Scenes from a Preternatural Presidency -- 7. Terms and Conditions Apply (C)
“Four years back I crowd-funded, and that’s one good model, but the costs were still very substantial. I raised more than I needed, and as you know the balance went to Clean up the Basin !, but between campaign-staff, travel, food, security, and all my PR-guru Da’s amazing posters I still spent better than a hundred million bucks.” I shook my head. “It’s one reason I did so little campaigning this time, because there is something in that kind of number that really stinks. Needing such big bucks even to try is a bad skew on who’s likely to be able to run, and remember the billionaire who didn’t get to debate but actually said he had the right to buy the presidency if he wanted, and seemed to believe it ?”
They did and took the point, hardly new but one I’d made considerably more urgent, besides having cleared a lot of lumber by throwing all sorts of PACs into disarray and thumping the NRA right out of it. I also had some waiting plans for real campaign finance reform, and Jesse cut smoothly back in.
“It’s new grassroots democracy that’s needed, and I’ve been using social media to push that as best I can, but some sustained mass-media attention to what we might do when Mom’s not in office to hold it all together for us would be welcome. And sometime in the next year or two there’s going to have to be a campaign finance bill, so get that debate going properly, hey ?”
Someone had the chutzpah to ask about term-limits, suggesting their abolition would be pretty popular just now, and I told them flatly what I’d told Bran.
“If the House passed such a law I’d veto it, and in four years’ time I will not be running, no matter what. Terms and conditions apply, and there are several excellent reasons that no-one should serve more than two as president. It’s bad for democracy and very bad for the person. A president is necessary, because committees, but as it now stands it is an entirely insane brief even when you don’t have to disarm less sane gun-nuts, accept ex-godly powers of smiting to save yourself and Georgetown from suicidal bigots, or argue dragons with China. Frankly, the anchoring normality of children was a real factor for Adam and me in accepting a second term. Think about it. And as I think it’d be a good idea if Frank had a First-Person running mate in four years’ time, I’d be interested in hearing from any First Person who thinks they’d be up for it. And that’s any First Person, restricted only by the constitutional age requirement of being 35 by Inauguration Day. Being smart and sensible is necessary, but being politically experienced in the old system isn’t - I’d never run for anything four years ago, and that seems to have worked out well enough.”
The Elder Spirits and a whole bunch of chiefs had known that one was coming, and were already thinking hard, seeing the shape that a Lafferty + First Person campaign could take and liking it a lot. It was a new thought for the media, though, and kicked off discussion among themselves as well as the listening line of waiting voters and crowd of already-voteds. Coyote showing up stirred it right along, while he repeated his laments of four years back about not having a vote himself in any form when they should have one each, and this time Adam, Jesse, and I could all go in to vote together. Warren had briefed us all on the other local and state races in which we had votes, and doing the deed this time I found I didn’t have the hollow stomach I remembered, only a mingled satisfaction and resignation. Four more years in the Beltway was still pretty close to my leading definition of hell, however I’d whacked a lot of it upside its little pointy head, and if I could honourably have bailed out I would have been badly tempted ; but there was still good I could do, and I would.
When we were all outside again and Jesse had dealt with some questions about how she felt having voted-d’oh, but with some nuances of duty as well as satisfaction - we went to the same billboard as before and unveiled my first and last second-campaign poster, closely echoing the one that had been there four years ago. It was a more recent shot of She Moves Mountains (And So Do I), but it was again in dawnlight and hundred-foot direwolfite me still had snow on my shoulders and head, as did Medicine Wolf and Skuffles, while this time the legend said EVEN SHE THROWS THUNDERBOLTS & SURPRISES DRAGONS CAN ONLY WORK WITH WHAT’S THERE and below it YOUR JOBS STILL DON’T END TODAY. Being hungry I kept the speech very brief, thanking all who voted, re-thanking those who voted for me, and offering a smiling promise to drop as many more people in it as I could manage.
“We all have to keep right on truckin’, however long and strange the trip. Thank you, everyone, for all you have done and will do, and may the Christian God I believe in be with you all. And that’s it. I’m now off-radar until the declared results tell us what the electoral college will be saying, and I’m going to go listen to a lot of excellent music and eat some very superior pies. See you all later.”
