Rally
Don Leoni held his hand out the window as the sounds of thousands of protestors burrowed into the small compartment of the carriage. The heat was getting to the First Lady. She fanned herself with a stack of papers as the Prime Minister wiped his palms with a handkerchief.
“Jason, for once can we have these meetings inside?” she asked. The Prime Minister glanced at her only long enough to lock eyes. She understood and dropped her gaze.
“I can’t keep moving these rallies to where you need them to be Don,” the Prime Minister said.
“These people love you. I’m sure they don’t mind a few venue changes,” Don said with the same smugness that made the First Lady’s skin crawl.
She always sat in on her husband’s meetings. It was a side of him she only got to see within the four walls of his stately carriage. However, today she noticed the nerves creeping into his voice.
“I have to answer to the people these days, Don. Our agreement ended the day I swore in, and the fact that we’re sitting in this carriage right now means you’re not keeping up your end of the bargain,” he said. Beads of sweat decorated his face.
“I asked you for a favor, as an old friend,” Don said, “you agreed.”
“A favor for the cartel, Don!” he said.
“And?” Don said.
“And?” Jason said, “I’m the goddamn Prime Minister!”
“You didn’t wonder where all your money was coming from?” Don asked.
“Because it was you,” said Jason, “I didn’t think I needed to.”
Don grinned. “Let’s just not forget who did all this shady shit first,” he said.
The First Lady’s finger grazed her wedding ring. Jason never talked about his personal life, especially not when he was Prime Ministering. That was dinner table talk—or bedroom talk. She peeked out of the curtains. They were almost at the rally. She was counting the seconds until she could evacuate.
“Dealing cocaine to frat boys in college is not the same as organized crime,” Jason said, “I wouldn’t have given you the money if I knew where it was going.” The color of his face flushed to red. The carriage felt hotter.
“Right!” Don said, “my best friend, the campus Robin Hood.”
The Prime Minister was losing composure by the moment. He pulled out the handkerchief again.
“It was a mistake,” the Prime Minister said.
“Are you calling Kali a mistake?” said Don. He feigned a look of concern.
The First Lady was sure her name had never been mentioned in the carriage by anyone other than her husband.
“Excuse me?” said Kali, “Jason what is he talking about?”
The Prime Minister reached for his wife’s hand. Don Leoni chuckled. The Prime Minister’s face softened.
“When Daddy couldn’t pay the bills someone had to,” Don said, “so your hero here decided to take it upon himself to set up a scholarship just for you entirely funded by snow. Very prestigious.” The ‘very’ dripped with venom.
For a moment the silence in the carriage was drowned out by chanting from the outside:
“The more you use! The less you’ll live!”
“Drug laws not drug loss!”
“The blow has got to go!”
The Prime Minister sliced the tension by turning to his beloved.
“I was going to ask him to marry you,” he said, “but we both knew your dad was never a fan…” His voice trailed off. She tightened her knuckles until they were white against her knees.
“I had to prove I could take care of you,” the Prime Minister pleaded.
Don smirked. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, J,” Don said, “you’re going to go out there and do your thing as usual, but before the Drug Reform Bill passes, you’re going to ensure my little footnote makes it in.”
Jason heard but did not acknowledge his instructions. The carriage halted to a stop. The First Lady did not spare a moment leaving the Prime Minister to his own devices.
“Thanks for all the help, J,” Don said, “and tell Kali I liked her dress. Beats the shit she used to wear in college.”
“This arrangement can’t go on forever.”
“It will.”
“I’m the Prime Minister, Don.”
“I’m the reason why, your highness.” Don Leoni swiped the curtains aside letting the light in one more time.
The empty carriage gave the Prime Minister a strange comfort. Then, he too parted the curtains and a thousand voices of admiration assaulted him. He took the podium next to his wife and reached for her hand.
She obliged his fans and took her fingers in his. Knowing the interaction they just had, she knew he would not be able tell the sweat on her palms from his. With her other hand, she moved to her waistband and squeezed trembling fingers around the textured grip. She pressed the cold muzzle against the small of his back as they continued making a spectacle of themselves. This time, he didn’t flinch.
art by Pragna Gaddamedi (@prgs.jpeg)1
Short Story Tip of the Day!
I wrote this short story for my Apocalyptic Narratives class in college. I was really lucky to get to take courses like this where everything in the syllabus was completely up to the professors’ discretion. Most of the time, these classes were passion projects aligning with the research that the professor was already doing, and the staff that was chosen to teach these courses were all hand-picked from their respective departments. This was one such class taught by Dr. Jennifer M. Wilks where we analyzed the literary and historical merit of “apocalypse” and what the end can teach us about how we live. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to write this political conspiracy murder tale. A personal apocalypse for not only the Prime Minister, but his wife, his country, his constituents, and even Don Leoni. Everyone’s lives are irrevocably changed by Kali, and even today I go back and forth about whether she is justified or not. If I ever build up the attention span to keep working on this, that’s what I’ll need to figure out.
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