To the Moskva River

People won’t die, but it’s going to be bad. The press and Vlad will humiliate her and Donald.

It was only a little peepee though, just a dribble, but enough to shade the thighs of her white trousers’ lemon yellow. She liked Vladimir, the way he could crack a walnut in his hand, tell a joke. Sexy man. There would be no more flirting after this fiasco.

Melania punched numbers into her phone knowing it would be useless. This was Moscow, the Kremlin, nothing works here. Slumped on the toilet seat she giggled at her predicament. “I’ve come a long way in my life and this will pass.” Her eyes closed, her phone vibrated.

“Melania. It is Virginia. Are you overburdened with it all?”

“Virginia? Virginia who? How did you get my number?”

“Woolf. Judy Garland called and said you have had a discourse with your undergarments.”

“Judy! The bitch. Yes, I have. My life is over!”

“So, it may seem. But remember, this is only fleeting. There is a resolution to dominance. Do as I suggest if you please.”

“Ok.”

“It will disrupt only them. It will be futile in the long run of course, all things are. I want you to walk away from there. It will be cold outside but keep walking on until you come to an end. Do you understand me, Melainia?”

There were noises in the corridor outside. They were looking for her.

“Yes Virginia. They are nothing but men with walnuts.”

“Go now!”