One great virtue of the Secret Service is that getting out of places despite would-be media obstruction is a great deal easier with their stone-faced help, and off to Sacajawea SP we went, Coyote joining us in a Beast whose suspension had been tweaked to allow it to deal with the bumpier bits of the back-route. Sorta. At the other end most of the world seemed to be waiting, but as I’d invited the half who weren’t security I couldn’t complain. Some famous rappers were onstage, but other musicians were hanging about, some I was happy to greet, and others to meet, Taylor Swift turning Jesse an interestingly faint pink and pleasing her enormously by returning the favour, having apparently been an intranet fan. I left an intrigued and amused Adam to watch that one, Jenna and Sal having already hooked up with Jesse, and with Skuffles went to greet Zee and Tad, Gordon, Bear, and a cheerful Jill, who had hopes of having met some potential husband material, Warren and Kyle, Darryl, Auriele, and other pack, Clay and Donna, an on-duty but relaxed Leslie, with a grinning Jude, Mary Oliver with ex-kiddos, Maya and Boz, ditto, Jim Alvin and Calvin Seeker, with the girlfriend of whom Jim approved and so did I. The vetting she’d received had left her thoughtful and we spoke for a few minutes, Calvin giving me a grateful look and Jim an amused one before I went on to other avatars who’d been able to come, Linda Redruff and Joey Diamond among them, as well as the fliers who’d helped out escorting dragons and had stories to tell about trying to keep station on creatures that phased in and out whether or not they were moving. Medicine Wolf, Tigger, and Young Manitou River West were already there, observing with interest, and the other manitous were onscreen and watching from Great Manitou Corner, where it was also sunny, if no doubt colder. To cap it all, making me very happy, Adam had overcome my Mom’s and sisters’ hesitations (and Curt’s) about coming by simply sending a car for them - they’d all been rigidly careful about not seeking any presidential favours, which I appreciated more than I could say, but they’d stayed home four years ago and as I told them while giving and receiving welcome hugs, enough was enough.
Coyote was pleased too, saying something to Curt that made him laugh, and both my sisters were as happy as Jesse to meet Taylor Swift. It was all soothing and relaxed - no-one seemed to have any doubts at all about another clean sweep - and after a while I took pity on my poor agents and established myself at a properly secure presidential table and exercised my miracle-pie priority to start with a new combo I’d persuaded Benny to adopt, heavy pepperoni, local hothouse pineapple, with the zing of fresh, and all three colours of sweet pepper ; his mozzarella and edam mix was already properly jacked with mature cheddar, but I’d switched in a little manchego and he'd called the result the Presidential, finding it as popular as it ought to be.
Greeting the rappers when they’d come off stage was mildly wearying - they were nice enough but celebrity preeners, wanting multiple selfies - but as it put Taylor Swift on stage and let me get to know Ry Cooder and Taj Mahal a little, the Boss and various Dead sitting in and appreciating priority pies as much as I did, I counted it an excellent bargain. 3 p.m. Pacific was when the first polling in EST ended and media could call exit polls, and as that time neared and Taj Mahal and Ry Cooder rotated onto the stage, playing some fine low-down and dirty blues that had my feet and fingers twitching until the next rush of arrivals - Frank and Rachel with Andrea and Jenny, Charles and Anna, who’d flown down from Aspen Creek, a more cheerful Stefan with Thomas Hao, daywalking in my honour, and then Irpa with an oversize fae party of trolls plus Thor, Purity with her family, keen to dance, and Gwyn ap Lugh. The secure presidential table was considerably enlarged, introductions were made, and pies ordered before we hit 3 p.m. and the blues paused to let the news on, CBS’s anchor sounding very dry.
“CBS calls both Indiana and Kentucky for the President by very large majorities. Landslide squared. This election has been in effect called for months now, and there are no surprises except that turnout is even higher than four years ago, pushing towards ninety percent, and a second clean sweep for the President and Vice-President is very much still on.”
The blues switched up to ‘Steady Rolling Man’, dancing heated up amid the cheers, and after checking on other races, where my independents were also winning soundly, I went back to talking with friends. I was still on duty but I meant what I’d said about being off-radar until declarations were official, nothing was pressing, and it felt as if pressure was rightly suspended for a spell. A smiling Gwyn ap Lugh agreed there was a parenthesis of sorts, and a moment later one of the news feeds told me that the Paramount Tipi’s smoke-cycle of states had been suspended, but the two declared states were hanging there in green, properly positioned. I raised eyebrows at ap Lugh, who was still smiling.
