Sean had to get to work. He got out of bed and showered in his living room, where the dog watched him. He couldn’t find the shampoo; oh, well, at least he didn’t have that much hair. But He’ll notice, he thought.
It seemed to take two hours to find his closet, wandering through room after room filled with newsprint and gilt furniture. He wanted to wear the gray pinstripe suit, hanging lonely by itself in the corner of the closet. It was comfortable the way his grandmother’s biscuits were comfortable on snowy mornings back home in Rhode Island. But that suit was shame now, and the girl he’d done heavy petting with in sixth grade was standing there to tell him so. He flushed with the memory and chose the navy blue suit that He liked.
He found himself at work, in the White House, where a huge party was happening. He looked around the room, but he didn’t know these people. Where were his people? He wandered around, passed two interns having sex, until he came to the lectern where he spoke to the press. Donny Osmond and Andy Warhol were in the press pool. Donny wanted to talk about his sad relationship with his father, while Andy thought Sean would be ideal for a film he had in mind.
Everyone had questions. Sean realized he was answering in German, so he switched to English. Except it didn’t come out as English, it was more like Spanish. Terror gripped him. Oh my God, He won’t like this, he thought. April Ryan was there. She looked like his mother, but he knew it was April. She was angry and shaking her head. She was judging him, he could tell. He said something about glass houses, but it came out wrong, and the whole press pool started to yell at him about Adolf Hitler.
It was then that he realized he was dressed only in his underwear. He turned to run, but there was no way through the crowd. The next thing he knew, he was flying above the press room, floating out the door and up into the trees outside the White House. And then he wasn’t.
He looked back, and He was standing there, holding onto him by a thread, like a balloon. Slowly, He began to pull him down, down, down, closer and closer, until Sean was standing on firm ground again. Sean looked up as He loomed over him. The giant mouth opened, and a torrent of black goo spilled out onto Sean, covering him and forming the shapes of words, but not quite words, that moved when he tried to touch them. He pleaded with Him for forgiveness, but then he realized that the goo was in his mouth, sticky and adhering to his teeth like gum. He couldn’t form words, so he turned and tried to run, but his feet didn’t seem to move.
He saw Ivanka and tried to call to her. She was heading toward the press conference with an entourage of models in tow, ready to showcase her new clothing line. Two of the models wore burqas. He turned back to see Him laughing at his struggles. He came closer, leaned in, and started to say, “You’re…” But then…
“Time to get up, Sean! Gosh, honey, you don’t look like you slept a wink!”