| General Fiction posted March 9, 2025 | Chapters: |
...13 14 -15- 16... 
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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 20
by Wayne Fowler
In the last chapter, Trump talks his daughter into flying to Washington, D.C. Trump finally allows the doctor and Nurse Thorne to see him. After his vitals check within the range of tolerance, they sneak a sedative into a soda. He sleeps through the night. In the morning Trump finally speaks with Paté, but he can’t tell her of the out-of-body experiences.
Chapter Twenty
Trump
(White House)
(3rd person, omniscient)
(White House)
(3rd person, omniscient)
“Excuse me. Excuse me.” Trump tried to get Tom’s attention. “Are you the butler who comes with me to the West Wing?” Trump saw Tom on the 2nd floor working at something. “I remembered you from just after the inauguration day. Weren’t you up in the residence?” Trump remembered not liking the man, but didn’t recall the reason. Trump recalled that someone asked where he was one time, that he’d been like a right-hand man.
Maybe that’s the answer, Trump thought. Someone to be a constant. A companion, like a comfort dog. Someone he could trust. Trump sized Tom up and down, wondering whether he could confide in him.
“Yes sir?”
“What’s your name?”
“Thomas McQuin, sir.”
“Do I know you? Did you work here four years ago?”
“No, sir. I moved up to the residence a few days after your second inauguration.”
“Oh, I think I remember. Why aren’t you there now? Would you like to?”
“Whatever you wish, sir.”
“I’ll speak with Benjamin. Where is he?”
“Most likely in his office in the basement, sir. But that was twenty-thirty minutes ago.”
“Let’s go.” Trump followed Thomas to the basement. The Secret Service agent followed them, clearly disturbed by the ordeal.
Trump surmised that Benjamin was upset, despite his being accommodating. Benjamin kept looking at Thomas like he was mad at him. He wanted a few minutes with Tom before releasing him. Fine, Trump thought. “Send him to the Oval Office when you’re done,” he said.
Betty brought Thomas into the Oval Office, where Trump was chaotically shuffling papers. He was supposed to have an intelligence briefing in a few minutes and wanted the appearance of a busy desk.
“Why so glum?” Trump asked as Tom stood before him, stiff and obviously uncomfortable.
Tom felt conflicted, wondering first whether he’d been discovered, a tape of himself and Phil as President Trump being too chummy. Or a report of Tom being at a safe house for no valid reason. But what if Trump wanted, as himself, the relationship he had when occupied by Phil? What would Tom do? Would he be able to manage the conflict?
Then two men looking very serious approached. Finally, Trump recognized them from the CIA and NSA. They appraised Tom negatively, neither one speaking. “I clear Thomas. I award him Top Secret,” he said, his eyes darting from one man to the other.
One of them finally spoke. “It has to be official, sir.”
Trump’s jaw flapped twice before acquiescing and asking Tom to step into an adjoining room.
While the meeting went on for several minutes, Trump nodded here and there, every time they hesitated. When they were done, he held out his hand for the file they’d brought in with them. Reluctantly, the one who had it handed it over – Top Secret.
“That needs to be secured, sir.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Trump said. “What are your names again?” Trump slid a paper from the top of a stack and turned it over to take down the names mouthing their names letter-by-letter. Finally, he gave up and brushed the paper aside like so much trash.
He walked the two to the door and then motioned Thomas to come in and just have a seat. Betty followed him in and said it was time for him to meet with the press secretary. She looked at Thomas, and then Trump. Tom shrugged his shoulders.
It was one thing after another until Trump told Betty that he was done for the day, that he would be in residence if World War Three started. Trump chuckled, but he was the only one. Tom followed along.
+++
Tom
I couldn’t wait to call Phil. Hopefully, he had the cell phone from the box of books. Trump had been affected by Phil’s Mar-a-Lago weekend and then by Paté’s visit. But I don’t think it was in a good way for him. He was treating me like a comfort dog, had even used those words. I don’t know, but at one point I believe he might have reached out and pet me.
I tried a different tact. “Mr. President, you may call me Tom, if you prefer. Is there anything I can get you? Anything I can do for you?”
“Thomas? I like Thomas. I like your voice. Not too soft, or quiet. Or too low, or too high. You know what I mean? Thomas. Nice old name. Like Donald. They ever call you Tommie? I wouldn’t like that. Like Tuberville. I call him Coach. I would never call anyone Tommie.
“But your voice doesn’t make me jump. It doesn’t make me think you are after my money. Do you read, Thomas? I would, but… It’s funny. When I pick up a book, I really want to read it, but the first page… Do you know why they don’t put the page number on page one. They never do.”