“It is nothing to do with me, Mercedes Elf-friend. Edythe decided to amuse herself, and others.”
“Oh ?” My eyebrow were still up. “Any particular reason, Gwyn ap Lugh ?”
“Only admiration and laughter, as far as I am aware, Mercedes.”
And pigs might fly, but it was the Fae’s glamour to begin with and Edythe not a Gray Lord to argue with even if I wanted to. There was also a distraction, as while I’m not sure Thor quite grokked elections he found Edythe’s decision interesting.
“It seems proper that Gwyn ap Lugh’s parenthesis be respected, Mercedes Troll-friend, as when one awaits the judgement of any authority.” He was also coming to appreciate Benny’s miracle pies, and grinned at me around a slice of his own Presidential. “Loki forgot that one time, and wished he hadn’t.”
There followed a long and entirely outrageous story involving a stolen prize boar, a fractious kitten, an angry giantess, a worried king, an increasingly irritated Odin, two thunderbolts, and a very rude joke that had Adam staring, me mildly appalled, and Coyote laughing so hard he had to lie down. Leaving Thor to it I shifted seats and caught up a little with Stefan. Our friendship had never fully recovered from my outing vamps, or perhaps the shock of my being able to dismiss Bonarata, but he did appreciate daywalking by night and the wider changes I’d precipitated.
“So does Wulfe, Mercy, for all he spent a year sulking about the witchcraft you unravelled.” I got an austere smile. “I don’t know that I’d call him any saner, but he is … less tense.”
“Huh. So are wolves, Stefan, which is mostly because they’re getting less public hassle. Ease all round, it seems.”
“Oh yes. You will have had the vampire and sheep votes, Mercy, and in good heart.”
Thomas Hao wryly agreed and I stashed that one away to ponder while the hours ticked round, miracle pies came and went, and my tally of called states jumped to eight, then eleven, cuts to a White House camera showing their glamoured green addition to a stable smoke-US that was distinctly larger than usual and becoming so bright as night fell in the east that the Paramount Tipi, totem-pole, and grounds were bathed in my electoral green. The effect trebled at 5 p.m. as another eighteen states plus DC, including Illinois and Texas, came on-board, which would give me an electoral college majority by a way. As all the exit polls indicated margins way too large to be in doubt Adam broke out champagne, after toasting me and Frank with a glass the Boss hit the stage, and things revved up smartly with some proper rock ‘n’ roll. I let my fingers do some drumming, but one thing about certain victory is that there isn’t any suspense, and nothing of the roiling uncertainties and hollowness I’d felt four years ago. It was almost disappointing, except that was absurd, even for me, and any brooding was firmly disallowed by Frank, rightly proud, then by my Mom with a breathtaking hug and bright-eyed whisper that having a daughter re-elected president made her so proud she might burst, and finally by Skuffles, who said she was going to dance even if I wasn’t and bounced onto the stage to mind-sing along with The Boss to ‘Bad Mouthful’, starring herself, to much cheering and laughter. Then lots of people joined the chorus to his Excalibur ballad, and the sword itself warmed where it rested against my leg, happy in its renewed fame. Another hour took my tally to thirty-nine states, solid green blocking everything east of the Rockies except late-closing Iowa, which filled in at 7 p.m. with four more, including Arizona where a bobcat avatar was in and an obstructive state senator out, and the green glow over DC brightened and enlarged yet more, crowds staring up at it and partying despite the DC cold. Some eastern declarations had come in as well, and real numbers built while there was a charming interlude with Kyle’s jug-band friends, astonished but very happy that the Boss had invited them to join him for a Tri-Cities reunion before the Dead joined them both onstage and the real jamming began.
