“Joe, I want to tell you something,” Kamala said, climbing onto his desk to sit with a settling whomp.

“You can talk to me about anything, Karine,” Joe said. He leaned back in his chair with casual confidence and almost fell backwards, barely catching himself.

“I’m Kamala Harris, Joe… your Vice President?”

His botoxed brow tried to wrinkle; his face creaked like an ancient saddle.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Joe said, “You’ve been a wonderful Press Secretary.”

“Joe…”

“You were great with that whole, you know, whatever.”

“Joe, I’m the Vice President, and I’ve drafted my resignation letter.”

“You’re leaving me? Strawberry left,” Joe said petulantly.

“Claudine Gay has been forced out of the Presidency at Harvard by evil Republicans and I have to be ready for when they call,” Kamala said. “They’ll want another Black woman and I’m a Black woman so I’m perfect for the job.”

Joe nodded, pretending to understand.

“Are you my Vice President?” Joe asked.

“Yes, Joe.”

“And you’re leaving?”

“Maybe. I just want to be ready. I have the main things they will be hiring for, no penis and a Black father.”

“You’re Black?” Joe asked, his hand going subconsciously to check to see if he still had his wallet. But Jill hadn’t let him carry cash since he demanded a bank give him 49,900 one dollar bills for one of Hunter’s “rent” checks. (The rest was a 100 he could wrap around his wad of cash to look like a high roller.) Kamala glared until Joe reset.

“But if you leave for Harvard, what’ll happen to me? Where am I going to find a new Vice President?” Joe trembled on the edge of dementia tears.

“There are other Black women out there,” Kamala said, patting his hand, inadvertently wiping away the foundation covering a cluster of liver spots and carcinomas. “Most of them have the same qualifications I did for the job.”

“Will she be pretty?”

“She will be a strong female character, Joe.”

“But you said she won’t have a penis!”