Hilary: Damn that New York Times... Damn!..Damn!...Damn!....
Bill: What’s gotten into you Hilary? Haven’t you read that fawning NYT family piece about Chelsea?
Hilary: I wish they’d leave Chelsea out of it entirely. That photo made you look like a Christmas Daddy but there I was off toward the side of the picture crooning like a torch singer. As if I couldn’t give a damn!
Bill: (sympathetically) C’mon Hilary….
Hilary. No kidding, Bill, I’m so pissed I could shoot the photographers and those two clowns who wrote that Iraq piece.
Bill: Don’t say that, Hilary. Gun control, remember? Besides, I thought you liked Michael O’Hanlon.
Hilary: (exasperated) That’s not the point, Bill. O’Hanlon’s cute alright but he was probably influenced by that Brookings Institute creep.
Bill: Kenneth Pollack?
Hil: That’s the one. Did you read the story? It’s got everybody’s underwear in a knot. It says the military has made a great deal of progress in Iraq. They made it sound as if we were winning the war in Iraq. Or as if we could win. That’s all I need right now. I’d have to change positions again!
Bill: I did read that piece about your old boyfriend, Peavey. And the weird letters you sent to him. He gave them up to the New York Times? Geez, you have to admit yourself they were weird letters.
Hilary: Silly little nerdy shit!
Bill: I thought the story about Peavey was fairly sympathetic, Hil.
Hil: Are you out of your mind, Bill? Sympathetic? That 1969 photo with vertical stripped hippy pants made my thighs look elephantine. And the Birkenstocks! Sympathetic? “Pathetic” is the word I’d use. The only time presidents need to look “sympathetic” is when they die in office. How would you like to be memorialized with a nice little sympathy photo of that pathetic little creature what’s-her-name crawling beneath your desk while you….
Bill: Okay, Hilary…that’s enough already. Fer Chrissakes….Hilary…let it go.
(The phone’s been ringing off the hook. Bill (irritated) picks it up.)
Hilary: It’s for you, Hil…. Harry Reed.
Hilary (brightening): Okay, Harry, thanks for getting back to me. Here’s what I’d like you to do…. (Hilary’s voice trails off as screen fades to dark)
Wide Shot: The brightly lighted Senate Hall.
Cut To: C.U. The Senate Podium where Harry Reed is standing, bespectacled and reading from a prepared script.
Harry Reed Senate Leader: (sonorously)
The future for Iraq is neither merry nor bright. The protracted Civil War has been waged under a dark cloud of pessimism and defeat. We cannot hope to win in Iraq. We must lay down our arms. We must never dream that Iraq can be a free and democratic nation. We must engage with our enemies on the battlefield of bureaucracy and diplomacy. We must beg forgiveness. We must be grateful whenever our enemies (and we acknowledge none) fail to forgive us. We must never retreat from these ineffective, feckless, and effete notions which shall be the war cry of the New Direction for America.
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