At 8 p.m. I had forty-nine states, including Washington, where Warren was now a two-term state senator with an increased majority, and the still growing crowd cheered me, or itself, very loudly, and began to chant my name. I wouldn’t have minded appearing but shorting Alaska seemed rude until a grinning Adam passed me his phone, vid-link running, and Alaska herself told me not to fret and give the good people what they wanted. We let the musicians know, and the Rhythm Devils had a fine time drum-rolling on Triple Troll, while Bob Weir invited Purity to dance onstage rather than before it, and then called out Frank and Rachel, with Andrea, and finally Adam and me with Skuffles and Jesse. On the big screens the Lower 48 with DC and Hawaii were a solid block of green hanging over the White House, Hawaii hanging by itself to one side, and the cheering only died at all when the musicians hit some power chords and a grinning Bob Weir told us they had a re-election present for me, in the shape of a swing-tune Phil Lesh had somehow transposed into 11/8 time but left seriously danceable. I had to let Jesse take Excalibur and its belt, with Manannán’s Bane, but kept the cloak, which knew all about twirling, and after a quick mental exchange with Adam, in which he nixed any high throws despite my look, we did a paramount presidential lindy-hop in high style, gracefully complemented by Purity’s undulations and horn-arabesques. The noise afterwards was too great to do anything except smile and offer them all a curtsey and a bow, but Skuffles told the musicians how glad we were and we left them and Triple Troll to hit another maximally funky ‘Scarlet Begonias’ which this time did segue into ‘Fire on the Mountain’, as it ought, and went back to the secure presidential table to eat more miracle pies.
A while later Alaska completed my second clean sweep, and when it appeared over the White House, rising swiftly into proper station, the whole enlarged yet again, pulsing rose-colours limned the national borders, and for a moment the Elder Spirits circling on the Paramount Tipi looked up smiling, before Skuffles and I appeared, both grinning as we offered a curtsey and a coyote bow, the whole slowly faded, and the usual smoke-state cycle restarted. Amid a great deal more cheering Gwyn ap Lugh raised a glass to me.
“Our warmest congratulations, Mercedes Elf-friend and Troll-friend, on a result that makes us very glad. Both peace and honour are well-served this night.”
That was a calculus I could understand, though a conversation with Edythe would be in order, but for now I simply asked ap Lugh to convey my gladness to her and got back to relaxing with very happy friends. It wouldn’t last but I enjoyed it while it did, wondering what joys and troubles a second term would bring, besides a second Inauguration, yet another State of the Union, Jesse’s graduation, and two babies. Who knew ? except that there would be hair-tearing enough, as there always was, but as I told a laughing Adam there was one real upside, because I couldn’t be re-elected again. Tomorrow I’d have to go back to running the country for another four years, but for tonight we could just be grateful for term limits and kick back, while others turned the music up. There was only one surprise, when Bob Weir shifted the lyric of ‘Truckin’’ to declare what a long strange trip it’s still being, and that was both true and just fine by me.
They did and took the point, hardly new but one I’d made considerably more urgent, besides having cleared a lot of lumber by throwing all sorts of PACs into disarray and thumping the NRA right out of it. I also had some waiting plans for real campaign finance reform, and Jesse cut smoothly back in.
“It’s new grassroots democracy that’s needed, and I’ve been using social media to push that as best I can, but some sustained mass-media attention to what we might do when Mom’s not in office to hold it all together for us would be welcome. And sometime in the next year or two there’s going to have to be a campaign finance bill, so get that debate going properly, hey ?”
Someone had the chutzpah to ask about term-limits, suggesting their abolition would be pretty popular just now, and I told them flatly what I’d told Bran.
“If the House passed such a law I’d veto it, and in four years’ time I will not be running, no matter what. Terms and conditions apply, and there are several excellent reasons that no-one should serve more than two as president. It’s bad for democracy and very bad for the person. A president is necessary, because committees, but as it now stands it is an entirely insane brief even when you don’t have to disarm less sane gun-nuts, accept ex-godly powers of smiting to save yourself and Georgetown from suicidal bigots, or argue dragons with China. Frankly, the anchoring normality of children was a real factor for Adam and me in accepting a second term. Think about it. And as I think it’d be a good idea if Frank had a First-Person running mate in four years’ time, I’d be interested in hearing from any First Person who thinks they’d be up for it. And that’s any First Person, restricted only by the constitutional age requirement of being 35 by Inauguration Day. Being smart and sensible is necessary, but being politically experienced in the old system isn’t - I’d never run for anything four years ago, and that seems to have worked out well enough.”
