“I’m important, important for 2024,” Kamala said forlornly. “Thomas Friedman said so.”

“Ma’am, you can’t keep calling me like this,” Astrid said sleepily into the phone. “You fired me four months ago.”

“That wasn’t me!” Kamala said, flaring into anger. “That was Bad Kamala! You know Bad Kamala likes to imitate me!”

“There is no Bad Kamala, ma’am.”

“Yes, there is! She’s the one that can’t give speeches and no one likes.”

Astrid covered the speaker of her phone with her thumb and sighed deeply. Her girlfriend beside her in bed stretched and rolled over, muttering, “Jesus Fucking Christ.”

“I forget to silence the ringer,” Astrid needlessly whispered.

“Astrid?” Kamala said, distressed. “Are you there?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said tiredly into the phone.

“I hate being so hated. Have you read about me on the internet? People hate me.”

“They don’t hate you, ma’am. They just don’t know you like those that are close to you do.”

Her girlfriend snorted and got out of bed. “I can’t believe you do this,” she whispered.

“Really?” Kamala asked.

“Really,” Astrid replied firmly.

Astrid listened to the Vice President sob quietly for a few moments before she finally said, “Have you been drinking?”

“N-n-n-o,” Kamala blubbered.

“Are you sure, ma’am? I know you and Karine go out on Tuesday nights.”

“Wednesdays are often really hard on me,” Kamala said in a tiny voice.

“But that’s no reason to abuse alcohol.”

“I know. I swear sometimes I just drink for the taste of it.”

Astrid knew where this was heading. Drunk Kamala was just like drunks everywhere, they loved to tell you stories that you’ve heard dozens of times before.

“The taste of it, wash the taste of it out of my mouth.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Astrid said, tensing for the repeated revelation.

“I sucked so many cocks to get where I am,” Kamala said. “I’ve… I’ve never told anyone before.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So many cocks, Astrid. Like an ocean of cock. And it was San Francisco, you know? Half of them tasted like their boyfriend’s shit. That’s the thing with bi guys.”

“Ma’am, maybe you shouldn’t be telling me these things,” Astrid said.

“I don’t have anyone else!” Kamala wailed. “I’m sorry I hit you with a phone. Please come back.”

“That’s not going to happen, ma’am. You need to accept that.”

“Sooo many cocks, Astrid. I’ll never suck a dick again, I’ll tell you that much.”

“It’s a form of self-harm, ma’am.”

“Is she talking about all of the dick she sucked again?” Astrid’s girlfriend asked, walking back into the bedroom. She was smooth like a seal in the light from the street and city, her breasts casting the faintest of shadows across her ribcage.

I always sleep with girls who look just like me, Astrid thought. My analyst is going to have a field day with that one.

“Self-harming is a large component of self-harm,” Kamala said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Astrid said, shuddering a bit as her girlfriend ran her arm up her bare leg, pausing at her hip bone to hold and squeeze.

“I have to go throw up!” Kamala said suddenly and the line went dead.