planning on driving the coast, but as soon as we’re underway, I’ll inform the pilot who will coordinate with the Coast Guard. Shall we get underway?”
I nodded and followed him for a tour of his pride and joy.
+++
Lunch was okay. Probably only okay due to my short-notice self-invitational. Lunch over, a Diet Coke in hand that I barely sipped, Jeremy told me we were sufficiently out to sea to satisfy my request.
They were right, of course, it was far too choppy to be comfortable, hardly the tranquil pleasure most landlubbers conceived of when imagining an ocean cruise. It might not be bad on a thousand-foot ocean liner, but on this 148’ boat, we tossed and rocked quite a bit. Fortunately, I learned I don’t get seasick, at least not involuntarily.
“I need to use the John before we go out on deck,” I said. After closing the door, I pulled the two little tube-like paper salt containers from a pocket that I took from Mar-a-Lago. I emptied them into my mouth and quickly swallowed, washing them down with a nasty sip of Coke.
I managed to keep my lunch until after sitting in the deck chair. Most of my lunch made it over the railing, not all, but most. Oh, how disappointing a guest I was. I let them make a fuss, leading me into the cabin area where I didn’t have to relate to anyone.
Once back ashore and then back to Mar-a-Lago, I feigned not feeling well and canceled any evening activity. Jeremy was to contact my family and assure them I was well enough but wanted privacy – no visits. I had more salt packages just in case another display was needed. The next morning, I was aboard Air Force One en route to the White House.
I stayed on the third floor all day Sunday.
Tariffs on Canada and Mexico were my (and Tom’s) idea. Trump was going to anyway. He’d said as much several times. This way, I could relax them, too. Or do it the next switch. The concept was that if anyone tried to develop a pattern – Trump causes chaos and havoc when alone and sleeping in, and makes nice when Tom is there and his day begins early. There were any number of idiosyncrasies that could be ascribed to the two Trumps: when he eats breakfast in the dining room, thus and such, when he has his normal hamburger lunch, when he has FOX News on in the Oval Office, and on and on.
As projected, the clamor from my manufacturing friends demanded I make waivers and exemptions. I put a thirty-day pause on all tariffs. Doing that would prevent the real Trump, should we switch back, from imposing tariffs for at least those thirty days.
photo from FanArtReview: FamousHouse!20 by nikman
Phil Jansen: woke up one day as Donald Trump
Donald Trump: woke up one day as Phil
Tom McQuin: White House butler
Betty Goodman: White House Chief of Staff
Dr. Schweitz: White House doctor
Hakeem Jeffries: as himself, House minority leader
Kirsten: Trump press secretary
Pate': 3rd daughter of the President (fictional character, pronounced pah-tay)
Robert Schlape: fixit man for Trump (using his real name, even here in FanStory, could prove fatal)
Jeffrey McKnight: Mar-a-Lago member who owns a yacht
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Phil Jansen: woke up one day as Donald Trump
Donald Trump: woke up one day as Phil
Tom McQuin: White House butler
Betty Goodman: White House Chief of Staff
Dr. Schweitz: White House doctor
Hakeem Jeffries: as himself, House minority leader
Kirsten: Trump press secretary
Pate': 3rd daughter of the President (fictional character, pronounced pah-tay)
Robert Schlape: fixit man for Trump (using his real name, even here in FanStory, could prove fatal)
Jeffrey McKnight: Mar-a-Lago member who owns a yacht
Artwork by nikman at FanArtReview.com
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