The Elder Spirits and a whole bunch of chiefs had known that one was coming, and were already thinking hard, seeing the shape that a Lafferty + First Person campaign could take and liking it a lot. It was a new thought for the media, though, and kicked off discussion among themselves as well as the listening line of waiting voters and crowd of already-voteds. Coyote showing up stirred it right along, while he repeated his laments of four years back about not having a vote himself in any form when they should have one each, and this time Adam, Jesse, and I could all go in to vote together. Warren had briefed us all on the other local and state races in which we had votes, and doing the deed this time I found I didn’t have the hollow stomach I remembered, only a mingled satisfaction and resignation. Four more years in the Beltway was still pretty close to my leading definition of hell, however I’d whacked a lot of it upside its little pointy head, and if I could honourably have bailed out I would have been badly tempted ; but there was still good I could do, and I would.
When we were all outside again and Jesse had dealt with some questions about how she felt having voted-d’oh, but with some nuances of duty as well as satisfaction - we went to the same billboard as before and unveiled my first and last second-campaign poster, closely echoing the one that had been there four years ago. It was a more recent shot of She Moves Mountains (And So Do I), but it was again in dawnlight and hundred-foot direwolfite me still had snow on my shoulders and head, as did Medicine Wolf and Skuffles, while this time the legend said EVEN SHE THROWS THUNDERBOLTS & SURPRISES DRAGONS CAN ONLY WORK WITH WHAT’S THERE and below it YOUR JOBS STILL DON’T END TODAY. Being hungry I kept the speech very brief, thanking all who voted, re-thanking those who voted for me, and offering a smiling promise to drop as many more people in it as I could manage.
“We all have to keep right on truckin’, however long and strange the trip. Thank you, everyone, for all you have done and will do, and may the Christian God I believe in be with you all. And that’s it. I’m now off-radar until the declared results tell us what the electoral college will be saying, and I’m going to go listen to a lot of excellent music and eat some very superior pies. See you all later.”
One great virtue of the Secret Service is that getting out of places despite would-be media obstruction is a great deal easier with their stone-faced help, and off to Sacajawea SP we went, Coyote joining us in a Beast whose suspension had been tweaked to allow it to deal with the bumpier bits of the back-route. Sorta. At the other end most of the world seemed to be waiting, but as I’d invited the half who weren’t security I couldn’t complain. Some famous rappers were onstage, but other musicians were hanging about, some I was happy to greet, and others to meet, Taylor Swift turning Jesse an interestingly faint pink and pleasing her enormously by returning the favour, having apparently been an intranet fan. I left an intrigued and amused Adam to watch that one, Jenna and Sal having already hooked up with Jesse, and with Skuffles went to greet Zee and Tad, Gordon, Bear, and a cheerful Jill, who had hopes of having met some potential husband material, Warren and Kyle, Darryl, Auriele, and other pack, Clay and Donna, an on-duty but relaxed Leslie, with a grinning Jude, Mary Oliver with ex-kiddos, Maya and Boz, ditto, Jim Alvin and Calvin Seeker, with the girlfriend of whom Jim approved and so did I. The vetting she’d received had left her thoughtful and we spoke for a few minutes, Calvin giving me a grateful look and Jim an amused one before I went on to other avatars who’d been able to come, Linda Redruff and Joey Diamond among them, as well as the fliers who’d helped out escorting dragons and had stories to tell about trying to keep station on creatures that phased in and out whether or not they were moving. Medicine Wolf, Tigger, and Young Manitou River West were already there, observing with interest, and the other manitous were onscreen and watching from Great Manitou Corner, where it was also sunny, if no doubt colder. To cap it all, making me very happy, Adam had overcome my Mom’s and sisters’ hesitations (and Curt’s) about coming by simply sending a car for them - they’d all been rigidly careful about not seeking any presidential favours, which I appreciated more than I could say, but they’d stayed home four years ago and as I told them while giving and receiving welcome hugs, enough was enough.
Coyote was pleased too, saying something to Curt that made him laugh, and both my sisters were as happy as Jesse to meet Taylor Swift. It was all soothing and relaxed - no-one seemed to have any doubts at all about another clean sweep - and after a while I took pity on my poor agents and established myself at a properly secure presidential table and exercised my miracle-pie priority to start with a new combo I’d persuaded Benny to adopt, heavy pepperoni, local hothouse pineapple, with the zing of fresh, and all three colours of sweet pepper ; his mozzarella and edam mix was already properly jacked with mature cheddar, but I’d switched in a little manchego and he'd called the result the Presidential, finding it as popular as it ought to be.