“Mr. President, would you like me to try reading aloud? It… it would be our secret.”
He looked at me like I’d kissed him. I fought the urge to step back.
“I could pick up a couple of books today and this evening… Might even help you sleep better. It could make all the difference in your missing days.” I wondered if I’d overstepped. I wasn’t supposed to know about any missing days.
Trump’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t say anything.
That day I picked up a few YA books, nothing too complicated, Not exactly Elson-Gray Dick and Jane, but not a 500-character Tom Clancy, either. My collection included a cozy detective by Renee Pawlish, along with Stephen King’s The Eyes of the Dragon. Also in the bag was a Donald Westlake Dortmunder book. And, of course, James Patterson’s, The President’s Daughter. Turned out what he wanted me to start with was The Hobbit. Who woulda thought?
That evening I hung around cleaning and polishing shoes until called for a little after 9:30. About a page-and-a-half in, Trump asked if the book was made into a movie.
“A few different times,” I answered. “The cartoon version is the one I liked best.”
I think he just wanted affirmation that it was worthy based on the fact that it was movie-worthy. Having been made into a movie proved its legitimacy. I managed to get to the end of the chapter wishing Trump was already in his pajamas. I feared my work would be undone by his changing and then more than likely putting on Fox News.
On his cue, I dog-eared the page in the paperback and put the book down.
“You’ll be here in the morning, right?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be here.”
“Good.”
I was wary that he might try to pat my head. I wondered what the switching was doing to his brains… and whether the same phenomenon might be happening to Phil.
I left, and as soon as I got into my car, I called Phil. The call went straight to voice mail. It was out of charge. Which meant that Phil did not yet have access to the garage.
The next day was hell… with the heat turned up a few clicks. I thought being at the wall end of a firing squad would be more fun. When I was aide to Phil, while he was President Trump, I was allowed to wander, to be left alone for stretches of time. I could easily dismiss the questioning eyes of other aides and appointees. As the real Trump’s aide, the interrogating eyes drilled holes. I know that was on me; I felt more self-conscious, like I was a spy in the enemy’s camp. But I believe the main reason was Trump’s deference to me, his looking to me for confirmation and affirmation of this and that. “Is that right, Thomas? Should I, Thomas? Bring your chair over here, Thomas? Here, read this, Thomas?”
I was quite sure that I would be assassinated should Trump go to the bathroom and leave me to the mercies of some of these people in the West Wing. Once, while walking a hallway, we passed an open door. Looking in, I saw the White House doctor. He mouthed that I should come see him. I nodded, indicating that I would, which I did at lunchtime.
+++
“He let you read to him? Incredible. Did it help?”
“I think so. But tonight I’ll try to see that he’s already in his PJs first.”
The doctor nodded. “Sleep, I think is number one. Would you be comfortable putting something in his evening beverage?”
When I hesitated, he clarified that it would be natural. I knew about melatonin. He said antihistamine would be next if that didn’t work. And could I trust the nice doctor to give me what he said that it was? What if I poisoned the President and the doctor disappeared? Also, what would happen to Phil if Trump croaked?
I agreed.
Later that afternoon, Trump and I left to meet with Robert Schlape. Schlape insisted that he meet with Trump alone, so I stood outside the car.
+++
Trump was in his pajamas as I suggested when he floored me with the position he put me in, confidante to both Presidents.
“Thomas,” Trump began, pausing to get my full attention. “You’re with me every day, right?”
I had an idea where he was going so I replied in the affirmative.
“When I’m not myself, who am I?”
“Sir,” I had to be careful. “I do recognize that you are a bit different on some days. But you are still yourself. I think what you’re referring to is nothing more than being overwhelmed. Too much work, too many changes… to your routine. Not enough sleep and not enough exercise. Your memory is having a hard time keeping up with your heavy workload.”
That seemed to satisfy him, at least for the present. We got Bilbo to his first encounter with a house full of dwarves. Trump commented on their eating all his food without paying.
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
Paté: 3rd daughter of the President
Robert Schlape: fixit man for Trump (using his real name, even here in FanStory, could be fatal)
Another chapter too long to combine. I wish Tom and Phil could work faster.
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
Paté: 3rd daughter of the President
Robert Schlape: fixit man for Trump (using his real name, even here in FanStory, could be fatal)
Another chapter too long to combine. I wish Tom and Phil could work faster.
Artwork by nikman at FanArtReview.com
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