Murph let himself in since the door was open. He shook the snow from his hat and brushed it off his coat, a WWII army coat with the Big Red One insignia on each sleeve. Annabelle had the heat blasting and despite the cold Columbus winter, generally a barren, desolate time with brisk winds and near-zero temperatures, her apartment was like the tropics.
Murph never knew which Annabelle he would find. One time she’d be a hippy chick dressed in a flannel shirt, baggy jeans and engineer boots. Another time she’d be a babe in heels and stockings and a body-snuggling dress leaving nothing to the imagination. Today he found her in the kitchen wearing only an apron and high heels. She was bending over at the opened oven and since the stereo was blasting out Led Zeppelin, she apparently hadn’t heard him. He stood enjoying the view, watching her doing what she was doing totally uninhibited by thinking she was alone. He admired her shapely legs and perfect butt. Annabelle was skinny and shapely, model quality.
“Mmm,” Murph finally said.
Annabelle stood up and turned, closing the oven door in the process.
“Pervert,” she said. “How long have you been there?”
“Enough to see your all.”
“Like the view?”
“You better say that,” she said. “I’m baking brownies with hash. What’d you bring?”
“Red wine, Quaaludes and pot.”
“Staying the night?”
“You crazy? You’ll need a tow truck to get me out of here.”
“Good,” Annabelle said.
They remained in the kitchen while the brownies finished. Murph rolled a joint from his bag of weed and they smoked it all the way down to a tiny roach. Then he opened the first of three bottles of wine he’d brought and poured full glasses for them both. Before they sipped the wine, Murph took two pills from his pocket. He handed Annabelle one and together they swallowed the pills with a big sip of wine.
“Goddamn I feel good,” Murph said.
“I am so messed up,” Annabelle said. She stepped over to Murph and kissed him. “The brownies are ready,” she said. That was her way of telling Murph to watch, which he did. Again she bent over by the oven. This time she made sure he could see her all and she wiggled for him, but just slightly.
In the living room they sat on the couch. Annabelle put on some Stones, they both took off their shoes and put up their feet up on the coffee table. Murph’s feet were still covered by the thermal socks he’d worn inside his boots. Annabelle’s were bare. She asked Murph if he liked her red toes and she wiggled them for him. She giggled then put one foot on Murph’s privates. She tucked the apron in her lap almost modestly and closed her eyes. Murph closed his too and they sat listening to the music. When Annabelle’ s nipples stiffened and she got goose bumps because she was chilly, she got up and fetched Murph’s coat. Sitting up against Murph, she wrapped her whole self into that coat and invited Murph’s hand in with her.
They were presuming that because Trump has not released his taxes he had some “bombshell” in them that he doesn’t want us to see. Mitt Romney, of all people, was the one to bring up this issue and bombshell was his word. (Remember what Harry Reid did to Romney with taxes?) Do you think Romney did it because he has an agenda or because he is part of the Republican establishment that is dreadfully afraid of Donald Trump? Maybe both? Do you think selecting the word bombshell was a strategic choice?
That’s all a good bet. But the real question which needs answering is why the Republican establishment is so fearful of Trump’s being the candidate.
Frankly, it is all a bit appalling. Trump is Trump, and whatever anyone thinks, he will do what he does. He can afford to. Rubio showed himself to be a loser by entering the mêlée as he did. Cruz showed his colors by the blatant lies his campaign put out. Neither Cruz nor Rubio are winners. Their insistence that Trump got 200 million from his father and their wining about it show this. Regardless of the amount, having the money doesn’t make one a winner. What one does with the money determines whether or not one is a winner.
Trump is a successful businessman who has probably used all the tools of his trade, from bankruptcy court to hiring illegals, though he probably has not done that hiring personally. All of his business practices will be game for his opposition. Businessmen would call the use of the techniques acumen. Politicians, who made the laws, call it dirty pool. Somewhere in here is why Trump is so dangerous to the Republican establishment and thus why Romney chose the word presume. Cruz and Rubio were quick to pick up on it and of course they were using the tricks of their trade, what politicians do. Politicians use words (like presume) to cast false impressions, and since most of them are lawyers they are pros at it, pros at making things look like they want them to look rather than presenting them as they are. Cruz and Rubio and those politicians like them—everyone can name at least a few—slither their ways through our society in their leadership positions, pretending they are righteous and ethical beings. It could make one nauseous.
Romney chose the word presume to lend credence to what he was saying when actually he was making an allegation. An allegation would have sounded wrong but presuming seems ever-so-thoughtful, as if he actually knows something.
The sum of all this, of our politicians, is disgusting. The reason the Republican establishment sicced their dog Romney on Trump was because Trump alone has the ability to undermine their status quo and their imperial, near-royal lives. Trump alone can, by virtue of having been on the receiving-favors side of the laws and tax codes protecting the rich, illuminate that which our politicians hypocritically eschew yet enthusiastically enjoy.
Presume? Who really knows anything? Remember though that in Shakespeare the truths come from the mouths of the clowns and jesters. Those who would presume anything about Trump ought beware.
Don’t forget to pick up a copy of I See My Light here: I See My Light