Greeting the rappers when they’d come off stage was mildly wearying - they were nice enough but celebrity preeners, wanting multiple selfies - but as it put Taylor Swift on stage and let me get to know Ry Cooder and Taj Mahal a little, the Boss and various Dead sitting in and appreciating priority pies as much as I did, I counted it an excellent bargain. 3 p.m. Pacific was when the first polling in EST ended and media could call exit polls, and as that time neared and Taj Mahal and Ry Cooder rotated onto the stage, playing some fine low-down and dirty blues that had my feet and fingers twitching until the next rush of arrivals - Frank and Rachel with Andrea and Jenny, Charles and Anna, who’d flown down from Aspen Creek, a more cheerful Stefan with Thomas Hao, daywalking in my honour, and then Irpa with an oversize fae party of trolls plus Thor, Purity with her family, keen to dance, and Gwyn ap Lugh. The secure presidential table was considerably enlarged, introductions were made, and pies ordered before we hit 3 p.m. and the blues paused to let the news on, CBS’s anchor sounding very dry.
“CBS calls both Indiana and Kentucky for the President by very large majorities. Landslide squared. This election has been in effect called for months now, and there are no surprises except that turnout is even higher than four years ago, pushing towards ninety percent, and a second clean sweep for the President and Vice-President is very much still on.”
The blues switched up to ‘Steady Rolling Man’, dancing heated up amid the cheers, and after checking on other races, where my independents were also winning soundly, I went back to talking with friends. I was still on duty but I meant what I’d said about being off-radar until declarations were official, nothing was pressing, and it felt as if pressure was rightly suspended for a spell. A smiling Gwyn ap Lugh agreed there was a parenthesis of sorts, and a moment later one of the news feeds told me that the Paramount Tipi’s smoke-cycle of states had been suspended, but the two declared states were hanging there in green, properly positioned. I raised eyebrows at ap Lugh, who was still smiling.
“It is nothing to do with me, Mercedes Elf-friend. Edythe decided to amuse herself, and others.”
“Oh ?” My eyebrow were still up. “Any particular reason, Gwyn ap Lugh ?”
“Only admiration and laughter, as far as I am aware, Mercedes.”
And pigs might fly, but it was the Fae’s glamour to begin with and Edythe not a Gray Lord to argue with even if I wanted to. There was also a distraction, as while I’m not sure Thor quite grokked elections he found Edythe’s decision interesting.
“It seems proper that Gwyn ap Lugh’s parenthesis be respected, Mercedes Troll-friend, as when one awaits the judgement of any authority.” He was also coming to appreciate Benny’s miracle pies, and grinned at me around a slice of his own Presidential. “Loki forgot that one time, and wished he hadn’t.”
There followed a long and entirely outrageous story involving a stolen prize boar, a fractious kitten, an angry giantess, a worried king, an increasingly irritated Odin, two thunderbolts, and a very rude joke that had Adam staring, me mildly appalled, and Coyote laughing so hard he had to lie down. Leaving Thor to it I shifted seats and caught up a little with Stefan. Our friendship had never fully recovered from my outing vamps, or perhaps the shock of my being able to dismiss Bonarata, but he did appreciate daywalking by night and the wider changes I’d precipitated.
“So does Wulfe, Mercy, for all he spent a year sulking about the witchcraft you unravelled.” I got an austere smile. “I don’t know that I’d call him any saner, but he is … less tense.”
“Huh. So are wolves, Stefan, which is mostly because they’re getting less public hassle. Ease all round, it seems.”
“Oh yes. You will have had the vampire and sheep votes, Mercy, and in good heart.”
