Fauntleroy and Flossy – The Detail
The cookie cutter sized Secret Service agent spoke into the microphone clipped to his sleeve. “Fauntleroy is moving.” He followed at the required ten steps as he approached the door of his residence.
Fauntleroy turned and spoke directly to the agent. “Get my wife. I told her an hour ago to bring an envelope to the cabinet.”
Agent M whispered into his sleeve. “Where is Flossy? He has asked to bring Flossy to him.”
Hurried footsteps, one set clickity clapping, another set heavy footed rushed towards the office. Flossy entered the residence, leaving the door ajar.
The two agents stared at each other in disbelief. Through the door, they heard Fauntleroy in a loud, accusing voice say, “An hour ago, I told you to bring that envelope to the cabinet.”
“Darling, I did just as you asked.” She left the room in a hurry, and went to the China Room reached in the closest cabinet and retrieved the envelope. Rushing back, “Here Darling,” she flashed her come-hither smile. “Give me a credit card; I want to go shopping.”
Fauntleroy called to Agent M, “What was with that breakfast? It is the worst I ever had. I only want the greatest breakfast from now on. You understand. Only the greatest.”
“Sorry sir, I made the oatmeal this morning. There was some issue with the kitchen this morning. I don’t have all the details. Word of a deportation detail at the front gate, something like that. And sir, we are going by car to your first appointment. Something about Marine One’s pilot resigning her commission.”
“Sir,” the secretary that sat outside the door to his office called. “There is a call from a golf course in Scotland; they say it is urgent. Line three is your lawyer.” She hurried back to her station.
“Get out,” Fauntleroy snapped at Flossy. He grabbed line one. “The grass, you are calling me about the grass. Find the apprentice I hired in season three and tell him to get his… to take care of it. And from now on, reach me on my cell or message me through Twitter.”
He grabbed line three. “Yeah. Yeah. Tell him I am going to sue him. Who does that judge think he is? His face turned red, well find a judge who voted for me,” he hung the phone up.
The intercom buzzed, “Sir, your daughter has a question about the new tile in the executive bathroom. And the furniture movers are here to empty the oval office and the decorator’s van is here with the Louis XVI.”
“Wait, what Louis XIV, the fourteenth not the sixteenth the fourteenth.”
The secretary handed him the packing slip with the information.
“He’s fired. No, wait, it is so hard to find an interior decorator who is not, you know, funny.” He looked at the secretary, I want everything in this room replaced. I want this room to feel Imperial.”
“What were we talking about? Oh, the bathroom, that reminds me. Where is my copy of ‘Top Agent Magazine?” Fauntleroy looked around, “I swear, this is going to be great.” He looked around again, trying to remember which door.
“Fauntleroy is moving.”
“Hey, what about the credit card, Darling. I don’t want to stay here all day. What am I suppose to do?”
The detail climbed into their black GMC SUV’s, and Fauntleroy entered the black, limousine with one foot thick windows. It was a chilly Washington, D.C. morning. Fauntleroy had meetings scheduled with all his secretaries. Then he planned to do some of this government work he promised to do. He patted his pocket. He took a blue cell phone from his left pocket. No, not that one, he thought. He dug into his right coat pocket and retrieved a red phone; then he sighed and returned it. He reached into his lapel pocket and retrieved a gold plated phone, pushed the code and the phone began to ring at The Towers.
While it was ringing, he said to the driver, “Get me another car as soon as you can. I don’t want to drive around in a used car. See if you can get me a Rolls.” Fauntleroy leaned back in the seat, “Stop by The Towers; we are picking up Errdick and Model T.”
The Secret Service driver talked into his sleeve. “We are stopping by The Towers.” The leading black GMC made a quick right.
Once two of his kids were in the car with him, he sealed the window between the driver’s seat and cab. Both kids had their tablets ready. He spoke to his son first, “Buy 25,000 shares of Cemex, if a wall is being built, it is going to take a lot of concrete, and I mean a great amount.”
“Don’t you want to buy stock in an American company that manufactures concrete,” Errdick asked.
“No, don’t question me, grasshopper.” He always called his son grasshopper when he felt he was teaching him something. “American concrete is too expensive. Besides, the people south of the border are going to build the wall. Let them bring the concrete with them. Model T, see if any land along the border is available cheap, boy are we going to make them pay. This is going to be so much fun.” He pushed a button on the console, “Pull over. You guys get out. I’ll be back tonight. Don’t forget its pizza night. Have the last car in the caravan give you a lift back.”
Fauntleroy reached down and pulled a cell phone in a camouflage case, from his sock. He pushed a button, “Putt, baby what was that guy's name you said gave you a Rolls–Royce?” He repeated, “Suleiman. Suleiman, like in that cartoon movie? Boy, I would have liked to own a piece of that. OK, thanks, Putt.”
The notes of the song, ‘Dixie’ rang from Fauntleroy’s far right pocket. “Banshee, how are you this morning? What? Wait, the Confederate flag. No, that is not a good idea. What time is your radio show over? OK call me then.”
He leaned back deep into the seat. “I am going to be the best Font ever.”
One of the phones began to ring.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No animals were hurt during the production of this Hub.
This work is not intended as a substitute for the medical advice of physicians. The reader should regularly consult a physician in matters relating to his/her health and particularly with respect to any symptoms that may require diagnosis or medical attention.
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