Red, White & Royal Blue(115)
“It’s early,” Nora is saying, thumbing through her phone as she climbs out behind him in a plunging black jumpsuit and killer heels. “Like, really early for these exit polls, but I’m pretty sure we have Illinois.”
“Cool, that was projected,” Alex says. “We’re on target so far.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Nora tells him. “I don’t like how Pennsylvania looks.”
“Hey,” June says. Her own dress is carefully selected, off-the-rack J. Crew, white lace, girl-next-door. Her hair is braided down one shoulder. “Can’t we, like, have one drink before y’all start doing this? I heard there are mojitos.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nora says, but she’s still staring down at her phone, brow furrowed.
HRH Prince Dickhead
Nov 3, 2020, 6:37 PM
HRH Prince Dickhead
Pilot says we’re having visibility problems? May have to reroute and land elsewhere.
HRH Prince Dickhead
Landing in Dallas? Is that far?? I’ve no bloody clue about American geography.
HRH Prince Dickhead
Shaan has informed me this is, in fact, far. Landing soon. Will try to take off again once the weather clears.
HRH Prince Dickhead
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. How are things on your end?
things are shit
please get your ass here asap i’m stressing tf out
Oliver Westbrook @BillsBillsBills
Any GOPers still backing Richards after his actions toward a member of the First Family—and, now, this week’s rumors of sexual predation—are going to have to reckon with their Protestant God tomorrow morning.
7:32 PM · 3 Nov 2020
538 politics @538politics
Our projections had Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin all at a 70% or higher chance of going blue, but latest returns have them too close to call. Yeah, we’re confused too.
8:04 PM · 3 Nov 2020
The New York Times @nytimes
#Election2020 latest: a bruising round of calls for Pres. Claremont brings the electoral tally up to 178 for Sen. Richards. Claremont lags behind at 113.
9:15 PM · 3 Nov 2020
* * *
They’ve partitioned off the smaller exhibit hall for VIPs only—campaign staff, friends and family, congresspeople. On the other side of the event center is the crowd of supporters with their signs, their CLAREMONT 2020 and HISTORY, HUH? T-shirts, overflowing under the architectural canopies and into the surrounding hills. It’s supposed to be a party.
Alex has been trying not to stress. He knows how presidential elections go. When he was a kid, this was his Super Bowl. He used to sit in front of the living room TV and color each state in with red and blue magic markers as the night went on, allowed to stay up hours past his bedtime for one blessed night at age ten to watch Obama beat McCain. He watches his dad’s jaw in profile now, trying to remember the triumph in the set of it that night.
There was a magic, then. Now, it’s personal.
And they’re losing.
The sight of Leo coming in through a side door isn’t entirely unexpected, and June rises from her chair and meets them both in a quiet corner of the room on the same instinct. He’s holding his phone in one hand.
“Your mother wants to talk to you,” Leo says, and Alex automatically reaches out until Leo holds out a hand to stop him. “No, sorry, Alex, not you. June.”
June blinks. “Oh.” She steps forward, pushes her hair away from her ear. “Mom?”
“June,” says the sound of their mother’s voice over the little speaker. On the other end, she’s in one of the arena’s meeting rooms, a makeshift office with her core team. “Baby. I need you to, uh. I need you to come in here.”
“Okay, Mom,” she says, her voice measured and calm. “What’s going on?”
“I just. I need you to help me rewrite this speech for, uh.” There’s a considerable pause. “Well. Just in case of concession.”
June’s face goes utterly blank for a second, and suddenly, vividly furious.
“No,” she says, and she grabs Leo by the forearm so she can talk directly into the speaker. “No, I’m not gonna do that, because you’re not gonna lose. Do you hear me? You’re not losing. We’re gonna fucking do this for four more years, all of us. I am not writing you a goddamn concession speech, ever.”
There’s another pause across the line, and Alex can picture their mother in her little makeshift Situation Room upstairs, glasses on, high heels still in the suitcase, staring at the screens, hoping and trying and praying. President Mom.
“Okay,” she says evenly. “Okay. Alex. Do you think you could get up and say something for the crowd?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, Mom,” he says. He clears his throat, and it comes out as strong as hers the second time. “Of course.”
A third pause, then. “God, I love you both so much.”
Leo leaves, and he’s quickly replaced by Zahra, whose sleek red dress and ever-present coffee thermos are the biggest comfort Alex has seen all night. Her ring flashes at him, and he thinks of Shaan and wishes desperately Henry was here already.