Thomas Hao wryly agreed and I stashed that one away to ponder while the hours ticked round, miracle pies came and went, and my tally of called states jumped to eight, then eleven, cuts to a White House camera showing their glamoured green addition to a stable smoke-US that was distinctly larger than usual and becoming so bright as night fell in the east that the Paramount Tipi, totem-pole, and grounds were bathed in my electoral green. The effect trebled at 5 p.m. as another eighteen states plus DC, including Illinois and Texas, came on-board, which would give me an electoral college majority by a way. As all the exit polls indicated margins way too large to be in doubt Adam broke out champagne, after toasting me and Frank with a glass the Boss hit the stage, and things revved up smartly with some proper rock ‘n’ roll. I let my fingers do some drumming, but one thing about certain victory is that there isn’t any suspense, and nothing of the roiling uncertainties and hollowness I’d felt four years ago. It was almost disappointing, except that was absurd, even for me, and any brooding was firmly disallowed by Frank, rightly proud, then by my Mom with a breathtaking hug and bright-eyed whisper that having a daughter re-elected president made her so proud she might burst, and finally by Skuffles, who said she was going to dance even if I wasn’t and bounced onto the stage to mind-sing along with The Boss to ‘Bad Mouthful’, starring herself, to much cheering and laughter. Then lots of people joined the chorus to his Excalibur ballad, and the sword itself warmed where it rested against my leg, happy in its renewed fame. Another hour took my tally to thirty-nine states, solid green blocking everything east of the Rockies except late-closing Iowa, which filled in at 7 p.m. with four more, including Arizona where a bobcat avatar was in and an obstructive state senator out, and the green glow over DC brightened and enlarged yet more, crowds staring up at it and partying despite the DC cold. Some eastern declarations had come in as well, and real numbers built while there was a charming interlude with Kyle’s jug-band friends, astonished but very happy that the Boss had invited them to join him for a Tri-Cities reunion before the Dead joined them both onstage and the real jamming began.
At 8 p.m. I had forty-nine states, including Washington, where Warren was now a two-term state senator with an increased majority, and the still growing crowd cheered me, or itself, very loudly, and began to chant my name. I wouldn’t have minded appearing but shorting Alaska seemed rude until a grinning Adam passed me his phone, vid-link running, and Alaska herself told me not to fret and give the good people what they wanted. We let the musicians know, and the Rhythm Devils had a fine time drum-rolling on Triple Troll, while Bob Weir invited Purity to dance onstage rather than before it, and then called out Frank and Rachel, with Andrea, and finally Adam and me with Skuffles and Jesse. On the big screens the Lower 48 with DC and Hawaii were a solid block of green hanging over the White House, Hawaii hanging by itself to one side, and the cheering only died at all when the musicians hit some power chords and a grinning Bob Weir told us they had a re-election present for me, in the shape of a swing-tune Phil Lesh had somehow transposed into 11/8 time but left seriously danceable. I had to let Jesse take Excalibur and its belt, with Manannán’s Bane, but kept the cloak, which knew all about twirling, and after a quick mental exchange with Adam, in which he nixed any high throws despite my look, we did a paramount presidential lindy-hop in high style, gracefully complemented by Purity’s undulations and horn-arabesques. The noise afterwards was too great to do anything except smile and offer them all a curtsey and a bow, but Skuffles told the musicians how glad we were and we left them and Triple Troll to hit another maximally funky ‘Scarlet Begonias’ which this time did segue into ‘Fire on the Mountain’, as it ought, and went back to the secure presidential table to eat more miracle pies.
A while later Alaska completed my second clean sweep, and when it appeared over the White House, rising swiftly into proper station, the whole enlarged yet again, pulsing rose-colours limned the national borders, and for a moment the Elder Spirits circling on the Paramount Tipi looked up smiling, before Skuffles and I appeared, both grinning as we offered a curtsey and a coyote bow, the whole slowly faded, and the usual smoke-state cycle restarted. Amid a great deal more cheering Gwyn ap Lugh raised a glass to me.
“Our warmest congratulations, Mercedes Elf-friend and Troll-friend, on a result that makes us very glad. Both peace and honour are well-served this night.”
That was a calculus I could understand, though a conversation with Edythe would be in order, but for now I simply asked ap Lugh to convey my gladness to her and got back to relaxing with very happy friends. It wouldn’t last but I enjoyed it while it did, wondering what joys and troubles a second term would bring, besides a second Inauguration, yet another State of the Union, Jesse’s graduation, and two babies. Who knew ? except that there would be hair-tearing enough, as there always was, but as I told a laughing Adam there was one real upside, because I couldn’t be re-elected again. Tomorrow I’d have to go back to running the country for another four years, but for tonight we could just be grateful for term limits and kick back, while others turned the music up. There was only one surprise, when Bob Weir shifted the lyric of ‘Truckin’’ to declare what a long strange trip it’s still being, and that was both true and just fine by me.