Politics
Yesterday, on the road in Kinshasha, Congo, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton let loose on a University student who — oops — asked a question about her still-globe-trotting ex-President husband. “You want me to tell you what my husband thinks?” she reportedly asked. “If you want my opinion, I will tell you my opinion … I am not going to be channeling my husband … [m]y husband is not secretary of state, I am.” The blast reads like something of a vent for Clinton, who — having lost out on her push for the U.S. presidency this past November — is still stuck in the mighty large shadow cast by Bill. As the AP reminds us, “[t]he Clintons have always been a complicated couple. An accomplished lawyer and politician in her own right, Hillary … has struggled for decades to balance her interests and ambitions against his. She has supported his career while looking to blaze a trail of her own — at times proud of, and benefiting from, her husband’s accomplishments, and at other times frustrated by his failings and his habit of overshadowing her, friends say.”
This makes the position of Secretary of State among the worst that Mrs. Clinton could have been nominated for: As a former President, her better (lesser?) half has retired into a role recently embraced by his peers — that of ambassador emeritus — one which finds him performing such international relations miracles as the recent release of two journalists who were, until Bill played political superhero, imprisoned in North Korea. These tricks would typically be performed by (or at least at the behest of) Hillary’s State Department — and the fact that Bill seems to be conducting such activities in a private capacity can only read to an already jilted Hillary as a further incursion into her little bureaucratic fiefdom. It’s enough to make one want to … say, accept a livestock dowry for your kid and relocate to Kenya.
So: why? Why did Clinton stop her stink-making at the 2008 Democratic Convention? Why did she take a subservient role in the administration of her former rival? One which seems set up to receive direct challenges from her still-internationally active husband (and ever-present rival)? Simple political expediency? A run, perhaps, in 2016? Maybe. Or maybe there’s something more sinister at work. Maybe the Secretary of State is playing her role in a larger conspiracy — one which will capitalize on her husband’s clout to vault the pair back into the upper echelons of the U.S. power structure. In the dual, intertwining interests of clever expediency and handy categorization we’ll call this …
SEVEN DAYS IN AUGUST (A POWER-PLAY)
Int. Secretary of State’s Official Plane. Somewhere over the African Continent. Hillary sits at her desk, head in her hands. She’s on the phone.
Hillary (frustrated):
I can’t take much more of this. No — no. NO BILL. Bill, listen — Bill. BILL. I am done playing the sucker. Done. Finished. Fini-toed. This thing with the kid is the last straw. No one respects me, Bill. It’s like the cum stain on the blue dress all over again: I may be the Secretary of State but no one believes that I’m worth a damn. We have to pull the trigger on this thing and we have to pull the trigger now.
Bill (muffled, over the phone, in a smokey-voiced southern accent):
Hillary, calm down. Look, if we want this thing to go off, we have to be patient. People need to be in place. We have plans, Hil, and they need to be executed.
Cut to: Int. Clinton home, Chappaqua, N.Y. Bill is pacing the floor in his boxer shorts. He takes a break to sit down and eat a burger.
Bill (with mouth full):
Like, what if Panetta can’t deliver? Or if Carville can’t fit into the Grimace costume? What then? It’s not like we can just say, Oops, I’m sorry Mr. President, we didn’t mean to plot a coup.
Hillary (over the phone):
I know — I know, Bill. It’s just — this fucking kid … ya know, he really laid me out.
Bill:
It was bad, no doubt. But hang in there, Hillary –
Cut to: Int. Secretary of State’s plane. Hillary has calmed considerably. She’s tipped back in her chair, twirling a lock of her graying blond hair.
Bill:
A little bit of public shame beats the pants off a little bit of public execution. Besides, when this is all over, you’ll have the power to extraordinarily render that motherfucker to some backwater with a friendly interpretation of habeus corpus and more than a few well-skilled interrogators. You’re going to be the most powerful –
Hillary darts upright. She seems both startled and enraged. She leans forward and screams into the phone. Her voice cracks.
Hillary:
Drop the bullshit, Bill. I know you — your sweet fucking Oval Office pillow talk, your sugar-toned manipulations designed to coo me into some kind of complacency. We’ve been over this –
Bill (over the phone):
Hil’, I never –
Hillary:
Just fucking can it, okay? This is my show. MY SHOW. The Korea thing? My idea. The pandering to that, that, that … fucking showboat pinko usurper? The elbow disaster? ALL FUCKING ME, BILL.
Cut to: Int. Clinton house. Bill remains calm, chewing his way through his burger. There is just the slightest hint of mayo evident on his bulging stomach. He takes a quick pause to use his finger to sample some of it.
Bill:
No one is saying it isn’t, Hillary. Please, try and remember –
Cut to: Int. Secretary of State’s plane. Hillary is still doubled over, screaming into the phone.
Hillary:
Try and remember what, Bill? That you can’t seem to be a better elder statesman than Jimmy fucking Carter? No — no, you can’t tell what and what not to do. This is MY SHOW, BILL. MY SHOW.
There’s a loud knock at the door.
Male Voice:
Madame Secretary, open the door.
Cut to: Int., Clinton home. Bill stands up too quickly and loses his burger.
Bill:
What — (to the burger) damn it — what the shit was that?
Who’s knocking at Hillary’s door? What will become of the Clinton’s coup attempt? Will Leon Panetta be the next Lavrentiy Beria? Will Bill eat the burger off of the floor? Tune in next time to find out!
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